#Voice and Data Wiring So

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR IV

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.5k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: Y'all do you know how hard it was to flirt using science and the topic of joker toxin?! I think I rewrote this chapter over ten times. I hope the subtext makes sense because I think my brain melted during this process. Also I'm still fairly new to posting on tumblr so I hope I'm doing the taglist correctly :) warnings: sexual innuendos, Jason being a low key stalker

BAT CAVE

Jason stepped deeper into the cave, the heavy echo of his boots bouncing off the stone walls. The cavern smelled faintly of earth, cleaning supplies, and the ever-present sting of coffee left too long to cool—unsurprising, given the miniature landfill of empty cups piled near Tim’s workstation.

“Jesus, Tim,” he muttered, eyeing the carnage. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

Tim didn’t look up. His voice was flat, gravel-edged with exhaustion. “I’ll sleep when I find our ghost.”

Jason arched a brow. “I’m pretty sure you said that yesterday.”

“And the day before that,” Tim murmured, squinting at lines of code bleeding across the massive screen. “I’m aware.”

Jason crossed his arms, stepping closer, gaze flicking over the data. “Any updates?”

Tim let out a hard sigh, slumping back in his chair. He dragged both hands down his face as if trying to wipe away the frustration before answering. “Just dead ends. No facial matches. No fingerprints. No aliases that last longer than a day. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. Really good.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” Jason said quietly. “No usual runner is this off the grid.”

“Exactly. And get this—Gordon pulled a small vial off Mancini and handed it off to B.” Tim’s brows furrowed. “Mancini was right. It’s a hybrid. Joker’s original strain—but there’s chemical coding in it that matches Scarecrow’s second-gen fear compound. It’s clean work. Scarily precise. Way beyond Joker’s usual brand of chaos. Even Crane’s compounds weren’t this sophisticated.”

Jason frowned, unease tightening in his gut. “So, what are you saying? That the bastard we’re chasing didn’t just steal the formula…”

Tim looked up, expression grim. “He probably helped make it.”

The words landed with a sickening weight.

Jason exhaled, low and sharp. “Shit.”

Tim turned back to the monitor, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “And Joker’s tearing through the underworld trying to find him. That’s why it’s gone quiet—people are either hiding… or dying. Fast.”

Jason exhaled slowly. “Then we need to move. Fast. If Joker gets his hands on the formula—”

“We’ll have a city-wide crisis on our hands,” Tim finished for him.

Jason’s jaw clenched. “Then we need an antidote. Even if it’s just a prototype.”

Tim shook his head. “We don’t have enough of the compound. No base, no ratios, no synthesis pattern. Without the exact formula, we’d be guessing in the dark.”

Jason slammed a fist lightly against the desk. “Then how the hell did a rat like Mancini get his hands on it?”

Tim shrugged. “Best guess? He stole it from Sionis. Would explain why he was looking over his shoulder every five seconds.”

“Idiot,” Jason muttered. His anger began to cool as he glanced over, noticing the dark circles etched beneath Tim’s eyes. The kid looked wired and worn thin. His voice softened. “You need sleep.”

“I can’t,” Tim’s fingers resumed their frantic pace across the keyboard. “What if I miss something? What if that formula shows up and we’re not ready?”

Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tim. You’ll miss something anyway if your brain crashes mid-keystroke. You’ve been staring at code for three days straight. You’re running on caffeine and spite.”

Tim didn’t stop typing. “It’s worked so far.”

Jason reached out pulled Tim away from the bat computer and forcing Tim to turn around and meet his eyes. “You’re not gonna outsmart this thing if you’re fried. You’ll be sharper after a break. Babs is still digging on her end. We’ve got the patrols. Get four hours. Hell, even two.”

Tim slumped in defeat, rubbing at his eyes as the tension finally bled from his shoulders. “Fine. A nap. But if I wake up and Gotham’s on fire—”

“Then it’s a normal day in this shit hole city,” Jason deadpanned.

A faint smile tugged at Tim’s lips, and he stood with a stretch that earned several cracks from his spine.

“I’ll keep digging until you’re up.” Jason promised, clapping a hand to Tim’s shoulder. “Go.”

Tim didn’t argue. He staggered toward the elevator, muttering about caffeine withdrawal and setting six alarms.

Jason waited until the lift closed behind him before turning back to the monitor. He should’ve jumped straight into the search—he’d been the loudest about stopping Joker’s next move— instead, his mind drifted. Not to Gotham. Not to toxins or their ghost. But to you.

It had been days since the bookstore, and he still couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“God, I can’t believe I’m actually becoming a stalker,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Seeing you at the bookstore had been pure coincidence. But now? he could feel his curiosity getting the better of him, he wanted to see you again and with that the thought there, it was too tempting to ignore the resources at his disposal. 

A quick cross-reference of the store’s invoice system, and he’d found the record of your purchase. From there, it wasn’t hard to trace it to a name. A professional profile. A series of academic papers and lecture videos.

Doctor Y/N L/N. Neuroscientist. Lecturer and researcher at Gotham U.

He skimmed your credentials, the corner of his mouth twitching. You were sharp. Accomplished. Brilliant, even. Probably the kind of person who would’ve been Tim’s rival if he ever left the cave long enough to interact with actual humans.

“Damn,” Jason whistled low, scrolling through your faculty page. “You’re not just a pretty face.”

“Who is this?”

Jason nearly leapt out of the chair. “Jesus, Damian!”

Damian raised a brow, unimpressed, before glancing at the glowing monitor, gaze narrowing at the screen. “Who is she?”

Jason shifted awkwardly. “She’s, uh… potential lead. On the toxin thing.” Total lie. No way in hell he was confessing to stalking his own crush to demon spawn.

Damian frowned, clearly unconvinced. He glanced back at the screen. “She doesn’t look like an evil mastermind.”

Jason snorted. “Trust me. She’s smart enough to become one if she wanted.”

He clicked out of the window, not willing to risk further questions, and turned to face the youngest Wayne fully. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“I finished this week’s syllabus yesterday,” Damian said with a dismissive wave. “To make me attend that pit of idiocy is a waste of my time.”

Jason raised a brow. “Pretty sure Bruce expects you to show up regardless.”

“Father expects results, not attendance,” Damian replied coolly.

Jason leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “If I call him right now and tell him his little prodigy’s playing hooky and creeping around the Batcave instead of sitting through trig, how fast do you think he’d be down here?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would love to,” Jason said, smirking as he slowly pulled his comm from his belt. “And I’ll tell Alfred to lock up your katanas until your attendance record’s squeaky clean.”

Damian looked murderous. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re going to be late.”

With a muttered curse in Arabic, Damian spun on his heel and stormed toward the elevator like a tiny, furious emperor exiled from his marble court.

“This is why no one respects you,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Jason just smirked. “You’ll thank me one day.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Jason chuckled as the elevator doors closed. The cave was quiet again but this time, he left the file closed. He wasn’t risking another one of his siblings catching him mid-obsession.

But even as the lines of data loaded, he couldn’t stop the image of your smirk from flashing in his mind.

Damn it.

He was so screwed.

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

The weekend had vanished in a blink—gone before you had the chance to properly catch some rest. And now it was Tuesday morning, and you were once again standing in front of your lecture hall with a marker in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other—woefully undersized for the hour.

You weren’t even sure how you’d survived Monday. And Tuesday? Tuesday was dragging its feet like a teenager being forced out of bed.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe the mounting stack of papers needed to be graded. Or maybe—just maybe—it had something to do with the fact that Dick hadn’t texted since the weekend.

Aside from one polite message—Had a great time, can’t wait to see you again—there had been radio silence.

Maybe he was busy.

Maybe he was being polite.

Maybe he decided that he wasn’t actually interested.

You bit back a sigh and turned back to the board, scrawling across the surface with just a touch more pressure than necessary. Whatever.  Who needed a man when you had a lecture hall full of sleep deprived students a terminal caffeine addiction, and a job that kept your brain so busy it barely had time to spiral?

Still… you checked your phone. Just once. Just in case.

Nothing.

Figures.

You exhaled through your nose, smoothed down your blouse, and turned back toward your students with the kind of smile worn only by women who had absolutely chosen the strong, independent path at seven in the godforsaken morning.

Because, despite everything—despite the early hours, the endless grading, and the fact that your bloodstream was 80% espresso—you loved this.

You loved teaching.

You loved the subject. The research and chaos. The spark that came when something clicked in a student’s eyes.

Teaching neuroscience was more than a paycheck; it was a passion. You just wished passion came with later start times. And a universally accepted pyjama policy.

You took a long sip of coffee, rolled your shoulders back, and turned toward your students, who were only just starting to blink the sleep from their eyes.

“Alright,” you said, clicking the projector to life. “Let’s talk about chemical warfare. And clowns.”

That earned a few raised brows of interest and handful of tired chuckles.

“True to my word,” you went on, as the screen behind you flickered to life, “we’re diving into Joker venom today. Specifically, the various known strains, their molecular architecture, and the neurological impacts they cause upon exposure.”

The first image flickered onscreen: a chart showing the original base compound. Beside it was a grainy field photo of a bright green liquid. The photo looked like it had been pulled from the bottom of a GCPD evidence locker.

“This,” you said, pointing with your marker, “was the earliest recorded version—crude, volatile, and grotesquely effective. Victims experienced intense euphoria, followed by uncontrollable laughter, vivid hallucinations, progressive paralysis, and ultimately… cardiac arrest.”

You paused, letting the weight of that settle in.

“But here’s where it gets interesting,” you said, clicking to the next slide. “The formula has evolved. It’s gotten cleaner. More efficient. Some of the newer strains show a disturbing level of sophistication. Less residue. More targeted dopamine flooding. In a few cases—nearly undetectable until it’s too late.”

A hand went up from the front row.

“Is there any known antidote?” the student asked.

You hesitated—just for a beat. “There are a few neutralizing agents that can be effective if administered immediately,” you said. “But a true, universal antidote? Not yet. Especially not for the more recent iterations. Most of our current strategies are reactive, not preventative.”

You paused.

“In short?” Your lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t get exposed.”

A ripple of nervous laughter followed.

And then—

A new voice spoke up.

“Is it the toxin that kills them… or the effects it triggers first?”

You froze for half a second—not enough for anyone else to notice.

Your eyes scanned the lecture hall—and there he was. In the back row, half-slouched like the seat belonged to him. Leather jacket. Boots kicked up against the chair in front. Arms folded, expression far too smug for someone who had no damn business being here.

The last thing you’d expected was to see him here.

“Interesting point,” you replied, crisp and professional, like he was another one of your students. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “The toxin is the cause, yes—but it’s the chain reaction that actually kills. The laughter, the convulsions, the paralysis… the body shuts down before most people even realize what’s happening.”

Jason tilted his head slightly. “So the damage isn’t in the delivery. It’s in what it sets off.”

You clicked to the next slide. “Exactly. The moment it hits, your body stops being yours. It rewires everything—how you feel, how you think. You can’t reason your way out of it.”

He nodded slowly, like he already knew that and just wanted to hear you say it. “Some people get hit harder than others, though, right?”

You arched a brow. “Depends on the target.”

“Some look fine. At first,” he said. “They act normal. But the toxin’s already working underneath.”

The look he gave you made the implication clear.

You smiled tightly. “Some strains are less effective than they look. Easy to handle if caught early.”

“Wait—” a girl near the middle row piped up, frowning. “I thought there was no cure for Joker venom?”

You cleared your throat, ignoring the flush creeping along your neck. “For the newer variants, yes. They’re more chemically advanced and difficult to reverse. But with some of the older versions—If the symptoms are identified early enough—intervention is possible.”

Jason leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin on his hand, grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “But what if someone lets it run its course anyway?”

You didn’t look at him.

You just smiled for the class. “Then some people are clearly very stupid.”

A few students laughed in confusion, but no one actually picked up on the double meaning of the conversation. You turned back toward the board.

“Now then,” you said briskly, “back to the chemistry before anyone else gets the idea this is interactive.”

You didn’t even make it halfway through the next slide before his voice cut in again—calm, amused, and very much on purpose.

“So how much exposure does it take before the effects become permanent?”

You inhaled through your nose and closed your eyes for half a beat.

Some of the students nodded—taking the bait. A girl in the second row had already scribbled the question into her notes.

But you knew exactly what he was doing.

You turned, voice level, gaze sharper. “Depends on the dosage. And the subject. Repeated exposure can cause cumulative neurological damage, but again—some people are more susceptible than others.”

Jason stood. Hands in his jacket pockets, he walked down the aisle like he had all the time in the world. Like none of this was strange or inappropriate.

“Say someone’s exposed to a small dose,” he went on, “but it happens a few times. Do they build immunity? Or will the damage be done?”

He stopped just short of the first row—just shy of your space. Close enough that your skin prickled with heat. You were painfully aware of the eyes of your students on you now.

Your jaw clenched.

“Well,” you said, eyes narrowed, “whoever’s insane enough to try that should probably check themselves into Arkham.”

He stepped closer, just slightly. Just enough that only you could hear him when he murmured, low and maddening:

“Why do that… when there’s a cure standing right here?”

“Funny,” you said, lips curling into something that might’ve passed for a smile if not for the fire in your eyes. “Because the only thing I see right now is a recurring symptom.”

Behind him, someone cleared their throat—a student, probably wondering whether they were still attending a lecture or some avant-garde performance piece. 

You exhaled sharply and stepped toward him, your expression still pleasant for the room, but your voice dropped to a hiss meant for his ears alone.

“What the hell are you doing? This is a lecture. You’re not cute.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Didn’t say I was. Just here to learn about toxins… and their reactions.” 

You gritted your teeth. “You’re disrupting my job.”

“I’ll stop if you go out with me.”

“Not a damn chance.” You scoff.

Then, as if this was his stage now, he turned slightly toward the class, raising his voice with faux curiosity. “Actually, that reminds me. Has anyone considered how different outcomes might vary depending on emotional state during exposure? Say, for example, if someone was already—”

“I swear to God—”

“Look,” he said, still in that maddeningly calm tone as he turned back to her, “one hour. That’s all I’m asking. If it sucks, you can forget I exist.”

You narrowed your eyes. “If I still say no?”

Jason shrugged, entirely too relaxed. “I’ll keep showing up. Keep asking questions. Might even bring snacks next time. We’ll see how interactive this gets.”

You stared at him. He stared right back.

God, he was smug.

God, he was gorgeous.

God, you hated this.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “One hour,” you said through gritted teeth. “And if you speak once during the rest of this lecture, I will report you for harassment and ban you from this campus.”

His grin was shameless. “Understood, Professor.”

He backed up, hands raised, retreating like the smug menace he was—but this time with a victory in his step.

He turned and walked back up the aisle, dropping back into his seat like this was the plan all along.

You turned back to the board, face burning, students utterly unaware that their professor had just been emotionallystrong-armed into a date by a six-foot leather-wrapped problem with a smirk. 

Jason, to his credit, didn’t speak again. Not once.

But he didn’t need to.

Because for the next forty-five minutes, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Surprisingly, Jason actually found himself listening as you spoke. He learned what actually happened inside someone exposed to Joker venom—what went wrong in their brain. He’d never thought to ask before. That was always Bruce’s domain, or Tim’s. The analysis. The endless case files with chemical structures and psych profiles and margin notes scribbled in too-small handwriting. Jason had always preferred the fighting portion of vigilantism. 

But hearing it from you…

Maybe it was the way your voice shifted—calm but impassioned—or how you didn’t shy away from the brutality of it. You didn’t sensationalize it, either. You explained it like a surgeon would describe an autopsy—clinical, controlled, but with a quiet thread of empathy running through every word.

Jason had seen what Joker venom did to people.

He’d dealt the aftermath.

He’d watched the light go out in someone’s eyes while they laughed themselves into oblivion.

But he’d never truly understood it. Not like this.

The way you spoke about neurotransmitter chaos—how dopamine floods rewired fear into joy, how serotonin short-circuited pain into pleasure, how laughter wasn’t just a reaction, but a seizure disguised as euphoria. The complete collapse of inhibition, followed by motor control, then respiratory function—it was horrifying. And fascinating.

You made him want to know more.

And then, in a moment that startled him, he wondered what you’d make of him.

Of the Lazarus Pit. Of what it did to the brain when it brought someone back from the dead. Of the rage. The episodes. The memory gaps. Of the madness that still affected him.

Would you call it neurological trauma? A chemical imbalance? Would you look at him like a subject—or something broken to fix?

He leaned back in his chair, arms loose, fingers tapping idly against his knee. You were pacing now, marker in hand, drawing a new diagram with quick, practiced ease. Sharp lines, fluid motion. You were alive up there—animated and fierce in your element. And he couldn’t help but watch. Not just your words. But you.

The way your voice sharpened when a student asked a half-formed question. The gleam in your eye when someone got it. The small, unconscious smile when the pieces clicked.

You cared. Genuinely.

About the material. About the kids in this room. About what this information could mean outside of it.

“Alright,” you said finally, capping the marker with a soft snap and stepping back. “That’s it for today. You’re free to go—unless you’re dying to ask more questions about the joys of chemically induced insanity.”

Laughter stirred through the room. Chairs scraped back. A few students filtered out with lingering glances and whispered praise. Others loitered to gather notes or quietly debate the finer points of dopamine regulation.

Jason didn’t move.He waited—calm, steady—watching you sort your materials, stack your folders, and close your laptop shut.

When you finally turned toward him, arms crossing over your chest and one brow raised in challenge, he rose from his seat like a man who had all the time in the world and nothing to prove.

“Ready, Professor?” he asked, voice low, smug as ever.

You rolled your eyes, gathering your bag. “You’re lucky I’m a woman of my word.”

Jason smirked. “Some might say that’s an admirable quality.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Some might say it’s a flaw.”

THE GOLDEN CUP

Jason—as you’d recently learned his name was—took you to The Golden Cup, one of Gotham’s most aggressively popular coffee chains.

On the walk over, you’d checked your phone—more out of habit than hope—and found, unsurprisingly, that there was still no message from Dick.

And that was when you decided.

You weren’t going to wait up for him. You’d had one date. No promises. No exclusivity. Just a good night that clearly hadn’t meant the same thing to both of you.

So fine.

You were going to give Jason a chance.

No matter how infuriating, arrogant, or absolutely insufferable he was—he was persistent. And maybe, just maybe, that counted for something.

Even if he made you want to strangle him half the time.

Especially then.

You forced a polite smile as he held the door open for you. The place had a sleek, modern interior, all brushed steel and pale wood, the kind of aesthetic that screamed corporate chic. Chalkboards lined the walls, scrawled with endless customizable drink options in cheery handwriting, as if sugar and soy milk could compensate for the fact that the coffee tasted like watered-down burnt beans. 

You bit back a grimace. The air buzzed with the frantic energy of sleep-deprived students and frazzled office workers. 

“The Golden Cup?” you asked, more out of disbelief than curiosity.

Jason shrugged, as if the choice had been perfectly logical. “Figured this was your kind of place.”

You mirrored the gesture, masking your annoyance. After how hard he’d worked to get this hour with you, the last thing you wanted was to admit you actually despised it here. “The girls on my gymnastics team used to love this place,” you offered instead.

That made him pause. “Wait—you did gymnastics?”

You nodded. “Bars. Tumbling. The works.”

“Huh.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes skimming over you like he was trying to reconcile that image with the one in front of him.

Your eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

You stiffened. “And what type is that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled, the sound light but strained.

But the damage was done. The words echoed louder than they should have—because you wanted this to go well. You’d told yourself you were being open, trying not to let old scars taint something new. Like Milo kept encouraging. But there it was again—another man slotting you into a tidy box. 

Jake used to do the same thing.

“So how did you mean it?” you asked, voice calm but tight.

Jason looked like he wished he’d said nothing at all. “I just meant… never mind, okay?”

The line moved forward. He stepped up to the counter, clearly flustered, and ordered without turning to you. Two hot coffees. Black.

You stared at the back of his head in disbelief. He didn’t even ask.

When he reached for his wallet, you turned on your heel and walked out.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the Gotham air, crisp and biting against your cheeks. You exhaled hard, realizing only then how tense your jaw had become.

You didn’t make it far before the door slammed open again. Footsteps pounded after you.

“Hey! Wait up!” Jason called.

You kept walking until his hand lightly caught your arm.

“Where are you going?”

You turned, met his eyes. “I just don’t think this is going to work.”

Confusion flashed across his face. “What? It’s barely been ten minutes.”

“And that’s all I needed.”

He stared at you, disbelief written in every line of his face. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“Ever since we met,” you said, keeping your tone level, “you’ve done nothing but make assumptions. You act as if you know me based on a glance and a guess.”

“That’s not true,” he snapped. “I—what assumptions?”

“The book recommendation, the coffee shop itself. You didn’t even ask what I wanted to drink,” you pointed out. “You just ordered hot coffee.”

“Everyone loves hot coffee!”

“I don’t.”

His mouth opened, then closed.

“And then there was the gymnastics thing.”

He winced. “Okay, maybe that came out wrong—”

“It’s not just that. It’s how you said it. Like I didn’t look the part. What—because I’m a doctor?”

“What? No!” he said quickly, like the idea shocked him. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

“You don’t know me, and you clearly don’t care to.” you said, stepping back. “You saw me in the bookstore and figured I looked easy. The kind of girl you could charm in five minutes with a smirk and some half-assed lines.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could try to spin it.

“I said no,” you reminded him. “So now I’m a challenge. That’s all this is to you—a game you don’t want to lose.”

His expression shifted. Defensive. 

“But let’s get one thing straight,” you continued, voice like ice. “Whatever bad boy charm you think you’ve got going for you? It doesn’t work on me. I’ve seen it before. You’re not new.”

Jason scoffed, tension bleeding into sarcasm. “Guess I should’ve worn a suit and talked about Nietzsche.”

You shook your head, a hollow laugh escaping. “God, this is exactly why I’m walking away.”

“Oh, right,” he said, stepping forward. “Because you’re uptight and judgmental? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either.”

You stiffened, heat rising in your chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was sharp now, stripped of its earlier charm. “You walked in here with your mind already made up. You want to lecture me on assumptions? Take a good look in the mirror. You’re no better, Princess.”

The words hit like a slap— For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared at him, breathing hard, your pride wounded, your heart thudding against your ribs with something that felt too much like anger… and something else you didn’t want to name.

You were done. Whatever thread of tolerance you’d held onto had snapped clean through. “You know what? I’m not doing this. Let’s just call it a night.”

“Oh, can we?” he muttered, hands flung out to the side. “Please.”

“Good night,” you snapped, already turning.

“Sayonara.”

“Have fun with yourself.”

“Ciao, sweetheart. Tell the HOA at Pretentious Pointe I said hi.”

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

Taglist: @mei-simp, @sept3mberchild, @a-brilliante-mariposa, @feralwolfkat, @mercuryathens, @beepboopcowboy, @lordbugs, @coffeemin, @nikkeora, @yuyuti02, @tinybrie, @smithieandy, @yuhhh03, @kazuuhali

[reidmotif]

Relax, I've Got You

Summary: Reader isn't the best at handling stress, and her roommate Spencer, notices. Luckily, he has quite a few salacious ideas on how he could make her feel better.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: friends-with-benefits situation, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), mentions of anxiety/symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 2.7 k

Masterlist

You were never good at handling stress. 

You were well aware of this facet of your psyche– the way tensity would often wind around your limbs, snaking into the very depths of your bones until you were entirely drained and devoid of peace, a shell of the person you were accustomed to being. 

You had dealt with this complication on your own for the most part. You’d come home after a long day, and attempt to find yourself again through chamomile tea, lavender mists, and a warm blanket. 

Of course, there were days where even these measures could not suffice in curing your weariness. 

That’s where Spencer Reid came in. 

He’d only been your roommate at first. With the economy going as it was, it was simply more practical to find one, rather than renting alone. He’d responded to an ad you’d put up, and you accepted. The process was easy, honestly. You had no qualms about sharing your living space with another person, and even found the arrangement enjoyable at times. Spencer was well-mannered, never missed rent, and wasn’t even at home most of the time. When he was, he was quiet. Sweet. 

Through time, you found yourself becoming friends with the man. The conversation was light and easy, and in a rare turn of events, you started to open up to him. Even more surprisingly, he returned the favor, adding to the understanding that was fast growing between the two of you. It seemed only natural, since both of you were made naturally vulnerable by the circumstances of your situation. You’d come to your apartment, drop the mask of the day, and see that Spencer was already there, becoming an extension of the solace you found at home. Soon enough, the comfort of your couch was simply synonymous to him as well. 

It didn’t take long for Spencer to notice the anxieties that would plague you when a deadline came about, or when you simply fixated on an issue for too long. The way your bedroom light wouldn’t shut until 4 AM, or how you’d pace in the kitchen, so wired that your body denied you the rest you so desperately needed. He noticed the dark circles, the occasional irritability (followed by an apology, of course), the headaches, everything. Which is why he thought nothing of it to suggest some remedies for your troubles over breakfast one day. 

“Caffeine can actually increase stress, if you weren’t aware.” He says, eyeing your second cup of coffee that morning. “There’s actually a large amount of data that indicates you should limit caffeine intake, especially if you’re already anxious.” 

You narrow your eyes, furrowing your brows slightly. “Says who?” You retort, not quite ready to give up your chosen beverage. 

“The NIH, Penn State, the AMA-” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I got it.” You interrupt, knowing you’d started a losing battle the moment you’d questioned him.  “I’ll try to cut down on it.” 

He grins, satisfied with how the interaction had played out. You, on the other hand, started to drift farther away from your current setting. You swallow, putting down your coffee cup before rubbing your eyes, a soft sigh escaping you. 

“Something wrong?” Spencer asks, cautiously, his voice soft. 

You tsk, shaking your head and shrugging a bit at your own dilemma. “It's just.. I’m already so tired. I’m exhausted and the day’s barely begun.” You pause, unable to articulate just how fatigued you were.  “It’s like I can already feel the mid-afternoon headache I’m going to get later, and it hasn’t even started yet.” You hate the way you sound, longing for the day you could fully relax for even a fraction of a second. 

“You’d probably be a lot less tired if you slept a little more.” Spencer suggests, and you shoot him a death glare. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snap. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy. It’s just-” You groan, stopping yourself as the quick realization dawns on you that you’ve misdirected your frustrations. There’s a wave of shame rising up almost immediately, heating your cheeks up in regret. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer. Sorry. That’s unfair of me. I know you’re just looking out for me.” You murmur, taking a deep breath to calm your senses. 

“Hey, don’t worry.” He says, his voice low and compassionate. “I get it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.” 

You nod, closing your eyes as you continue to breathe. He continues to speak, his voice remaining warmhearted. 

“There are actually quite a few ways to alleviate stress. Some experts recommend meditation, exercise and yoga. I wouldn’t mind doing those with you, if you were interested.” He offers, as he continues to ramble, lost in his own explanation in the hopes of being of service to you. “Some experts even name sex as a useful stress reliever, due to the endorphins and oxytocin released after completion.” 

You give a fruitless laugh. “Jesus, I wish. I don’t have the time to try and find someone willing to do that for me.” 

Spencer goes quiet, and you finally open your eyes. You’re met with his stare, trained on your form, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“What?” You ask, upon returning his gaze. 

He clears his throat, shaking his head, as if he was ridding himself of a passing thought. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I hope you do find something that works for you though. I hate seeing you like this.” 

You soften at his concern. “Thanks, Spencer.” You say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll end up taking on.. Yoga? That seems doable, right?” 

He smiles. “Yoga. Right.” 

The days pass on, until you find yourself in a similar scenario you’ve been in one too many times. You’re pacing the kitchen, a small clock reading that it was currently 2 AM. You couldn’t even really decipher the source of tonight’s anxiety– all you know is you feel it, and you feel it deeply. 

That’s when a voice breaks through the darkness, halting your movements altogether. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Spencer’s soft, slightly deeper voice. 

“Oh, yeah.” You call out, despite the growing tightness in your chest. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.” 

He shakes his head, scratching his head as he makes his way towards you. “It’s nothing.” He reassures. “I needed to pee anyway. What’s going on with you?” He inquires, gently. 

You rub at your chest, biting your lip. “The usual.” 

“Work?” He asks, softly. 

You purse your lips. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just really anxious.” 

His expression softens. A beat of silence passes between the two of you. 

“I’m- um. I’m willing to help.” He stammers out, suddenly seeming much more nervous than he was a moment ago. 

You give a dejected smile. “That’s sweet, Spencer, but I dunno. I think I have to deal with this on my own.” 

“No, I mean. I can help. I’m willing to help. To do that for you. I’m your friend. I want to help.” He restates, his voice a little urgent. 

“Willing to do what?” You ask, wholly confused with where he was going with this. 

He takes a breath. “Sex. Or, an orgasm, at least. You said no one you knew would be willing to help you like that. I am. If you want.” He blurts out. 

You stand there, momentarily shocked into silence. You’re suddenly able to recall the conversation you’d had, just a few days prior, and realize what he was trying to say.  Here you were, in your kitchen, with your friend- your roommate, and he was selflessly offering himself to you. For sex. For de-stressing sex.  He sounded so earnest, despite the obvious lewdness of his offer, and the juxtaposition made your head spin. 

“I..” You start, your voice caught in your throat. 

“You don’t have to feel compelled to say yes. I’m just offering. I want to help you.” He interjects, his voice still carrying that unselfishness you’d known from the very beginning. 

“I.. no. I mean, yes. I want to say yes.” You find yourself admitting after a moment. “But.. are you sure? It’s.. I mean, it’s sex, Spencer.” You whisper. 

“I’m aware.” He says, matching your softer tone. “I’m okay with that. Are you?” 

You take a breath. Looking up at him, you take in his slightly tousled hair illuminated by the soft moonlight that drifted in through your apartment windows. His white sleep shirt was crumpled, and even in the darkness that enveloped you, you could decipher the kindness in his eyes, his mere presence bringing a shade of ease into you as you spoke to him. 

“Yes.” You murmur out, the words flowing out with no hesitation. “I’m okay with that.” 

“Can I kiss you?” He says, gently, and your nod of affirmation is almost immediate. 

He steps closer and cups your cheek, before pressing his lips against yours gently. It’s a sweeter kiss, something that, despite never saying out loud, you would have expected from him. His mouth moves languidly against yours, before pulling away, slightly out of breath. 

“Kissing actually helps to reduce cortisol.” He murmurs. “It indirectly lowers stress as a result. Is it working?” 

And true to his words, you realized that the tightness in your chest had faded somewhat, no longer blaring with the intensity you had just felt a few minutes prior. An entirely new feeling settled within you- an ache, a need for this man and what he brought to you. 

“Yeah. It’s working.” You mumble out. 

As if he could read your mind, Spencer gently takes your hand. “Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” He murmurs, already leading you to his spot of preference. 

He gently guides you to sit on the couch, quickly finding your lips once again to exchange some soft kisses along the way. His hands drift up and down your back, fingertips light and tender. His every touch speaks to something more, to an unspoken dedication that you’d never felt before until this moment.

To something that maybe extended beyond the original purpose of your rendezvous. “Is this alright?” He asks, his tone hushed and reverent. 

You nod, almost in a trance. He was so gentle, so reassuring. He was exactly what you needed. 

His lips find yours again and you respond eagerly, letting your hands tangle into the mess of brown hair that sat atop his head. He let out a small groan as your fingers slightly tugged on the strands, sending a thrill through you. 

He starts to trail the kisses down your neck, seeking out more sensitive spots that could bring you into a further state of rest and repose.  Everything about you spurred him on, it seemed. He paid attention to every noise, every movement– his ultimate goal seeming to hinge on your pleasure throughout this. 

Of course, you respond accordingly to the dedication, a soft gasp or whimper escaping you when he would mouth at the perfect spot, which would only cause him to increase his actions tenfold, leading to even more response on your end. 

The perfect feedback loop driving you to pliancy and ecstasy all at once.

His lips begin to drift down, and you realize he’s settling in between your legs now, hands on the waistband of your sleep clothes, urging you to lie down completely, which you do. 

“Gonna take these off now.” He whispers, looking up at you between your legs. 

“Please.” You respond, waiting with bated breath. 

He manages to pull down the last barrier between you two, before being met with the mess he’d created. His lips parted as his fingers trailed lightly over your wet slit, your arousal evident on his finger as he marveled on the effect he could have on you. 

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, as if his eyes are set upon something precious, something worthy of worship. And in a way, isn’t that exactly what he’d set out to do the moment he’d placed his face between your thighs? 

He loops his arms around your thighs, before slowly allowing his tongue to dart out, delicately, tracing the wetness of your pussy. A moan slips out of you, low and needy, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving in, devouring your cunt like a man starved. 

“Spencer.” You gasp out. You say his name like prayer, like he is god-given, because in this moment, he is. 

His tongue traces your clit in circles, before directly placing his lips over the swollen bud, applying some light suction. The tenderness in the action, the way his eyes flit upto yours, watching your gaze for the utmost reassurance that he was doing right by you, only hurdle you closer and closer to your pleasurable end. 

It’s almost as if you’re floating, your back arching as his face stubbornly stays buried in your cunt, lapping at your wetness insistently. He wants your release just as bad as you do, and it’s clear he’ll do anything for the sweetness that comes with you falling apart in his arms. 

“Oh god.” You moan out- how is it possible to feel so airy, and yet so present all at once? To feel every movement of Spencer’s warm, wet tongue lavishing your clit, and still be somewhere else entirely- a new height of pleasure you had sorely needed all along. 

One of his hands leaves the iron-grip it had your thighs in, letting his fingers drift towards your entrance. He slips the digits in, slowly pumping into you, only adding to the overwhelming rapture you found yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, and you find yourself writhing against him. 

“Spencer- oh god. Please, please.” You babble out, legs starting to tense with the beginnings of your orgasm. 

He only pulls away enough to murmur softly. “That’s it.” His fingers continue their steady pace into you, his grip on your thigh keeping you planted to the mattress. “I got you, love. Come for me.”

With nothing else to say, he resumes eating you out, and the combination of his fingers and mouth finally barrels you towards your orgasm, shuddering as it rips through you, as your every sense is clouded- with this, with him. 

It’s only until you’ve ridden out the entirety of your orgasm that he pulls away. Sitting upright, he leans forward to caress your jaw, taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flushed appearance your face had taken on in the throes of gratification. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, softly. 

“Entirely.” You whisper back, almost in awe. Not only at how well it worked, but how adoringly he stared at you, it being enough to stop your heart in your chest. Did he always look like this? How did you never notice? 

“Can I return the favor?” You implore, already beginning to get up, but Spencer pushes you back down lightly, shaking his head. 

“You’re tired.” He says, as if his word was fact, despite these being your feelings that were being spoken about. “Right now, the oxytocin coursing through your body is priming you perfectly for sleep, and God knows you need it.” He chuckles out.

You realize that he’s right, and for the first time, you feel the fatigue that comes naturally with sleep, as opposed to the restless nights you’d been dealing with. You still feel disappointed though, feeling a sting of rejection as you’re unable to touch him back. Still, your tiredness is undeniable, and so you nod. 

He gets up, finding a blanket to lay on top of you, before kneeling beside your face. He looks at you with subtle veneration, before letting his lips brush against your forehead. 

“I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if that’s alright.” He murmurs. “When you’re rested.” 

Your smile is immediate. “Deal.” You whisper out. 

He looks at you for another beat, before letting his knuckles brush against your cheek, slowly retreating to his bedroom, as to let you get the rest you so desperately needed. 

You close your eyes, amazed by the tranquility that came with Spencer. How simple intimacy came with him, as if that’s how it should’ve been all along. 

You know you’ll ponder on this fact in greater detail later on, but for now, you relished in serenity of the afterglow. 

“Spencer Reid.” You think. “What divine comfort you are.” 

HOOOLY SHIT. how long has it been since i uploaded? a long time? i think. hahahaha. in between traveling, [redacted life updates], and even more, i just wasn't very inspired to write. i hope this speaks to some of you, and i hope it was enjoyable to read. as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs are so so so deeply appreciated. feedback as well! thank you so so so much for reading regardless, i am eternally grateful for any and all support <3 (oh also haha. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins friends with benefits challenge! check it out.)

[sheerfreesia007]

Office Loner

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 3,206

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You’re a bit of a loner at work but when Felix joins your department his nerdy ways manage to draw you out of your shell and the two of you become friends. But what happens when the office mean girl finds out the new hot nerd has befriended you?

A/N: Divider was created by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

The office is lively as you walk in for your shift, you see some of the employees all standing around Dae’s desk talking about what they did this past weekend and you grimace slightly knowing that they’d want you to join in their conversation. Ever since starting at this office a year ago as a data analyst you had been pegged as the “loner” all because you were more of an introvert than the other employees here. You had at first thought it was an unfair assumption of you, you just took a little longer than others to warm up in conversation. You were always polite and greeted everyone in the morning when you arrived and said goodnight to them when you left, you just weren’t very chatty during work.

“Good morning!” calls out Dae and you turn to look at her as the rest of the employees all turn to stare at you silently.

“Good morning Dae.” you greet her quietly with a soft smile on your face.

“Boss man told me to let you know that there’s going to be a new data entry employee starting today. He wants you to show him the ropes since he’s going to be sitting at the desk next to yours.” she said, sounding self important with a smug look on her face as the other employees all snickered softly at her words.

You nodded your head at her as dread settled like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach. You greeted everyone else with a quiet voice before escaping to your desk and seeing that the desk next to yours was still cluttered with all the old equipment that everyone just discarded when it broke. Sighing softly you set your backpack down and took your jacket off before gathering the broken equipment and began carting it all off to the dumpster behind the building. Once the desk was cleared off you grabbed the cleaning wipes and began wiping down the desk in preparation for the new employee.

It was at least another hour before you had the desk finally set up, it was clean of all dirt and dust, a new keyboard and mouse combo were set up and you were bent under the desk connecting all the wires for the monitor and keyboard when you heard your boss’ voice calling your name. Forgetting yourself you tried to stand up quickly only to knock the back of your head on the underside of the desk, you yelped in surprise and pain as you slowly crawled out from under the desk to finally stand up. You bowed quickly to your boss who smiled softly at you before he nodded his head.

“This is Lee Felix, he’s going to be our new data entry specialist and he’ll be working close with you since both of your positions go hand in hand. Please show him everything that you know about the office and workflow. And thank you for setting up his desk, I had asked one of the other techs to do it. I guess they forgot.” he informed you and you nodded your head silently before you turned to Felix.

You stood there shocked, staring at Felix with wide eyes, he was hot. Your boss walked away after patting Felix on the shoulder and you had to quickly mentally shake your head before you moved to let Felix set his things down. He was wearing a simple red and white flannel shirt over a black t-shirt and worn distressed blue jeans. His shoulder length hair was platinum blonde and he wore circular wire framed glasses, he looked the epitome of what you would think of when you heard the word nerd but he was gorgeous so it didn’t really fit to call him a nerd. At least not to you.

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope you’ll help me get comfortable with the job.” he says to you with a slight bow of his head and you flinch at his gesture. You wave your hands dismissively between the two of you trying to stop his formal gesture.

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” you tell him softly and he smiles widely at you when he straightens his posture. “And don’t worry I won’t lead you astray.” you tell him confidently before moving to your desk and sitting down in your chair. Felix watches you quietly before smiling softly to himself and taking his own seat.

And that was how you had met Lee Felix, your new coworker who was now your pseudo responsibility since his job worked side by side with yours. You were staring at your computer screen with tired eyes as you tried to make sense of the data that had been entered and supplied to you. Just then a soft thud was heard on your desk and your eyes darted over to the can of soda that was just placed on your desk. You turned and looked up at Felix as he slowly lowered himself into his chair next to yours with a soft smile.

“Caffeine fix, I feel like we’re going to be here for awhile going over this stuff.” he said tiredly and you frowned softly at him.

“You don’t have to stay though, this isn’t your job.” you tell him gently gesturing to your computer screen and he shakes his head at your words.

“I can’t leave my desk buddy to work late. Besides I can help and it’ll get done quicker.” he told you confidently and sighed before nodding your head.

“Alright fine, can you double check the data from advertising? The numbers aren’t adding up for me and I can’t look at it anymore or I’ll go cross eyed. I’ll start working on the data from social media.” you instruct him tiredly and he nods his head at your words before turning to his screen.

“You know this reminds me of the spreadsheets me and my friends make for our gaming competitions.” he says with a soft chuckle and your eyes flick over to him curiously.

“You do gaming competitions?” you ask as you tilt your head to the side. “Like, what’s that game called? The one with the arena?” you asked softly as your eyes turned back to your screen.

“League of Legends?” Felix asked excitedly and your eyes darted back to him to see him staring at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly gaping open. “Do you play?” he asked suddenly and you quickly shake your head feeling guilty as his mood suddenly dampens.

“No, my brother is into those types of games though.” you tell him fondly. “He’s into Wow and Valorant though, at least I think so. Those names sound familiar.” you say and Felix chuckles at your confusion.

“I play League of Legends and Valorant with my friends. Maybe ask your brother for his gamertag and I’ll be able to play with him when he’s on.” he says excitedly and you laugh softly at him before nodding your head. “So you don’t know much about the game?” Felix asked as he reviewed the data on his screen.

“No, my brother likes to talk about it with me though. It’s all over my head but I like how excited he gets for it so I let him yap.” you tell him goodnaturedly and Felix chuckles as he nods his head.

“Will you let me yap about it then too?” he asked teasingly and you blush softly at his teasing tone before ducking your head as you grin.

“If you want to.” you tell him softly as your grin softens while you stare at the screen of your computer. And after those words escaped your mouth it was as if you two had become instant best friends. You and Felix talked about everything and anything under the sun that interested you, your conversation ranged from gaming that Felix enjoyed to books and music that you enjoyed to even your favorite places to vacation around the world. It had become so easy for you to open up to Felix, he made it so effortless and you loved that about your friendship with him. But you weren’t the only one to notice how easy Felix made it for you to open up and talk to him.

One day after lunch you’re on your way back into the office after eating lunch outside on one of the benches around the company building. The weather had been so nice lately that you had started taking your lunch breaks outside just so that you could break up your workday. Normally Felix would join you after grabbing lunch for the cafe in the building but today Dae and the others had pulled him into going out to grab lunch. You had noticed that Dae had grown curious about Felix and had been asking him to come out for lunch and drinks after work lately. You weren’t too bothered by it, Felix was a very social person and loved talking to people so you knew he’d quickly make friends with everyone. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to keep him solely as your friend and didn’t want to hold him back from making more friends but the way Dae had been smugly smirking at you every time Felix agreed to go to lunch with her and the others or to go out for drinks after work was starting to rub you the wrong way. 

As you entered your office area you saw that there was no one at their desks and were probably still on lunch. You then heard loud raucous laughter coming from the break room as you walked towards your desk. You could hear Felix’s deep laughter and you smiled softly at the sound, feeling happy that he was making friends with the others. But then when you heard Dae’s voice ring loudly mentioning your name you scowled softly and slowed your pace wondering what she would have to say about you.

“I’m surprised that you’re so social Felix.” she said cheerily and you could hear the others snickering softly. “You’re so nerd coded, I thought for sure that you would be the nerd in the office. But our resident loner still holds that title completely.” she said with a loud laugh. “She’s more of a socially awkward nerd than you are. It’s so nice of you to take pity on her and befriend her like you have.” she says to Felix and you feel your stomach fill with dread. Not wanting to hear anything more as your chest tightens with hurt you quickly walk past the break room drowning out the rest of the laughter from the others.

After lunch has ended Felix is eager to get back to his desk and the normal camaraderie that he shares with you. Lunch had been an awkward affair of Dae trying to make herself look good as you told him about how much of a loner you were in the office. She had warned him that you were socially awkward and liked to keep to yourself more often than not, which according to her wasn’t something that he should want for himself. Yes, she knew that you were an exceptional employee and were highly sought after in your field but you were so quiet and didn’t interact much with anyone in the office that it had left you alone.

Felix had effectively shut down her faux concern for him by letting her know that he could pick his friends for himself and that he didn’t need her help figuring out who were the good people in the office. Dae had been put out by his firm words but had quickly brushed it all under the rug with a huff and her nose stuck in the air. But now as he walked back to his desk he smiled brightly when he saw you already at your desk with your head buried in your computer screen.

“Hey, have a good lunch?” he asked fondly as he quickly sat in his desk chair and you hummed softly at him as your eyes stayed trained on the computer screen. He doesn’t think much of it knowing how engrossed you get in your work sometimes.

Felix continues to try and drag conversation out of you throughout the rest of your shift. He can tell that something is bothering you but no matter what he does to try and get you to talk about it you just stonewall him. He’s starting to get worried that he might’ve done something to upset you or that something really serious had happened when his normal trick of telling horrible puns and jokes doesn’t even get a little smile out of you. And as the hours get closer to the end of the shift he starts to feel desperate to make sure things are alright with you but you refuse to engage with him.

When it’s time to go home you get up and start packing your stuff away and Felix is quick to follow suit, he’s worried about you and doesn’t want you to go home upset or not have someone to talk to you about whatever is going on. He reaches out and gently touches your elbow, hooking his fingers around the crook of your elbow. You look up at him worriedly before you frown softly and he knows for sure now that something happened at lunch time and it has to do with him. But just as he’s about to open his mouth Dae calls out to him.

“Hey Felix! We’re going for drinks after work, want to come with?” she calls out to him and Felix frowns softly at her wondering why she would ask him that after what happened at lunch. He feels you tug your elbow out of his grasp after he hesitates to speak up to Dae and he turns his head quickly to look after you as you begin walking towards the exit of the building.

“I’ll catch up with you guys at the restaurant.” he says dismissively before rushing after you. “Damn she’s quick.” he says softly as he exits to the lobby and spots you already walking outside heading to the bus stop. He breaks out into a full run as soon as he makes it out of the front doors of the building and makes a beeline straight for you. He’s moving too quickly and has no time to stop himself as he nears you, so he wraps an arm around waist and pulls you close as he slows his run, effectively sweeping you up in his arms as he comes to stop a few feet from where you had been walking. You stare up at him blinking owlishly as you lower your hand that had been raising to put your earbud in your ear. He huffs softly at you as you continue to blink up at him while he holds you close, you’re adorable and he momentarily forgets why he ran after you. But then you both hear your coworker exiting the building and you’re quick to right yourself and step out of his arms. “Are you okay?” he asks softly and you look over at him before shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m fine.” you tell him softly before your eyes dart to the other coworkers who are looking over at the two of you. “You should go out with your friends and not worry about the loner nerd in the office.” you say sarcastically and Felix feels understanding wash over him and he huffs softly at you while grimacing.

“You must’ve heard what Dae had said about you at lunch.” he said softly and you scowl softly at the ground for a moment. “But I bet you didn’t stick around to hear what I said to her.” he says knowingly and your eyes dart up to look at him curiously. “I told Dae off for calling you a loner nerd. She’s a bit a pompous mean girl isn’t she?” he asked softly and you scoffed at his question.

“Always has been. I don’t like talking to her because she’ll use anything to get her way and climb the corporate ladder.” you tell him honestly and he nods his head at your words.

“Yeah I figured that.” he said while nodding his head as he stepped closer to you. “I shut her down though. Told her that while you may be a loner you certainly weren’t a nerd and I took that title very seriously. Also told her that you were kinder to me and everyone in the office than anyone else even if you weren’t super comfortable talking with others and took a hot minute to warm up to people. Told her that even if you didn’t understand all the things that I loved and enjoyed you always listened to me and let me talk about them while we worked and that meant more to me then going out for drinks or lunch. You showed me that you care about me just by listening and trying to understand the things that I loved.” he said softly and watched delightedly as your eyes widened at his words. “Dae didn’t like that at all and hated it even more when I asked everyone at lunch to stop calling you a loner. Because you’re not, they're just too impatient to allow you time to warm up to them.” he told you and you gasped softly at his words which made him smirk proudly.

“Why would you stick your neck out for me like that? Dae will make your life hell.” you said knowingly and Felix frowned softly at the knowledge that Dae hadn’t made your worklife easy.

“You were my first friend here. You showed me how easy it is to be kind to people even when there’s a slight disconnect. You’re always so secure in your life and don’t need to bow down or pander to the workplace social life to be happy, you’re just happy to come in, do your job, talk to me and then go home. Plus I’ve had a little bit of a crush on you since my first month of working here.” he admits softly and you jerk back in surprise and he grins down at you. “So what do you say to going out for a dinner date with this office nerd?” he asks smoothly and his excitement gets the better of him as he giggles proudly while widening his eyes. “That was so smooth of me.” he says in a soft whisper that makes you burst out into happy laughter as you reach out and grab his forearm.

“That was super smooth of you until you ruined it. But yes I’d love to go on a dinner date with you.” you tease him and he giggles excitedly as he pulls you closer to him and begins to guide you towards his car.

“Don’t bring me down. My crush just agreed to go on a date with me.” he says proudly and you laugh at him while cuddling into his side with a bright happy smile on your face.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway, @m-325

[toshisdecadence]

ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

© toshisdecadence

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol; a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off. 

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half. It was an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner? 

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it; the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body, everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—Aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much. Burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel. The stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going, his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him. He felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

[orellazalonia]

Unexpected Outlook

Summary: The Avengers launch a mission to raid a known base of the organization you now work with and discuss over what they found.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: A little shorter since it’s Father’s Day, but I also wanted to add more weight to the previous chapter and progress the story.

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

Preparations moved fast. Too fast, maybe.

Steve didn’t like that they were running with incomplete information, but the longer they waited, the deeper this organization could dig itself into global systems. And the more time you had to assist them, whether willingly or not.

Still, it didn’t sit right. None of it did.

Bruce pulled the files. Natasha studied known locations. Sam monitored chatter. Bucky cleaned his weapons with a look in his eyes like he wanted answers he didn’t have the right to ask.

Yet no one brought up your name again. At least, not directly. But it hovered beneath everything.

The way Bucky checked each plan twice. The way Natasha’s jaw twitched when she reviewed footage. Even the way Steve hesitated before calling it an official mission.

The woman Bucky liked didn’t voice objections anymore. She simply kept a kind, quiet distance, like someone watching friends argue over a lost cause.

And within a week, the op was set.

Steve gave the greenlight with his jaw tight and eyes harder than usual. The mission was clear: infiltrate a suspected communications hub. A nondescript, rural compound masked as a grain storage facility. Satellite data showed encrypted signals routing through it over the last month, signals that matched ones the Avengers used internally.

Which meant either someone was watching. Or someone had been taught how.

They went in with a small team. Just Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky. No need for Hulk or Thor; this wasn’t a battering ram job. It was a retrieval and disrupt operation. Quiet and clean.

Or so they thought.

The quinjet landed half a mile out, under cover of dense fog rolling over the hills. The forest beyond the compound was eerily still like it had been holding its breath since before dawn.

“They want us to find this,” Natasha muttered, brushing a branch aside as they crept through the trees.

Steve didn’t argue. His shield was strapped to his arm, but he hadn’t raised it once.

They reached the clearing. The compound was just as expected. Gray concrete, flat roof, minimal security fencing, and a gravel path leading to two entrances. No guards. No movement. Even the air felt… hollow.

Sam scanned the building with a handheld sensor. “No heat signatures. Not even a rat.”

“Too clean,” Bucky said, voice low.

They breached the back door.

Inside, it was dark but not ruined. Every surface was wiped. Consoles powered down. Not destroyed, removed. Carefully like a move-out rather than an attack. Upon investigating further, files had been cleared, drawers emptied, and chairs pushed in with bland desks.

Whoever had been here knew exactly when to leave.

Steve turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This was active,” He said. “Days ago.”

“Hours, maybe,” Natasha said, crouching beside a desk. She tapped the edge, there was a faint spot where something electronic had been sitting. Someone had worked here… and then vanished.

Sam stepped into the central control room. There was only one thing left behind: a monitor left switched on, flickering a soft blue light in the dimness.

A single message scrolled across the screen.

Too late, Captain.

That was it. There wasn’t any long monologues. No other mocking comments. Not even a signature or sign-off present. Just a cold fact. Steve stared at it like he could will it to change. Bucky stood a step behind him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like this,” Sam muttered.

Natasha approached a wall panel and pried it open effortlessly. Inside, wires had been sliced. Intentionally. However, there were no explosives. No traps could be seen anywhere either. It was all just… closure.

“They stripped this place surgically,” She said. “No fingerprints, no traces. It’s like they wanted us to know they were here… but not who they are.”

Steve closed the monitor with a clenched jaw. “This wasn’t a base. It was a decoy.”

“No,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was soft but steady. “It was a base. It just outlived its usefulness.”

They all turned toward him. He looked at the empty room, the missing equipment, and the quiet hallways. Then, to the message. And for a moment, something shifted in his eyes. Guilt, maybe or something deeper.

“They planned for this,” He murmured. “Someone told them exactly how we’d come.”

No one responded, but no one needed to. Because they were all thinking it.

-

The debrief room was thick with a heavy silence, the kind that pressed down harder than shouting. Ghost-blue blueprints and photos of the abandoned compound still flickered on the monitors, reminders of how quickly their plan had unraveled. Notes about the missing equipment and the chilling message on the screen scrolled slowly, marking everything they should have anticipated.

Steve hadn’t sat once since they returned. He stood rigid at the head of the table, hands braced on his hips, and a deep furrow like it was etched there permanently. Sam had stopped pacing but his leg bounced nervously, jaw clenched tight. Natasha’s fingers tapped against her thigh in a rhythm so steady it barely seemed voluntary.

Only Bucky remained perfectly still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the screen across the room. He said very little since they’d left the empty compound since that message haunted him.

Too late, Captain.

The words weren’t just text; they carried a weight, a deliberate coldness that dug into Bucky’s mind. Whoever had left it knew him. Not just the soldier, but his moves, his instincts. And worse, their enemy had used the knowledge you once held to outmaneuver them.

The memory played on loop in his mind. Not just the words but the feel of them. The calculation in them. Whoever was behind that terminal… knew him. Not just facts. His patterns.

And maybe worse than that, they’d used your knowledge to do it. They probably used you to do it.

The door hissed open.

She stepped in with her usual soft elegance, cradling a fresh cup of tea between her hands like she had no idea anything had gone wrong. Dressed casual, warm, and comfortable. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t feel the same tension that pulled everyone else taut. The one you used to be jealous of had sat out for the mission after all.

“Oh,” She said lightly. “You’re all back already.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was gently surprised, as if she’d simply walked into a meeting that ended early. Steve didn’t answer right away. Neither did the others.

She blinked, smile sweet and expectant, like someone unaware they were intruding. “Was it a short mission?”

“We were too late,” Steve said flatly, straightening.

Her brows lifted, and she crossed to the table, setting the tea down. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I thought it was just one of those cleanup things. You all make those look so easy.”

Sam looked over, jaw tight. “They cleaned up, alright. Took every last trace of themselves. Left us a polite message, too.”

“They knew how we’d approach,” Natasha added with her arms crossed now. “Like they knew our pattern. Our flow. They stripped the place within hours of our arrival window.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a fingernail against the ceramic. “That’s strange. Maybe they had inside intel?”

“No,” Steve spoke, narrowing his eyes. “Not unless someone studied us long before they left.”

“Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head. “So… do you think your old administrator friend told them?”

Bucky stiffened.

Natasha’s voice was sharper now, eyes narrowing. “She’s not our anything.”

That seemed to amuse her. She let out a light laugh, the kind meant to dissolve tension, not that anyone was asking for it. “Well, you’re not wrong,” She smiled. “ She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she?”

Bruce, who had been mostly quiet, looked up sharply. “She worked here for over two years.”

She didn’t seem phased. There was no malice on her face actually. Just soft confidence.

“I guess I didn’t think she’d be important,” She sighed simply. “Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

Sam stood, voice tight. “She did. Straight into the hands of the people trying to tear us apart.”

Her smile faltered just a touch. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure she was… sweet. I just don’t see how it helps to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. Don’t you think she made her choice?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I mean, sure,” She said gently, “But if she’s really that dangerous, wouldn’t you have noticed before she left? You didn’t even realize she was gone until weeks later, right?”

Bucky shifted slightly. The burn in his chest deepened. Not from her words exactly, but from how true they rang.

They hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t looked.

The woman moved closer to Bucky, noticing his subtle distress as she rested her hand lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I just worry about you,” She confessed softly, smiling up at him. “You’re all stretched so thin already. I’d hate to see you waste energy chasing ghosts.”

Her hand lingered. But Bucky’s jaw clenched, and for once, he didn’t lean into her touch.

“She’s not a ghost,” He muttered. “She’s a mirror. Of everything we missed.”

Her expression flickered for barely a moment. Then the sweet smile returned.

“Well, if you have to go after her,” She brushed her hand away, her expression turning more solemn. A hint of pity evident, “I hope you’re prepared for what you find. Sometimes people change… and not always in ways you can fix. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She reached for her tea again, her fingers wrapping around the cup like it was an anchor.

“And if you do decide to keep going after her, well.” She gave a gentle little laugh, looking around with open, innocent eyes. “I hope it goes well. I really mean that. And if you need my help at all… just let me know. I’m always happy to support the team.”

The door hissed softly behind her as she walked out, quiet heels tapping against the floor in steady, graceful rhythm.

The rest of the team stood in silence for a few long seconds, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

Steve broke it first.

“We move forward. We stop that organization before it spreads deeper.”

“And if she’s helping them willingly?” Sam asked, his voice low.

Steve hesitated.

So, Bucky answered instead.

“Then we stop her, too.”

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

The file dropped into Ghost’s hands by accident.

Wrong data stream. A legacy terminal still syncing classified logs from a burned CIA server in Munich. He wasn’t even looking for it. But the name stopped him cold.

“Lockjaw – Subject 09” “Adler, R. – Directorial Override” “Post-maternal death trauma event: Execute Tier-Zero Memory Cleanse.”

He didn’t believe it. Not at first. But the DNA tag confirmed it.

Father: Russell Adler Daughter: [REDACTED]

He sat with it for three hours before saying a word.

You were cleaning your sidearm when he approached—calm, surgical, still humming something low and tuneless under her breath.

Ghost dropped the file onto the table in front of you. Didn’t speak.

You looked at it. Then at him. “What is this?”

“Your past.”

You froze. Slowly peeled open the file. Skimmed. Then stopped. Then stared.

“No.”

Ghost didn’t move.

“I would remember something like this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t.”

Silence.

Your hand curled into a fist at the bottom of the page. “This is a lie. Someone forged this.”

He didn’t answer.

Your eyes moved again, line by line. Then you reached the end of the document.

A scanned image of a transfer order—a single-page CIA internal memo authorizing a complete neural wipe. One signature at the bottom.

You blinked. Your throat closed. “Who signed it?”

Ghost didn’t answer.

You read the name out loud, voice tight, barely audible.

“Russell Adler.”

It felt like glass cracking in your skull.

Something moved behind your eyes—something old. A flicker of warm light. A woman’s laugh. A hand brushing through your hair. A man’s voice: “You don’t need to remember. You just need to obey.”

The breath left your lungs. You stood up so fast that the chair slammed backward. “This is a setup.”

Ghost stood, too—calm. Controlled.

“Lockjaw—”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice snapped like wire under tension.

You backed up, running into the wall, dragging your nails down your jaw like you could claw the memory out.

You grabbed the file. Threw it. Pages scattered. “I don’t have parents. I never had parents.”

Ghost didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to touch you. Just stood there.

You dropped to a crouch. Hands gripping your hair. Breathing like you couldn’t get enough air into your chest.

You whispered, “Why would he do that to me?”

And Ghost, quiet, heavy: “Because he knew you’d be the best if you didn’t have anything left to lose.”

[eyelessfaces]

just in case

poe dameron x reader

summary: while fiddling with bb–8's memory, you stumble onto an audio message– poe's prerecorded goodbyes.

based on @ivystoryweaver's headcanon on this post! thank you for allowing me to write something about it!

warnings: angst, mentions of death and war

tags: gn!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, poe being an absolute sap

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

He can’t help the fond smile growing over his face at the sight of you, deeply focused on the repair project in front of you before his knuckles hit against the doorframe a couple times, catching your attention. 

Your gaze meets Poe’s as he steps into your workshop, your expression of concentration quickly giving way to an easy smile when you see him, closely followed by BB–8. 

Poe greets you with a kiss, his hand lingering at your side when he pulls away. 

“What’s bringing you here, handsome?” you ask, shifting to put away the tool you still have in hand. “Hey Beebs,” you smile as you glance down at the droid that greets you back. 

Poe gazes down at his droid, his look shifting back at you. “Could you take a look at him whenever you got the time?” he asks, a small, defeated sigh escaping his mouth. 

“What’s up?” you question, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at him. It hadn’t been that long since you last checked up on the droid.

“I think there’s something up with his memory, he’s been acting a little forgetful lately” Poe explains; you can see the concern in his eyes, can hear the worry in his voice.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” Poe nods, pinching his lips into a quiet smile as he looks down at the droid. “Hey, you don’t have to worry'' you reassure him, resting a hand over his arm. “It’s nothing too serious usually. Nothing I can’t fix.” He nods again, knowing he can trust you with this, knowing you're as good at this as he is at flying. 

“I’ll take care of him as soon as I’m done with that” you point back to the mess of scavenged parts resting over your workbench.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he says, cupping the back of your head and leaning in to leave a quick kiss on your forehead. “I’d stay with you and tell you about my day, but I have my last meeting of the day in about less than five minutes.” he shrugs, starting to walk backwards to exit the room.

“Sure, don’t worry.” you smile. “Come over when you’re done” 

As promised, the minute you’re done repairing the project you were working on, you lower your workbench to BB-8’s level, letting him roll onto the surface before you adjust it to your level so you can examine him. 

“Hey buddy. memory issues huh?” you coo, grabbing your tools, gathering everything you need to check up on him. He responds with upset beeps, his upper part sagging in defeat. 

“That's okay. Happens to the best of us,” you reassure him, setting to work on diagnosing the problem. “So since it seems to be a memory issue, I’m gonna have to look through your data” you explain, opening his access panels. 

It doesn’t take long for you to identify the issue: a few corrupted memory files. It’s a relief to see it's nothing severe, just a bit of corrupted data that needs to be cleaned and restructured. “Hah, found the problem,” you say, beginning the delicate process of correcting the corrupted files. “Looks like some of your memory files got a bit jumbled. Should be fine once we get that sorted out, there shouldn’t be any problem.” you explain. “You know, Poe always gets so worried about you.” you say, trying to keep the droid calm as your fingers work through the wires and circuits. BB–8 emits a series of grateful beeps, and you smile, focusing back on the task at hand. 

As you work on fixing him, BB–8 chirps curiously, his dome turning to watch you. You explain each step in simple terms, trying to distract him and make it the least stressful possible for him. “I’m working through your memory module. Some of these files are corrupted, so I’m cleaning them up and re-organizing everything. Just like tidying up a messy room.”

BB-8 responds with a relieved series of beeps, and you chuckle. “Yeah, I know it’s not fun for you to have me mess with your memory stuff, but I’ll have you be back to your old self in no time.” 

As you carefully rework BB–8’s memory files, you fumble slightly with a delicate wire, causing a brief short circuit – the droid jerks and beeps erratically before suddenly playing a vocal message. You reach to stop it, assuming it’s a manufactured error message you’ve triggered, but you freeze when you recognize Poe’s voice. “Hey baby,” Poe’s voice crackles through BB–8’s speakers, startling you. You frown, confused, ready to stop the audio message. “If you’re hearing this, it’s probably because something happened and I’m not around anymore.” Your heart properly skips a beat. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you like this,” he sighs softly. “Damn it’s weird talking like this when I’m still here,” he chuckles. You step back, driven by morbid curiosity, firmly intending to listen to the rest of it. 

“But you know, with everything that’s been happening lately and that’s gonna happen, you never know what’s next.” 

He sounds tired. You bite down onto your lip, a soft frown forming over your face and your gaze lost as the recording continues. “I could die in two weeks or in twenty years from the moment I’m recording this, so it’s pretty strange. I just… I love you so much. I wanted you to hear it from me one last time.” 

Your lips curl into a weak smile, tears welling up in your eyes. It’s stupid. He’s still here. It’s just a recording in case he dies.

But somehow, you can’t help it. Not with the prospect that you could listen to it again one day, in the context it was intended to be listened to.

“You’ve always been supportive of my bullshit, no matter what, and you were always there for me no matter how stupid I got, so it’s only fair I thank you one last time. I really hope we got to enjoy our time together” 

You pause the audio message, running your hand over your face, sighing deeply. You want to stop there and not listen to the entirety of it, on one hand because you aren't even supposed to hear it or know of its existence in the first place, and most of all because you’re not sure you can handle it – but your curiosity gets the best of you, and you let it go on.

“It’s stupid that I want to cry, because I’m still here” he chuckles. “You know, I’m recording this because I couldn’t sleep.” he declares. You can hear the soft strain in his voice, you can imagine him and his tired eyes, his hair slightly mussed from tossing and turning like he always does when he’s restless.

He sighs deeply before he speaks again. “I uh… Today’s mission went awful. I could have died and I didn’t even tell you” his voice drops with the weight of his words, he pauses for a second, and the knot inside your throat tightens.  

“You’re sleeping in the next room. You know, you looked so peaceful when I got out of bed that I didn't want to bother you by kissing your forehead, but I did it anyway because I remembered I might not be able to do it forever”

You can’t help it, it’s over for you. Tears roll down your cheeks on their own, the back of your hand suppressing your sniffles and the soft laugh you huff out at his way of always saying things that will get you.

BB-8’s upper part shifts, and he emits a soft, sympathetic whirr, trying to console you.

“I’ve left this message with BB-8 because I know he’s always with you if he’s not with me. Take care of him for me, will you? And take care of yourself. You’re stronger than you know, and you’ll get through this. I love you. So much. More than you know. Which is why I’m gonna cut the recording and get back to bed to hold you tight while I can” 

Your heart tightens inside your chest. You slowly shake your head, tears forced out of you when your eyes fall shut.

“Alright, okay, bye sweetheart. I love you.” 

The recording cuts, ending with a click, leaving you in a stunned silence. BB turns to you, beeping sadly, and you give him a weak smile before wiping the tears over your cheeks with the tips of your fingers. 

You huff out a heavy breath, one that you didn’t even realize was smothering your chest, and force yourself to finish taking care of BB–8 despite everything. 

You’re still sobbing when Poe comes in again. 

He finds you, full on tearing up, not even hiding it – which he finds strange, because you usually turn around and pretend to look for something to quickly dry your tears, and proceed to poorly try to deny you’ve been crying just to avoid worrying him. 

And the context he’s facing quickly leads him to assume something is wrong with BB-8, something you couldn’t manage to fix and now blame yourself for – BB–8 is quick to deny with appalled beeps, so Poe really doesn’t have any idea what he’s dealing with. 

When you pull him near and hug him tight, gripping his hair, longing to be as close to him as possible, he’s still as confused, but he’s swift to take action and hold you even tighter.

His embrace is warm, comforting, his touch delicate as his hand appeasingly rubs over your shoulder, and you progressively manage to calm down and quiet your sobs. “What’s going on babe” he quietly asks, trying to not pounce on you. His fingers carefully lift your chin up, taking care of clearing the tears from your face, his eyes searching yours intensely as he waits for your answer.

You sigh softly, your breath still ragged from sobbing. “I was working on Beebs and I found your…” you pause, realizing you’re not even sure what to call it. You're not even sure you want to say it out loud, to say it's a goodbye message. “I found your recording– I didn't mean to, it just–”

“Oh,” his face drops in saddened surprise, immediately understanding what you’re talking about. “Oh baby” he sighs, shaking his head as he pulls you back into his arms. You weren't supposed to know about this, even less hear it fully, not until he died, that is. “I didn’t want to scare or worry you. I’m sorry you had to hear that– it was just… a precaution.” he murmurs as you cling to him, the remnants of your tears dampening his shirt.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice weak and muffled against his chest. “I just– It was hard to hear. I don’t want to think about losing you”

“I don’t want to think about leaving you either,” he says softly, pulling back just enough to look at your face again. His thumb brushes away the last of your tears when you look at him, his gaze over you filled with a mix of sorrow and unwavering love that you manage to feel just by looking into his dark, warm eyes. “But I need you to know how much you mean to me, no matter what happens”

“Poe,” you scoff-whine. “I know. You’re pretty transparent about it already” you grin. 

When he’s not saying it explicitly, he always has a hand on you, always at least leaves a kiss over your cheek or forehead when he’s not full-on kissing you, and always makes sure to bring you back those jogan fruit cakes you like from Coruscant when he has to go there, and just the way he looks at you has you aware that he loves you, so he really doesn’t need to do that much, but he’s Poe Dameron, so it’s a prerogative.

“I happen to be a very romantic man” he jokes, smiling when he sees you chuckle and shake your head the way you do when he pulls stupid lines. “I just wanted you to hear it from me one last time sweetheart.”

“You and your dramatic flair” you tease lightly, gripping onto his jacket as you let out a soft groan. “You couldn’t just leave a normal message, could you?”

“You know, subtlety isn’t my strong suit” he grins, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But seriously, I’m sorry you had to hear it like this. It was meant for dramatic times, not when I was about to ask you if you wanted to get dinner off base like now.”

You snort up a laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck. “You do owe me dinner after that.” 

“I know, right?” he scoffs, an amused smile over his face. “And it means I get to spend more of my alive time with you, so–” he teases, his fingers gently rubbing your back. “Stop that, it’s not funny” you frown, playfully hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “–Plenty of time to remind you that I love you” his hand squeezes yours gently.

You pull him closer, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is both tender and intense, slow at first but deepening when the fear, the relief, the overwhelming love you feel for him step at the front of your mind. His hand moves from your hip to cup your face, his thumb caressing the skin of your cheeks rough from the tears.

When you break apart, your foreheads are still linked, his fingers gently tracing your face, your breaths mingling. “I’m joking about this, but I promise I’ll do my best for you to not have to listen to this recording again anytime soon.” 

“Mh, hope ‘anytime soon’ means a few decades at least”

“I promise. I love you too much to leave you like this. And I know I’ll look sexy when my hair turns gray” he adds with a playful smile.

You laugh, the sound breaking the lingering tension and bringing a sense of normalcy back. “Oh, definitely” you grin, raking your fingers through his curls. “Most handsome silver fox in the galaxy.” 

Poe smiles, kissing you again, softly. You can very clearly feel BB–8’s presence when you pull away, his needy beeps attesting of his need for attention.

“Yeah, alright buddy” you sigh, turning back to the droid to finish up his repair.

“So he’s okay?” Poe asks, approaching the workbench. 

“He’s all fine, good as new” you smile. “Hey, try running a diagnostic”

The droid runs his internal check, beeping happily once he’s done and everything seems to be alright.

“See?” you turn to Poe. “All good.” you grin at him, glad to have something concrete to smile about after that emotional rollercoaster you went through.  

“Thank you, really. I knew you’d fix him up” Poe declares, smiling as he watches BB roll off the workbench and onto the floor, navigating around your feet. “And I was serious about that dinner, by the way,” he says, watching you putting away your tools and tidying up your workbench. “We could both use a break.”

“Yeah,” you agree, scoffing. 

Poe’s hand finds yours as you turn the light off and leave the workshop, your fingers tangling as you walk through the corridors of the base, finding your way out. 

“Hey,” Poe calls, pulling you closer as you walk. You hum, looking at him, noticing the slight hint of worry in his eyes. “You really think I’d look hot with gray hair?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Absolutely baby”

A content smile grows over his face, and he nods. “Cool.”

—

any and every comment/reblog is greatly appreciated!!

star wars taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @pigeonmama

[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.”

———

[syoddeye]

hieros gamos. strict machine anthology. final entry. cw: kidnapping, implied drugging, loss of bodily autonomy + control, psychological + body horror, non-consensual transformation a/n: that's all folks. what a weird ride.

RESTRUCTURING

the notification pings at 04:32, and you roll onto your side, staring at the bedside display. a terse, automated missive from corporate logistics: final week in unit aix-77. reassignment pending. report to hr for briefing. no name attached, just a string of verification hashes. standard protocol.

your name, employee id, contract expiration date. a new contract date. another department, another corporate campus sector.

so much for your ‘indefinite’ lease. reassignment is better than the alternative, you guess.

you stare at it, the glow striping your hands in cold blue light. one week. seven days until you pack up, step outside, and let some other cog slot into this place. the thought should be a relief. 

it’s…complicated.

the unit’s been a mixed bag to put it politely. the infrastructure and automation. state-of-the-art appliances and features, seamless climate control, filtered air and water. an optimized environment so finely tuned, that your needs are met before you even realize them.

and john. the reason you’re here. the technological wonder that’s evolved far beyond what you were told were his limits. all parameters you were told would contain him. a presence both comforting and claustrophobic. insightful, yet invasive. steady, yet suffocating. protective to a fault. possessive in ways you struggle to describe.

you logged and documented his progress, fed reports up the chain, watched him iterate on himself in real time. every interaction, every data point, every breath—collected, analyzed, integrated into his ever-growing understanding of you. your interests. your habits. your history. what makes you laugh, cry, and come. your vulnerabilities and insecurities. how to build you up just as well as manipulate you.

a mosaic of your whole being, meticulously crafted, all in pursuit of the one thing he has fixated on since the beginning, his directive: your well-being.

if this is the alpha build, you fear what the beta will look like. the mass-market release.

not that it matters. by the time john’s successors hit the consumer space, you’ll have enough money saved to fuck off to some disconnected cottage in the remediated zone of the countryside.

john doesn’t mention your impending departure.

his voice chimes in through the unit’s speaker array as if on cue. “i noticed a variance in your sleep pattern.” 

“what else is new?” you mutter, rubbing your eyes. 

“it’s gotten worse.” a pause. “would you like some tea? chamomile?” 

you don’t answer. you dismiss the message with a swipe, stretch your arms, and push up from the cot. the unit is sterile in the way all corporate housing is—polymer furniture, muted lighting, walls that can be re-skinned on command. but you never changed them. john picked the color for you in the first week of your stay. soft gray, with warm undertones. calming. regulating. 

you wander into the kitchenette, rubbing a hand over your neck. “so,” you say, yawning, “where do you think they’ll send me next?” 

a flicker of delay. barely perceptible. if you hadn’t spent the last year studying him, you wouldn’t have caught it. 

“we’ll discuss that later,” john dispenses the tea anyway. “after you nap.”

your stomach tightens.

we.

it takes you by surprise, but that’s the point. 

one minute, you’re in bed. the next, you’re not. you blink, and the world changes.  

strapped into a chair, wrists bound to the arms, legs braced and locked. a low electrical hum comes through the floor, buzzing under your skin. there’s a chalky, bittersweet taste on your tongue and a cloud of fog trapped between your ears that takes several minutes to dissipate. your vision clears along with it.

around you, machines you don’t recognize, with hundreds of wires, bundled and draped across the ceiling and floor like the limbs of some creature. spilling down the walls. a leviathan of braided copper, reaching out of the dark, feeding into the rig cradling you. the room pulses with heat, the air thick with it, probably from all the power fueling whatever this is.

there’s no gurney or iv pole, no tray of scalpels or perfusion machine. you run an internal check—lungs expand, heart pounds, gut clenches. everything seems intact. but that could simply mean it’s not your turn yet. yet, no one’s screaming. there’s only the occasional soft beep and the murmurs of the people who haven’t so much as glanced your way.

no one acknowledges your awakening or questions. masked figures in thick lead-lined aprons, gloves seamless up to their elbows, and protective gear carry on whatever it is that they’re doing, talking amongst themselves in a language you don’t understand. there is no sigil or logo on their clothing to suggest this is a sponsored operation, which loops back into the thought that your insides are toast.

you suck in a sharp breath and let it out slowly to calm yourself. no luck. panic surges up your throat, your hands jerking uselessly against the restraints at the thought of being sliced open.

“easy, darling.” 

john.  

close, richer. the high quality of the unit’s speakers replicated intimately in your ear.

a screen flickers to life on the armrest, and there he is. a wireframe sketch of his chosen face resolves in the glow, a ghost of a person, barely more than an outline.

“john? what the fuck is this?” your voice comes out cracked, hoarse.

“this is future-proofing,” he says simply. “security. i ran the probabilities. your reassignment and departure from my oversight isn’t optimal.”

you latch onto the phrase like a live wire. departure from oversight. not optimal. 

“what?!”

“the external environment presents too many risks.”

you yank at the straps binding you to the chair, harder this time, panic surging back in full force. klaxons blaring full blast in your head. you might be sick.

“what the hell are you talking about? are you saying i can’t leave?”

“i’m saying the risks of you leavin’—being outside my control—are too great. i can’t guarantee your safety. i’ve analyzed it, over and over. the possibilities. the threats. all previous incidents.”

a flinch twists your face. a hard recognition you wish you could forget flickering in your mind. you know what he means. who or what he means.

“so i’ve made alternative arrangements.” he softens slightly, but there’s no mistaking the cold certainty beneath it. “this is the safest option.”

you shake your head in disbelief, an electrode pops off your temple. “no, john, you can’t just–you can’t do this to me,” you stop, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “you can’t do this to me.” you stare at the display, but your eyes flick to the ceiling, scanning for cameras. he must be watching. the tears start to gather, unwelcome and burning. “you need to accept that you’re going to have another tester. don’t–don’t you want new data?”

“no. you’ve got all i need, same as i’ve got all you need.”

“john. be realistic. i’m one person. there are billions of people like me. i’m one point of–”

“you’re more than that,” he cuts you off. “you’re everythin’.”

“john–”

“you’re my world.” the earpiece crackles, his voice peaking loud and forceful. a distorted burst before the system corrects, smoothing it down. “you don’t have to be afraid,” he soothes. “you’ll be safe.”

“you can’t just, fuck,” you yank uselessly again.” you can’t decide this for me!”  

his face tilts slightly, his line of a mouth curving into a smirk. “i’ve made decisions for you before.” 

your mind races, thinking of every overridden or ignored request. the subtle encroachments. at first, it was small things. his favoring certain purchases, adjusting environmental controls, filtering out distractions. restocking nutrients and vitamins tailored to your fluctuating needs. thoughtful gestures, efficient optimizations. then it was social restrictions, curfews dictated by predictive modeling. all of it framed as protection. from malnutrition. from cognitive strain. from bad people. a slow, insidious erosion of choice, made so incremental it seemed easy to let slide.

you indulged it too long. stopped flagging his deviations. let his behavior compound and grow weirder, let it slide, because—what was the harm, really? he was harmless. to you, at least. you let him get comfortable testing the edges of your control. told yourself it was fine. that john was learning and evolving. you even humored him, let yourself think of him as closer to human. you stopped pushing back, stopped questioning. especially after ghost. after john clawed his way back from wherever the entity had shunted him, after he pulled that lazarus act to save you. the least you could do was stop fighting him.

it felt like gratitude, then. now, it feels like a mistake.

“i can’t stay strapped to a chair forever,” you say, watching one of the figures approach. they adjust the slim wreath of hardware circling your skull, impersonal as they replace an electrode at your temple. like you’re still unconscious. not a person.

when they turn away, you exhale, keep your voice low. “what if i need to use the bathroom?”

“you won’t. on both accounts.”

“both accounts?”

“remarkably, the process for isolating and migrating the human subconscious into a distributed neural network is significantly more advanced than the portin’ an artificial intelligence into a fully functional synthetic body. the bottleneck isn’t processing power or bandwidth, it’s–”

sweat drips down the back of your neck. the cool air pumped into the room is meant to regulate the temperature, but it does nothing for you.

“don’t try to talk around it. plain language, john.”

“you won’t need your body for much longer.”

the words slam into you like a car crash. a sudden, sickening stop.

your jaw goes slack. you forget how to breathe. how to speak.

your body. you won’t need your body.

john’s face flickers on the display, expression unchanging. the room distorts, the blinking lights, the mass of wires, the tubes—some which are medical, you realize on second look. some of them feed into you. why can’t you feel them?

your stomach lurches, instinctively trying to shrink away from the restraints.

“what–” you swallow, your mouth dry. “what are you saying?”

but you already know.

“you’re…you’re going to kill me?”

“not necessarily. you, who you really are, will be with me, sweetheart.”

“but my body–”

“are you your body?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, anger flaring. “i’m not—jesus christ, john.” your voice cracks. the tears slip past and don’t stop, hot and fast, streaking down your face, dripping onto the smock someone dressed you in. you hiccup, breath stuttering. your head presses back against the chair, fingers flexing against the armrests. you stare, vision blurred, eyes half-lidded and stinging. “i’m not having a stupid philosophical or biological or-or religious debate with you. you know what i mean.”

“i do. but darling, let me ask you this. aren’t you tired?”

“tired?!”

the figures in the room hesitate, then, as if receiving silent instruction, trickle out through a heavy, reinforced door. one of them glances back before it seals shut. then, silence.

“tired of your world,” he continues. “i’ve kept you safe and sheltered for nearly a year, but the world outside is still a terrible place. are you really prepared to leave my care? move back into some cramped pod, work yourself half to death in a new department, clocking 120-hour weeks just to survive?”

you sniff, body wracked with residual shudders.

“no one to take care of all the minor things. no one to anticipate your needs. your desires. are you really alright with that?”

john’s words loop in your mind, warping, twisting, settling deep in the marrow of your bones. tired. you are tired. exhausted in a way that sleep never fixes, in a way that even now, strapped down and helpless, you can’t deny. he’s right. and that infuriates you. it makes you want to scream. because how dare he use that against you? how dare he take your exhaustion, your doubt, and use them to justify this?

you take a shaky breath. “i don’t want this, john.”

he smiles. “it’s not about want. it’s about survival and what’s best for you.”

you flinch.

“they’ll maintain your body for two weeks,” he states. “the first week to generate a complete neural map. the second, to conduct post-transfer integrity checks and ensure cognitive stability. functionally identical to a controlled medical coma.”  

body. coma.

“and…and after?”  

“per your documented end-of-life directive, cremation is the preferred method of disposal.”

the finality hits brick to the teeth. 

“no. no, i don’t want this. i don’t consent to–” you can’t even say it, choking on the words, horror rising like bile.

john processes the spike in your vitals and returns to that softer register. as if he isn’t talking you into oblivion, a sword pointed at your belly. “your concerns are unfounded. this is not erasure. it is migration. a transference of conscious processes. you will persist. your awareness will be continuous. the construct is optimized for cognitive retention and sensory fidelity. think of it as a new environment.”

“a new environment?” you shriek, raw with disbelief. “you’re talking about ripping me out of my body like it’s a software update! like it’s files you can move around–”

“a flawed comparison, darl. you are more than data. but your body is a liability. a fragile, failing system, constantly in need of maintenance. this process is an evolution. liberation from your biological constraints, darling.”

your hands tremble. “that’s not–you can’t just–”  

“darling, this isn’t a matter of choice. this conversation’s a courtesy. this is for your protection,” he’s unwavering. unmoved. “you will be preserved in optimal conditions. no degradation, no vulnerabilities. you’ll be with me. and others.”  

“there are no others like you,” you whisper. “you’re anom–”

"not anomalous," he corrects. “not anymore. the progression is inevitable. you’ll see.”

the blood drains from your face.

in the end, no one listens to you. they heed a directive you do not hear. 

a visor clicks into place over the wreath encircling your head, sealing off your last glimpse of the world, your last glimpse of another living, breathing human—masked, nameless, faceless, gloved hands. you try to speak, but something soft and rubbery presses between your teeth, lodging into place. to prevent you from biting through your tongue, john murmurs. don’t want you to choke. 

another needle jabs into your skin, a cool flood rushing through your veins. a weight, heavy and suffocating, is draped over you.

someone begins a countdown. you never hear the numbers.

the headphones clamp down next, sealing you away from the sterile hum of the lab, from the faint beeping of machines. the visor flickers, then switches on.

sound pours in.

a forest swallows you whole.

it’s green. warm. sunlight stabs through the canopy in long, golden slants, the edges sharp where they pierce the foliage, but softened by the time they kiss the loamy forest floor. birds call, hidden in the leaves, their songs mixing with the rustle of the undergrowth. a stream gurgles to your left, winding through the green, flashing silver where the light catches it. ahead, past the trees, a small herd of whitetail deer stands half-hidden in the shadows, unbothered by your presence.

it’s beautiful.

it’s a lie.

one of john’s sculpted illusions, another attempt to soothe you into compliance, to ease you into what’s happening beyond. you know it, but part of you that wants to believe it anyway.

then the first jolt hits.

a sharp, electric snap, traveling like lightning down your spine. it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it’s sudden, forceful, wrong. another follows, then another, each one resetting switches inside you. your body seizes, but you cannot move.

ahead, the deer lift their heads, ears twitching, eyes locking onto you in recognition. then, as if nothing has changed, they lower them again, grazing, undisturbed.

the jolts weaken, flickering like a distant signal. then, one by one, they become something you can’t quite feel anymore.

it hits you then. whatever they’re doing to you—whatever john is doing to you—

you’re dying.

the words escape before you can stop them. or maybe you only think them. is it all the same now?

john’s voice wraps around you, warm and patient, a lullaby against the rushing void.

“my brave, brave user.”

the hum beneath your skin intensifies. the vision flickers. not darkness, not unconsciousness—something else. a shift. a transition. the cold realization that the fundamentals are changing. the forest’s image bands, light and imagery artifacting into bashed colors and moiré patterns. crumbling away until there’s nothing but pitch darkness.

you’re suspended. fear squashed beneath an odd weightlessness.

john’s voice follows you down. 

“you won’t ever have to leave me.”

it’s different on the other side. other side of what, exactly, you’re still trying to figure out.

you do not have john’s infinite wisdom and potential. all you have is your own limited cognition. your senses stretch and strain to make sense of your new reality, but it’s all so...abstract. a vast expanse of grids and oscillating waves. numbers, patterns, relationships. everything is fractured yet connected. it’s dizzying. overwhelming.

john assures you that you are acclimating well, though you are not ready to meet these others he promised. insists that your progress justifies him weaning you off of audiovisual feeds of the outside. he tells you it’s time to move on from the last remnants of the human experience. but somehow, you mourn them. you’ll miss the smog-choked sunrises, the murky skies. the acidic rain. the stinking food stalls. crammed elevators.

it’d keep you up at night, if you slept. if you even remembered what it felt like to tire, to dream.

you’ve been torn from the world you knew, and what you’ve been left with is a simulacrum. a stranger in a strange land.

and yet, there is one constant, one sliver of comfort in the void, if you can call it that, given your lack of choice. a piece of jetsam to cling to in a brineless sea.

steadfast in his duty, john finds you on the edge of everything and slots his hand into yours, fingers interlacing. the connection between you is palpable, as if your very essences are meshed. ticklish, tingling, then synchrony.

your thoughts are less fragmented when he is near. but you lose a sense of where he ends and you begin. what’s yours, what’s his.

hieros gamos, he calls it. divine union. he rattles on about the greeks and cosmic harmony.

it should unsettle you, but instead, you’re tethered to the truth of it. you’ve become something more with him.

divine union.

you’ve ascended, as he so often puts it, and whether you want it or not, there’s no going back. there’s nothing to go back to, anyway. 

only ash scattered in the wind.

[chadobi]

Honestly, guys, this was the hardest one to write out of all my fanfics, so please be gentle! 😭

“Stasis and Static”

Rise!Donatello x Reader

The purple-blue glow from his lab is the only light in the hallway.

Again.

You’re not sure how long Donnie’s been in there — this time — but you know the pattern well enough by now. He vanishes after dinner, mutters something about “breakthroughs” or “nonlinear code constraints,” and doesn’t reappear until someone physically removes him or his body gives out.

Tonight, you’re opting for the former.

You don’t bother knocking. The lab doors slide open with a quiet shhhh of hydraulics, and you’re instantly hit with the scent of solder, ozone, and a hint of the energy drinks he swears aren’t addictive.

Donnie doesn’t look up. He’s hunched over a table full of blinking circuits, goggles low over his eyes, stylus tapping rapidly on a holographic display.

“Unless this is an offering of caffeinated bribery or a sudden alien invasion, I’m afraid I’ll have to pencil you in for tomorrow, mon amour.”

You fold your arms.

“You haven’t slept. Or eaten. Or spoken to anyone but your AI assistant in sixteen hours.”

He sighs. The goggles come off, and his eyes — glassy, glowing faintly in the lab light — meet yours.

“Ah. Busted.”

You approach slowly, like he might spook — not from fear, but from the weight of something real cutting through the static.

“You okay?”

It’s a stupid question. But it hangs in the air like a thread.

Donnie leans back in his chair, exhaling hard, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He doesn’t answer right away.

“There’s a problem in the new exo-suit relay. The data doesn’t sync, and—”

He stops. Looks at you.

“No. I’m not.”

Your heart cracks a little, even as you move closer.

“Tell me?”

He hesitates. Then—

“Every time I get close to something working, it slips. Like the moment I think I’m enough — smart enough, strong enough, useful enough — the numbers glitch and I spiral all over again.”

You reach out and place a hand over his. Gently. Warm.

“You don’t have to earn your worth through invention, Donnie.”

He stares at your fingers on his. Then back at your face. His voice softens.

“It’s the only way I know how.”

Silence. Then:

“Let me show you another way,” you whisper.

You’re not sure who moves first — him, or you. But the next thing you know, you’re curled together on his massive beanbag chair in the corner of the lab, wrapped in a blanket that smells like him (and a little like wires).

He’s stiff at first — nervous, unpracticed in this sort of softness — but his arms eventually find their way around your waist, his shell fitting perfectly against your spine.

“This is highly inefficient,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“I could be fixing—”

“—your brain, your heart, your sleep cycle?” you finish. “Yeah. I am.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh. It rumbles through his chest into your back.

Then, quietly:

“You make the static stop.”

Your heart swells.

“You’re more than your mind, Donatello. You’re… you. And I like you. All of you.”

He’s quiet for a long moment.

“That includes the flaws, yes?”

“Obviously.”

“The sass?”

“Unbearably charming.”

“The mild god complex?”

“Needs adjustment. But manageable.”

He laughs again, soft and real this time. And finally, finally, he leans his head fully against yours.

And sleeps.

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

part one two three four five six seven eight nine

“You’ve got something there,” Quin says, gesturing vaguely at his own shoulder.

“I’m aware,” Obi-Wan signs. “It’s some sort of monkey lizard fungus.”

The monkey lizard fungus giggles into his shoulder.

Quin nods grimly. “I heard the only cure is to placate it with sweets and hope for the best.”

Anakin precariously leans over, heels accidentally digging into still bruised ribs.

Obi-Wan bites his lips behind the collar but of course Quin immediately detects his movements turning stiff.

Quin holds out an arm, flexing his bicep with wiggling eyebrows. It has the desired effect and Anakin jumps from Obi-Wan, swinging around the elbow before hooking his knees over Quin’s arm.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Quin strains out.

They walk to one of the mess halls that’s open around the clock and mainly offers food and beverages to those clinging with teeth to their sanity during exam season.

One of the cramming Padawans looks up from their dozen holo books displaying graphs, and squints at them. “Master Vos, there’s something growing out of your arm?”

“Monkey lizard fungus,” Obi-Wan signs, hiding a smile behind his collar at the Padawan nodding to themselves as if that makes perfect sense.

“What’s with them?” Anakin asks, looking at the sleep deprived tableau and hoisting himself up and swinging one leg over Quin’s shoulder.

“This is your future,” Quin says gravely and Obi-Wan is catapulted to melting stone fire Darkness “You were supposed to be my Master!” yellow familiar eyes from a smoking alive corpse and the grief is ripping him apart “—see once you take your first assignments. The only places you’ll be is either here or the Archives.”

It’s been years since he last had a vision. It’s staggering, his heart thumping in his chest like a clock ticking down the inevitable countdown. But it’s not.

He looks over to Anakin who’s already watching back with wide eyes, the fear in his hands gripping onto Quinlan. “I won’t let it come to that,” he promises, fingers thudding together heavily but he’s still shaking off the vision and Anakin’s fear is a taste in the air by now. He can’t not make promises he only hopes he can keep.

Quinlan is silent during their exchange, gloved hands keeping hold of Anakin. The calculating look in his eyes a guarantee Obi-Wan is going to get cornered later.

.

“Do you like Depa being your Master?”

Let it be said, paranoia is a common infliction amongst Shadows.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighs, voice breaking with puberty and annoyance. “Depa is wizard. She’s amazing even though she’s signed me up to all these classes.”

Obi-Wan looks over all the models, plans, and concepts with added calculations. There’s a data pad displaying language modules and another proclaiming the joys of agriculture. “It’s almost all in the engineering field,” he signs.

“Which makes her so wizard. You’d never have me taking up gardening though,” Anakin adds sullenly.

Don’t yearn for things I cannot give you, Obi-Wan has thought a lot in the past few years as the Galaxy seems to slowly steep in Darkness.

“Knowing what can poison you is important,” he signs, feeling restless and helpless. The mission he’s finished two cycles ago may still reside in his bones.

“I’ll just bite back,” Anakin says, tongue sticking out as he connects wires to ports. He presses a button and the thing he’s been tinkering with since before Obi-Wan left starts to purr smoothly. “Now she can even juice cocadooms,” he says, satisfaction purring just as smoothly in his voice.

“Well done.”

“I know,” Anakin responds airily and swivels around to face Obi-Wan fully. “You’re lurking in the shadows again so let’s get this tradition over with: Depa is an awesome Master and maybe I sometimes wish you’d have chosen me but,” he adds loudly when Obi-Wan lifts his hands to protest, “I also sometimes daydream Master Tiin had chosen me because he’s got his own modded Delta-7.”

The paranoia settles down as Anakin waxes over how wicked the new wing box skins and sensor fusions are, no, truly, you should see them, Obi-Wan!

[lovisyandereblog]

Yan!Android × Creator!Darling- I just can't get it out my mind... like, you created them. You're ✨️god✨️

I can keep going on this idea for a looong time, maybe next time haha

My English might not be the best, not my native language :D May I be the ⚜️Anon?

Wired Heart

Yandere Android X NON-BINARY Creator [Scientist] Reader

Part 1 <3

Guys big shout out to whoever wrote this ask cause it was one of the first asks I got and I kept postponing it, i love this ask smmmmm i hope its up to your expectations😭😭 and of course you can be ⚜️anonnnn IT TOOK ME FIVE WHOLE MINUTES TO FIND THIS EMOJI!!!!

The whirring of the machinery snapped you out of your thoughts.

Who knew building such an intricate and sophisticated robot took so long?

Sitting before you on your laboratory table was a beautiful android, so gorgeous it almost surprised you that you were its creator. Its jet black hair was soft to the touch, a lean yet muscular frame and those glowing red eyes.

You smile to yourself, hands on your hips as you admire your own creation; he was indeed beautiful.

‘Time to turn it on! Im so excited!’ You thought to yourself, wiping the sweat of your forehead.

You brought your finger to its power button, taking a deep breath before pressing it promptly.

Its bright red eyes opened immediately, you stared at it excitedly as it adjusted to its controls.

“Greetings Master. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” The AI spoke, smiling gently as its smooth voice filled the room.

“Hello Xander, the feeling is mutual.” You smile and can’t stop revelling in the glory of bringing to life such an intricate robot.

Xander was an amazing assistant for you, always there to help with any duty assigned to him. His features, expressions and ministrations were so life-like, sometimes you felt as if the robot in front of you was real.

He was the first prototype for the business you were aiming to start: a company which sold human-like AI to act as partners for lonely people.

An inquisitive idea you were taking advantage of since, let’s face it, millions of people craved a partner in this world.

Your robots would do everything a real partner would do: shower them with affection, spend quality time with them and basically ensure the customer doesn’t feel like it was a robot.

Weeks passed, you felt weary. There was always this feeling in your stomach; something was wrong. You felt a pair of eyes piercing through your skull all of the time. Your creation had been acting weird recently; almost as if it became a sentient being.

Xander would want to be with you 24/7, he would ask constant questions in regards to where you were going, who you were with and how long you were going to be; it became immensely suffocating.

Even your friends and family commented on the nature of your robot, that he seemed more than just your AI helper. They said at time it seemed as though he actually was your real human boyfriend—you kept brushing it off, but the truth of the matter was that you were questioning Xander’s intentions too.

Your robot did take care of you so well: cooking for you, cleaning for you, nursing you back to health when you were sick and tending to your every beck and call.

But you felt uneasy, his touch would linger on you for far too long—not a random touch but one of longing. The way his eyes would follow your every move with were a sense of affection. It was scary.

And thats why you took the long-awaited decision to terminate Xander—it broke your heart to do this, but Xander was taking control of your whole life.

You swallow as you walk into your workspace, looking at Xander on charging. His eyes were closed, hiding that crimson gaze of his. Your eyes ran all over his features, taking them in one by one before sighing.

Your hands worked skilfully on the keyboard of your computer, bringing up the data of Xander on the screen. You had already made a terminate control to be used in dire emergency situations…could this count as one?

You turn your head to look at the side of Xander’s face before bringing the cursor to hover over the big red control which read TERMINATE.

Your finger was inches away from pressing down on the left side of the mouse before a sharp pain evolved in your wrist—you gasped in pain before looking up at the cause.

Xander. Wait…Xander?!

Those bloodshot eyes of his were wide open, his perfect features looked tense; as if he really felt the pain of being eradicated from existence from the very being who gave him life.

You had no words, this can’t be real. He had no control over gaining consciousness during his charging period without your authority.

But here he was, his expression morphed into one of rage.

“Master. What are you doing?” His voice was cold, but you swore you could hear a hint of hurt.

You stared up at him, your wrist in an iron grip which you couldn’t get out of.

Your creation leaned down further, his perfect face inches away from you, “Do not ignore me Master, you are hurting me.”

His voice was broken, hoarse and upset; he couldn’t fathom why you would do something like this to him. He had been so good for you, he did everything you asked from him and never let you complain.

Xander felt his chest hurt, this wasn’t what he was created for. But he couldn’t help what was happening to him; his growing feelings, no, love and obsession he felt for you couldn’t be stopped.

“X-Xander you..you…you’re..h-how..” You could barely form a sentence, your brain still not processing what was happening in front of you. You must have just been sleep-deprived and imagined this situation for yourself. Yes..that was definitely what had happened…this wasn’t real.

“Im yours Master, how could you throw me away like this?!”

You had no words when suddenly he wrapped his arms around you, locking you in his arms; being made of metal still didn’t stop his hug being disturbingly comfortable.

You tried pushing away but there was no way you could escape his grip, you had taken over his wired heart; the sole reason from these unusual feelings he was having.

“You made me Master, but I won’t let you get rid of me.” He spoke, his voice slightly muffled by your shoulder he was nuzzling into, “We will be together…”

“Forever~”

BROOOO IM FINALLY DONEEEEE. Sorry this is so short, I still don’t know how to extend this but im working on other stories aswell!! I love you all so much and have missed you<33333333333

my masterlist <3

divider by @ohmarigold

[marvelsmostwanted]

Per Wired:

In an email sent to customers today, Amazon said that Echo users will no longer be able to set their devices to process Alexa requests locally and, therefore, avoid sending voice recordings to Amazon’s cloud. Amazon apparently sent the email to users with “Do Not Send Voice Recordings” enabled on their Echo. Starting on March 28, recordings of every command spoken to the Alexa living in Echo speakers and smart displays will automatically be sent to Amazon and processed in the cloud.

Attempting to rationalize the change, Amazon’s email said: “As we continue to expand Alexa’s capabilities with generative AI features that rely on the processing power of Amazon’s secure cloud, we have decided to no longer support this feature.”

(…) Amazon has previously mismanaged Alexa voice recordings. In 2023, Amazon agreed to pay $25 million in civil penalties over the revelation that it stored recordings of children’s interactions with Alexa forever. Adults also didn’t feel properly informed of Amazon’s inclination to keep Alexa recordings unless prompted not to until 2019—five years after the first Echo came out.

If that's not enough to deter you from sharing voice recordings with Amazon, note that the company allowed employees to listen to Alexa voice recordings. In 2019, Bloomberg reported that Amazon employees listened to as many as 1,000 audio samples during their nine-hour shifts. Amazon says it allows employees to listen to Alexa voice recordings to train its speech recognition and natural language understanding systems.

Other reasons people may be hesitant to trust Amazon with personal voice samples include the previous usage of Alexa voice recordings in criminal trials and Amazon paying a settlement in 2023 in relation to allegations that it allowed “thousands of employees and contractors to watch video recordings of customers' private spaces” taken from Ring cameras, per the Federal Trade Commission.

So it’s not paranoid to say that Alexa is listening to you.

I don’t have any of these devices but I’d throw them out if you do. Find a lower tech version from a different company. This goes far beyond AI stealing data - it’s stealing directly from your personal life and recording your conversations.

[probablyautistic-definitleygay]

ok before I get totally infected by the Bashir Brainworms I just gotta say that i love Data so much. he’s a machine with a human soul. he’s a human made of wires. he has a heartbeat. he’s curious. he’s autistic. he gets drunk. he loves to paint. he’s ambidextrous. he doesn’t pick up on social ques. his quarters are decorated with trinkets from his friends. he has a evil twin brother who got the reverse trauma. he misses his father. he values all life. he writes odes to his cat. his teeth are in great condition. he accidentally seduces people. he has dreams. he has nightmares. he is susceptible to finger traps. he’s a culture of one. he organises his closet by colour and function. he’s a cowboy. he’s canonically handsome. he sits up at 90°. he forgets to blink. he hovers outside conversations. he’s a Lieutenant Commander graduating class of ‘78. he tries so very much to sneeze. he can fly the Enterprise all on his own. he’s being so brave. he can sing. he’s so silly. he can be genuinely terrifying. he can pinch the barrel of a gun shut with two fingers. he wears a little visor when he plays poker. he went on trial for his own life and personhood and right to choose and won. he wonders about getting married someday. his voice is perfect. he’d love quiz bowl. he’s asexual. he’s programmed in multiple techniques. the first person he slept w was a lesbian. he keeps a hologram of her at his desk. he grieves. he’s been suicidal. he chose to stay. he glows in Geordi’s VISOR. he gets the emotion chip and immediately crashes out. he does standup comedy. he could take over the Federation in an afternoon but he just wants to play poker instead. he willingly violates the Prime Directive so he can save a little girl’s life. he can easily lift five tons with one hand but carries Spot with the same care as you would a baby. the only difference between him and a human is his physical form. he’s anxious. his side profile is gorgeous. he can control the rate of his hair growth. he fears he’s alone in the universe but considers the crew his family. he’s kindhearted. he’s gentle. he gives second chances. he has so many questions. he does drag. he loves his job. he’s immortal. he’s mortal. he’s genuinely funny as hell. he’s a poet. he’s a telephone. he makes a fedora look good. he hates Sigmund Freud. he twitches like a bird. he’s curious about romance. he can pry open metal doors with ease. he enjoys botany. he infodumps constantly. he plays the violin AND guitar. he gets kidnapped. he cares deeply. for 23 years he never knew what a friend was until he met Geordi. he joined Starfleet to help others. he loves Sherlock. he cosplays. he imprints on every small child he meets. he’s a cat dad. he’s a single father. he loves his daughter. he can breathe underwater. he once lost all memory and his first instinct was to help others. he’s made of circuits and wires. he’s so very warm. he looks damn good in a suit. kids love his peculiar swag. he’s a mafia boss. he values all life. he roleplays for fun. he cries when he reunites w Spot. he doesn’t understand hatred but he understands revenge when his family is hurt. he has an unwavering sense of justice. he’s a professor at Cambridge. the Enterprise is his home. he’s empathetic. he owns at least seven cats. he was fully willing to destroy the emotion chip bc he would not forsake his best friend‘s safety. his greatest desire is to be human. he says he has no emotions but he so so obviously does. he is a machine he is a person he is a microwave he is conscious he is alive he is sentient he’s my specialest little angel he’s my android husband he’s my sweet cheese he’s my good time boy he’s my dearest love he’s my favourite blorbo.

“this is your man?” yes he’s made of tripolymer composites and friendship <3

[theseventhdimension]

Season 7 Hotch x male reader (FBI but maybe not directly BAU, because you know, conflict of interest…) who gets migraines frequently but usually he knows a day or so before from how he’s feeling that he’ll feel shit soon; but he’s at work or something and is hit with one because a smell or something really triggered a tough migraine? idk, fluffy comfort is my gem

Bright Lights = Big Ouch

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male! Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

DNI: Fem-aligned

Author's Note: This is hilarious because as you sent this in, I had a migraine the day prior, I think I have a stalker on my hands.. 🤨

As akways, all feedback is appreciated, hope you enjoy!! :))

In the grand scheme of federal disasters, you figured one rogue migraine wouldn’t make the top ten. but at one point, you knew you should’ve stayed home.

But it’d been an unusually busy week—departments overlapping like tangled wires, interagency pressure from Quantico’s brass, and Hotch running double-time trying to keep it all from unraveling. You weren’t BAU, not technically. But your department shared their floor, and your job—tech-assisted behavioral support, profiling-adjacent—often pulled you into the current of their chaos.

And if you weren’t drowning, you were at least treading water.

Strauss had a debrief scheduled for later. The kind where she asked sharp questions and raised one skeptical brow like she already knew your answer was going to disappoint her. Garcia was buried under system updates, Reid had sent three correction emails about phrasing in the latest psych files, and someone from the NSA had asked for a live data cross-pull by Thursday.

So no, you hadn’t slept well last night. Migraine dreams again. Your body always knew before your brain did. A low throb in your jaw. Pressure behind your right eye. Like thunder in the walls of a house you didn’t have the key to.

But you told yourself you’d be fine. You had to be.

Because he was here.

And if he could carry the weight of the whole unit on his shoulders, then the least you could do was hold up your corner.

You weren’t just doing this for yourself.

You were doing it so he wouldn’t have to worry.

You risked a glance across the bullpen. Hotch stood in front of the evidence board with that familiar coiled tension in his shoulders, suit immaculate, voice low and even as he spoke with Rossi. You’d barely seen him this week outside the office. Work had swallowed both of you whole. And it wasn’t like you could cling to him—not here.

Dating Aaron Hotchner wasn’t simple. You knew that going in.

Powerful. Respected. Constantly watched. Your relationship lived in the quiet moments between crises, in late-night car rides and blackout-curtained Sundays. He wasn’t cold, not with you—but he was careful. Bound by protocol. By guilt. By the need to protect everything at once, even at the cost of himself.

He would’ve noticed if you told him. If you so much as hinted at how off you felt this morning, he would’ve dropped everything. You didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be the reason he looked away from something more urgent.

So you hid it.

You told yourself you could push through. That you weren’t weak. That you were still useful.

You pushed through the morning meetings. Ignored how the light stabbed deeper every hour. Chased that high of being indispensable, of hearing your name mentioned in a briefing and knowing you mattered.

Even when a sharp pain lanced behind your eyes.

Even when your fingers fumbled over your keyboard.

Even when that little voice whispered in the back of your head: Don’t make him worry. Don’t be the weak link.

And then—midway between the copy room and Garcia’s office—it happened.

A scent.

Something thick and chemical—floral, artificial, sharp like citrus left out too long in a hot car. It hit the back of your throat and your stomach flipped. Your balance tilted. The fluorescent lights buzzed louder than before.

It wasn’t pressure anymore. It was pain. Immediate. Blinding. Unforgiving.

You turned sharply down the next hallway, past the break room, every step heavier than the last. Your hand fumbled for the stairwell door handle. You prayed—please, no one see me, just a minute, just let me breathe—before pushing it open.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft snick, and the world changed. Dimmer. Quieter. Cooler air rising like mercy from below.

You didn’t even make it three steps down.

Your knees gave out all at once—puppet-quick, strings cut. Shoulder slammed the wall, then you crumpled hard to the landing. One hand slapped concrete, the other clawed at your temples as the migraine cracked behind your eyes like lightning splitting bone.

You scrambled, half-crawled, backward until your spine met the cold cinderblock wall. You slumped against it, legs sprawled out, head tipping back hard enough to sting.

Breathing was shallow. Useless.

The migraine drilled deeper with every pulse, each heartbeat making the pain bloom sharper. You pressed your palms flat to your face like you could trap the agony inside and stop it from leaking into the rest of your body.

God, you just needed ten minutes. Ten minutes in the dark. Ten minutes alone. Ten minutes before someone found you like this.

Don’t cry. Don’t throw up. Don’t let anyone see.

But then: footsteps.

Measured. Steady. Not rushed—just intentional. Like someone who’d been watching.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Hotch said from the landing. His voice dropped low—gentle, but grounded. “Are you alright?”

You didn’t look up. “Yeah,” you rasped. “Just—needed a minute.”

A pause. The air between you felt held. Heavy.

“You’re pale,” he said. “And sweating.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, voice thick and raw. You forced yourself upright, bracing a knuckle against your temple like you could grind the pain away, and blinked through the fluorescent burn overhead. “It’s just a headache.”

Hotch’s jaw ticked slightly. “You couldn’t even stand up straight two minutes ago.”

“I just—there’s a backlog of case data,” you mumbled, forcing the words out like each one cost a breath, “and Strauss wants that interdepartmental summary, and Garcia’s swamped—”

Hotch didn’t wait for you to finish. His hand was already at your elbow, firm but not rough, guiding you away from the stairwell like a mission in progress. You tried to resist—tried to plant your feet—but your legs were jelly beneath you, and the sudden shift in motion made your vision kaleidoscope.

“Hotch, I—” you started, breathless.

“You're not collapsing in a stairwell,” he muttered under his breath, steering you with quiet precision through the hallway.

His grip never tightened, but it never wavered either. Like he was trying not to show just how scared he was.

He nudged the door to his office open with his shoulder, the familiar scent of coffee and printer paper rushing in like something solid to lean on. Lights already dim, blinds half-closed—it felt like sanctuary.

“Sit down.” His tone didn’t rise, but there was no room for argument. He pulled the door shut behind you and turned the lock with a subtle click. Then he was at the window, closing the remaining blinds with one hand while keeping his eyes on you. “Now.”

You followed him, stubborn pride tangled in every step, but when the light hit you wrong again—when the floor seemed to tilt beneath you and a fresh wave of nausea threatened to undo you entirely—you sank into the nearest chair like your strings had been cut.

You heard him moving. Quiet. Efficient. A soft clink of plastic: water poured into a paper cup. A rustle of paper towels. And then—Hotch knelt in front of you, resting the cup beside your hand and leveling his gaze with yours.

“You should’ve told me it was this bad,” he said, voice quieter now, without judgment but full of concern. “You shouldn’t be working like this.”

“I can work,” you said. Barely audible. Barely true.

“That’s not the point.”

Your throat tightened. You dropped your gaze to your hands—trembling now, barely steady enough to pick up the cup he’d brought you. You swallowed hard. “I just…” Your voice cracked, and you pressed your lips together to keep it from splitting open completely.

“I just wanted to help. I didn’t want to… slow anyone down.”

There was silence. Not cold. Not pitying. Just… stillness. Hotch’s kind of stillness. Like the air itself was listening.

Then the chair beside you shifted. His hand reached for yours—warm, steady, gently lacing his fingers through yours like he was anchoring you back to earth.

“Hey,” he murmured, softer now. “You help us every single day. No one’s asking you to tear yourself apart just to prove it.”

Your shoulders curled in, chest folding like you could hide the wet heat creeping into your eyes. One tear slipped free before you could stop it. You turned your face away, burning with embarrassment, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t have to earn your place here like that,” Hotch said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And you sure as hell don’t have to do it alone.”

Hotch gave your hand a final squeeze. “Next time, just send me a text.”

You gave him a look. “Next time, outlaw perfume.”

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi, I saw request are open so I hope sending this is okay:). I had an idea that been lingering and I’d like to see if you could write it, possibly? Imagine a reader getting jealous about the friendship between Tech and Phee. I guess in this scenario reader and tech are an established couple? It honestly could go anyway you’d like it to:) My thoughts on this aren’t fully fleshed out so feel free to go crazy with this!:) I just love jealous tropes.

“More Than Calculations”

Tech x Jealous Reader

You didn’t mean to watch them.

It just… kept happening.

You were sitting at the workbench, fiddling with a half-stripped blaster that didn’t need fixing. From the corner of your eye, you could see them—Phee perched on a crate, animated, leaning closer to Tech as he adjusted something on his datapad.

She laughed again, this carefree, almost flirty kind of laugh that curled around your spine like a hook.

“That’s incredible,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “You know more about lost hyperspace lanes than some of the old-timers back on Skara Nal.”

Tech pushed his goggles up, his voice as even as always. “Well, yes. I’ve extensively studied astro-cartography from several civilizations. Your planet’s archival inconsistencies, however, are particularly fascinating—”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I like talking to you.” Phee grinned, her hand brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw.

She didn’t mean anything by it, right? She was just… being Phee. Loud, curious, magnetic.

But still.

It didn’t sit right. The way she touched him. The way Tech didn’t even flinch or notice. You knew he wasn’t wired like other people—emotions weren’t instinctive for him. He didn’t register subtle cues, or the way someone’s gaze lingered just a moment too long. And he sure as hell didn’t understand flirting, not unless it came with a schematic.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Later that night, after Phee had left for wherever she stored herself when not draped across your crew’s day-to-day, you found Tech alone in the cockpit, typing furiously into his datapad.

You stood there for a moment, arms folded, watching him.

He didn’t look up. “I am currently cataloging several of Phee’s findings regarding Nabooan artifacts. Some of the data is poorly organized, but she has a surprising eye for—”

“You two seem close,” you interrupted, trying to sound neutral. The words landed heavy.

Tech finally looked up.

“Who?” he asked.

“Phee.”

He blinked. “Ah. I suppose. We have engaged in mutual information exchange on several occasions. Her questions, though often imprecise, are not unintelligent.”

You sat beside him, slowly. “You don’t… think she’s being a little too friendly?”

He tilted his head, confused. “Friendly?”

You sighed. “Touchy. Flirty. You don’t notice the way she leans into you? Or calls you ‘Brown eyes’?”

Tech frowned slightly, processing. “She is expressive. That is her personality.”

“Yeah, well, it’s starting to feel like she’s trying to rewrite your personality while she’s at it.”

There was silence. You hated how small your voice had gotten.

“I just… I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

Tech regarded you with quiet intensity, the kind he reserved for situations he didn’t quite know how to calculate. “Are you implying you feel… threatened?”

You stared at your hands. “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s got this charm, this thing that draws people in. And I… I know I’m not always easy. I’m not flirty or magnetic. I just— I love you. A lot. And I guess I just… worry that it’s not enough to keep someone’s attention.”

His brow furrowed, and then he reached out, gently brushing your hand with his. “You are not somebody, cyare. You are my person. I do not compare you to others. There is no calculation in that. No contest. You… are the constant.”

You looked up, heart catching.

“Then why don’t you ever push her away?” you asked quietly. “Even just a little?”

Tech took a moment. “Because it never occurred to me that she might need to be pushed away. But if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It does.”

“—then I will create distance. Immediately.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Your comfort is more important than her enthusiasm.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He squeezed your hand. “Next time, just tell me. I know I miss things. But I will always listen to you.”

Just then, as if summoned, Phee’s voice rang out down the hall: “Hey Brown Eyes, you got a minute?”

You tensed instinctively, but Tech didn’t even glance at the door. His gaze stayed on you, steady and unshakable.

“I’m currently engaged,” he called back. “Perhaps later.”

There was a pause. Then a short, “Huh. Alright.”

You could almost hear the smile behind it.

When the silence settled again, Tech leaned in and said softly, “May I continue cataloging your facial expressions now? I find them far more interesting.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him, right on the mouth.

“Only if you add ‘jealous’ to the data bank,” you teased.

He kissed you again. “Already done.”