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sunnydbeam · 3 days ago

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If Y/N had a bad day or was sick, how would the guys react? Who would be more likely to do something about it? I can only imagine something very wholesome out of this!

So this sat in my inbox for a while, but I finally got around to writing something about it! Sorry for the late reply!

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"What if?" I: Not at home

Gamma Code AU

• Word count: 4,784 • [ Beta x Reader x Gamma] Platonic or romantic. Fluff. • CW: mild language, mild angst, hurt/comfort.

Link to AO3

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It’s written all over your face, undeniable and frankly embarrassing that you can't hide it in the slightest. Head bowed, hair disheveled, eyes dull behind exhausted lids – you know full well you resemble a miserable creature starved of motivation and sleep. Yet, you care little that your current appearance is more zombie than human.

Stumbling, you collapse heavily into your chair, burying your face in your hands. The pain is a relentless jackhammer against your skull, making it impossible to keep your eyes open for long. Why on earth did you drag yourself here, knowing deep down this was more than just seasonal allergies? Everyone asked you that, a question you couldn't quite answer.

You lean back, tilting your head against the chairrest. Eyes squeezed shut, you still feel the ambient light piercing your thin lids like needles. An anguished groan escapes your lips.

Three hours left on your shift. The thought is agonizing. You’re far too embarrassed to ask the manager to leave early, not when you insisted coming in was the right decision, despite every sign screaming otherwise.

"Ugh…" you whimper softly.

Time melts into a hazy continuum, but through the fog of discomfort, you're vaguely aware of someone speaking to you. You try to ignore it, but the voice persists, gentle yet insistent.

A subtle movement beside you, then a light pressure on your shoulder, almost like a tentative massage. It's followed by a dizzying whirl as your chair abruptly spins, your eyelids flying open to meet a pair of wide, luminous blue eyes mere centimeters from your flushed face. You yelp, startled, instinctively trying to push back, but large, firm hands immediately clamp onto the chair, steadying it, and preventing you from tipping over.

"I— I apologize! I didn't mean to startle you…"

This time, you truly look. The large, purple robot is kneeling before you, his four arms outstretched, hands gripping the sides of your chair as if bracing against its imminent collapse. He seems to tremble slightly, his usual friendly expression warped into a nervous grimace, a mask of perpetual anxiety as if bracing for a reprimand he hasn't yet earned. But God knows, you don't have the heart for that. Not with Beta.

"Sorry," you murmur, rubbing your temples, the ache flaring. "You just surprised me."

It's not unusual to feel a flicker of nervousness around him sometimes – a primal awareness of your own fragile, fleshy body compared to his powerful frame – leading to exaggerated reactions. But Beta has always been too gentle, too considerate for those worries to take deep root.

Beta tilts his head, those blue optics scanning you like an open book, making you feel momentarily exposed. He knows. He sees your pitiful state and likely has a dozen observations ready. But, to your relief, his expression softens into a subtle, warm smile. His grip on the chair loosens, then releases it entirely. Two hands rest on his knees, while the other two carefully extend towards you, a silent question seeking permission.

"You're not feeling well, are you, sweetie?" His voice is soft, melodic. "That's awful… Are you sick?"

Oh, that robot is impossibly sweet every time he speaks. It still catches you off guard, given everything. You have no illusions about his artificial nature; rather, it’s something in his intuitive, caring manner that's undeniably charming. It's in the way Beta chooses his words so meticulously, clearly intending to evoke warmth without a hint of condescension. He almost always succeeds. Why that matters so much to him, or even to you, remains a puzzle you haven't tried to solve.

But lately, that once-clear line dividing your perception of true life and sentience feels increasingly blurred.

Receiving no verbal response from your foggy mind, his eyes shine brighter with concern.

"You should have stayed home."

"Mm… I know…" You mumble, the admission tasting like defeat.

You grumble under your breath, and Beta offers another small, sympathetic smile.

"May I touch you?"

"… Uh, what…?"

Blinking, puzzled, you watch as Beta carefully removes one glove, revealing the intricate mechanics beneath, and looks at you with a soft, pleading expression.

"Your face," he clarifies, gesturing with his bare mechanical hand.

Though still disoriented, you manage a small nod. The cool, smooth fingertip, tinged with a neon purple, gently brushes against your cheek. You instinctively close your eyes, letting out a sigh you immediately feel embarrassed about. When you cautiously peek at Beta, he doesn't seem fazed, his focus absolute. With immense care, his large hand cups your face, sliding upward to rest against your forehead.

Oh. He's taking your temperature. That makes sense.

A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you, realizing your subconscious craving for simple physical contact.

"You have a high fever, Angel," he observes softly. "I'll take you to the recovery room. I’ve heard they have a very comfortable, fluffy couch and soft blankets, perfect for a nap during break time."

You almost want to laugh at how endearingly he phrased that.

"But first stop, the infirmary," he adds firmly.

Without further warning, Beta scoops you effortlessly into his arms. A small, surprised gasp escapes you, which he seems to absorb as he cradles you securely against his chest, a gesture meant to reassure you. Being carried by a robot is a novel experience, and the distance from the solid ground feels disconcertingly vast.

"They’re going to scold me…" You mutter against the slightly rubbery texture of his hazmat suit.

You hear him chuckle, a sound still strangely localized, not resonating from his chest as you might expect.

"That would be logical," he says, his voice soft, almost playful. "But don't worry too much. I won't let them be too harsh with you, sweetie."

You snort, which turns into an abrupt sneeze, burying your face against him again. A gloved hand settles on the back of your head, fingers gently, tenderly stroking through your hair. He pushes open a door, entering a room bathed in light so jarringly bright you groan, squeezing your exhausted eyes shut tighter. You dissolve into a fit of coughing and sneezing, feeling utterly wrecked by this flu.

Lost in your misery, you're barely aware of the worried glances Beta casts down at you, nor how steadfastly he refuses to put you down while the nurse examines you and dispenses some painkillers. You do get scolded, but Beta keeps his word, defending you with absurdly sweet excuses about you being an exemplary worker, too responsible to miss a day even when clearly unwell. Still, leaving isn't an option now. Not like this, without someone ensuring you make it home safely. You feel perilously close to fainting.

So, Beta proceeds with his plan, heading towards the recovery room, you still cradled in his arms. Some colleagues shoot you curious glances; others stop you both, their voices laced with concern as if there's something inherently unsettling about seeing you carried, vulnerable, by a robot. A few even offer to take over. You have to summon the patience to reassure them, insisting Beta's company is perfectly fine, that there's nothing to fear. Throughout these exchanges, Beta's eyes briefly divert as his head slightly bowed. He never utters a word.

It must be tough, you think fleetingly, being judged simply for being different. Being perceived as some kind of monster.

You know he feels it.

Beta knows that you know.

His gaze returns to you, softening instantly. He pulls you a fraction closer against his chest, his hold firmer now, as if afraid you might slip away, vanish, and he'd never get to hold you again. There's a unique quality to Beta's hugs – laced with an anxious undercurrent, a fear of crushing your fragility, yet overwhelmingly full of affection, as if trying to shield you completely within his embrace.

He enters the recovery room. Your tired eyes flutter open, vaguely scanning the surroundings. To your immense relief, the room is empty. The next thing you know, Beta is gently depositing you onto a plush couch, then hurrying towards some nearby cabinets, searching for the blankets he mentioned. You hear a soft, happy humming sound when he finds them. Moments later, he's back, carefully tucking the soft fabric around you, right up to your chin. You gratefully sink into the cushions.

"I’ve never been in here before," he reflects, his voice quiet. "It’s nice."

"Hm… I don’t come here often either…" You reply, your voice muffled.

He looks down at you, his large frame looming slightly. It’s a touch intimidating, but you bite back the comment, not wanting to make him anxious. Instead, you quickly ask, "Are you going to stay?"

Your face flushes instantly, heat rising that you hope the fever masks effectively. Why did that sound so needy?

Beta smiles, a tender, understanding expression.

"I can, if you want me to."

Somehow, that makes it even more embarrassing. But Beta doesn't laugh; he just seems to find your flustered state endearing. He sits down carefully beside you on the couch. Even seated, he's significantly taller, and his weight causes the cushions to dip, drawing you slightly closer to his side.

A dense, slightly awkward silence settles between you. You can't help but notice the way Beta looks at you – calm, thoughtful, as if carefully weighing his next move. You cough again, your head swimming.

He shifts, and in one smooth motion, you're drawn onto his lap. Four arms gently envelop you, holding you as if you were the most precious, fragile thing in his universe. You don't know why. You don't understand it. But somehow, it feels… right.

Maybe it's like this for everyone he interacts with. A loving robot shouldn't be such an alien concept. But emotions aren't typically associated with circuitry and code, yet Beta… Beta is a being of circuits and code who feels, sometimes overwhelmingly so.

You dislike the word 'machine' when thinking of him.

You remain still, your body limp and weak. But even if you had the strength, you wouldn't fight this. Not when, finally, you feel so at ease. The blanket cocoons you, warm and secure. One of his hands moves soothingly along your back, tracing patterns up to your nape. Long, gloved fingers gently tangle in your hair, massaging your scalp, combing through the strands up to your crown. He leans his face close, murmuring against your tousled hair.

"Shh… You can rest now. You’ll feel better…" He closes his eyes briefly. "Humans feel better when they sleep, don't they?"

It’s strange seeing him so calm, so centered. Usually, he's a bundle of nerves – jumpy, anxious, always seeming to anticipate the worst possible outcome. That’s the Beta you know most of the time. This quiet optimism feels almost foreign, yet it brings an unexpected peace. If Beta is this calm, perhaps it’s because he genuinely feels comfortable with you.

The thought warms your chest.

"We’re going to get in trouble for this…" You sigh, the words punctuated by a sniffle as you battle a congested nose. "They’re already so hard on you…"

Beta’s soft chuckle vibrates slightly against you, somehow. You can't quite gauge if it holds amusement or disbelief.

"They’ll understand," he replies lightly. "Helping is also part of my job description."

"Don’t take this the wrong way," you begin carefully, glancing up at him sideways, "but you’re… way too calm right now."

Beta tilts his head again, his hood dipping slightly, casting his face in shadow. The Beta you’re used to would have likely flinched at the implied scrutiny. He makes a small, strangled sound and looks away, suddenly tense and nervous again.

Ah, there he is.

"I was just trying… uh… I read that staying calm can help others feel calm too," he mumbles, fidgeting slightly. "If it bothers you, I—"

"No, it’s fine! I promise it’s fine. I was just curious…" You interrupt quickly, rubbing your head as the headache threatens a resurgence. You push the pain aside. "Actually… I’m glad to see you relaxed."

A soft, fascinating purple hue washes over Beta’s face. You still marvel at your ability to elicit such a reaction from him; it's simultaneously hilarious and utterly adorable.

You sit in comfortable silence as Beta's hand resumes its slow, circular motions across your back and shoulders, gradually lulling you toward sleep. Your eyelids grow heavy, protesting the effort to stay open. Your body trembles slightly, the fever playing tricks, making you feel chilled despite your internal heat. But wrapped in the blanket, held securely in the arms of someone who cares, the world feels a little less harsh. More comfortable, warmer. And blessedly, you're not facing this alone in the cold silence of your empty home.

Beta glances aside, his expression thoughtful, distant. Perhaps he could make you some tea? Or order it from the café? Honey and ginger, he recalls reading somewhere, is good for a sore throat. And food? What do humans eat when they're sick? Soup is the only thing that comes immediately to his processor.

Lost in these considerations, Beta looks down and realizes you’ve already drifted off. His eyes widen slightly, and a soft, almost silly smile spreads across his features.

Humans look so cute and peaceful when they sleep.

He watches your finally relaxed face with fascination: the way your disheveled hair curtains your closed eyes, your lips slightly parted, breathing slow and even, though still a bit heavy. Your rosy cheek is pressed trustingly against his chest. Beta feels something akin to melting just looking at you as if you are the loveliest sight he has ever seen. And crucially, you allowed yourself this vulnerability, with him. He, a being who often feels like an outsider, is regarded with suspicion even by his creators. But you… You always manage to make him feel accepted, special, as normal as any human among them. Like one of your own.

Beta feels fortunate for that.

He gently traces your cheek with one fingertip, a subtle, exploratory touch, slowly mapping the contours of your face. Up across your cheekbone, towards the delicate skin of your eyelid, his touch feather-light so as not to wake you. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, studying your features – so different from his own – with intense care.

"So peaceful…" he breathes, the sound barely audible. "Precious…"

He notices a subtle shift in your expression – eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks, eyebrows knitting almost imperceptibly, lips forming a vague pout – yet you remain asleep. The robot can’t quite interpret these micro-expressions, assuming humans generally look untroubled in sleep. But suddenly, you no longer look quite serene, and an uncomfortable static prickles through his circuits, a warning that something is amiss. Beta feels an urgent need to fix it.

"Poor thing… You’re in so much pain, aren't you? Your breathing is strained, your body tense, trembling…" he whispers, instinctively tightening his hold, trying to envelop you completely. "What should I do? What ought I to do?"

Panic begins to bubble beneath his calm facade. He's confused, terrified, but desperately trying not to wake you. Truthfully, he's never cared for a sick human before, striving with all his processing power not to overreact. But oh, he was sure your skin wasn't burning quite this intensely just moments ago.

"The infirmary… Maybe we should go back, hm? The painkillers don't seem to be working effectively…"

The robot presses his face briefly against the crown of your head, mimicking a sigh.

"Aha! There you are."

Beta’s head snaps up, gaze darting towards the doorway. Gamma stands there, greeting him with a wide, toothy grin, hands planted firmly on his hips, surveying the scene with mock judgment.

"What's that suspicious package you've got there?" Gamma raises a metallic eyebrow, sauntering closer. Beta offers a nervous grimace. "Yeah, it looks suspiciously alive!"

"Please keep your voice down; they're trying to sleep," the purple robot half-whispers, half-reproves, his anxious blue eyes flicking between you and his newly arrived companion. Gamma claps his hands over his mouth in mock horror, though the sharp grin remains visible beneath.

"I was wondering what I saw flickering on the security cameras."

"W-what?" Beta stammers, optics widening.

Gamma muffles a laugh. "Kidding! I don't have access to the cameras. Though, I won't deny, catching this would have been pretty damn funny." The neon-green robot teases, but his usual antics fail to truly rattle Beta this time. Gamma's gaze sweeps the room, landing on the couch with keen interest. "Whoa, didn't know we had one of these here. Quite the find." He stops beside the couch and crouches down, folding his tall frame close to the ground, an attempt to seem less imposing, even though you're asleep. He looks at you and tilts his head, his grin softening into something gentler.

"So," he asks, his voice lowered to an even, quiet tone, "what’s the issue? Sick or something?"

Beta adjusts the blanket around you, his expression pensive as he looks down at your sleeping form before nodding.

"I just thought… it would be nice to keep them company," he murmurs nervously, bracing for a potential reprimand. "I apologize if my absence caused any inconvenience."

"You're adorable," Gamma laughs, a genuine sound that makes Beta blush faintly purple again. "Relax. I'll tell them you were on a recharge cycle. No problem."

Beta looks genuinely, pleasantly surprised.

"Th-thank you."

"Uhm… Consider it a favor. Now you owe me," Gamma replies with a cheeky green smirk, eliciting a small sound of indignant surprise from Beta. "Seriously, though, you could have invited me. You two look ridiculously comfortable over here; I'm getting jealous."

The purple robot looks away, face flushing deeper, shoulders tense. Two of his hands fidget nervously with the edge of the blanket covering you.

"If… if you want to…"

"Aw, hell yeah. My actuators were getting a little stiff anyway." Gamma straightens up, looking down at you with those inscrutable, mismatched eyes. His smile softens once more. "Yeah, probably the only human around here I wouldn't actively wish a headache upon, y'know?" He strolls over to a nearby water dispenser, carefully filling a flimsy disposable cup, holding it with exaggerated care as if terrified of crushing the tiny object. It looks absurdly small in his large hand, but he manages to return without spilling a drop, simultaneously wheeling a small side table closer with one foot. He makes a show of checking an imaginary watch on his wrist. "Anyway, looks like we've got about an hour and a half before the café gets swarmed by hungry organics. Might as well take advantage of this wonderful couch and leave all the grunt work to Alpha."

"He’s going to be furious," Beta points out hurriedly, apprehension coloring his tone.

"Pretty sure he can handle it. Besides, that sounds like a 'future us' problem," Gamma responds dismissively, shrugging with a sly, cat-like grin. He settles onto the couch next to Beta, leaning in towards you, almost as if intending to scoop you up himself. Instead, he props his head on one hand, studying your face intently, whispering conspiratorially near your hair, "What's one or two wasted hours of productivity when you've got another eight thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight left in the year to catch up?"

Gamma places the cup of water on the small table, his mismatched eyes scanning your curled-up form with an expression that borders on tenderness. One long finger gently prods your cheek, lingering for a moment. His smile widens, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Ah, see? Infrared vision is remarkably useful for diagnostics~"

Beta looks at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"I— I hadn't considered that!"

"That's because I'm the genius."

Gamma idly plays with a strand of your hair, tousling it slightly before smoothing it back. There's a subtle tension in his movements, suggesting a desire to be careful not to wake you, yet simultaneously wanting you to somehow know he stayed too, offering his own form of company. "Fever's dropped. Perfect, perfect."

Beta lets out a quiet sigh of relief at that, pulling you closer, protectively against his chest. Gamma watches him for a long moment, head tilted.

"So… you gonna hug me like that too, or do I have to beg?"

Beta would have choked if his respiratory system worked that way.

"I… Umm… I—I don’t know… I mean…" Beta seems utterly mortified, flustered beyond words. "W-why would you want to…?"

His reaction seems disproportionately funny to his companion.

"The real question is… " Gamma leans in, raising his eyebrows dramatically, " Why wouldn’t I want to?"

Beta makes a muffled, strangled noise, and Gamma finally bursts into unrestrained laughter, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. He wants to wake you now, eager to see the inevitably perplexed expression on your face when you find yourself sandwiched between two massive robots cuddling you like a shared teddy bear. So funny.

And, admittedly, adorable.

"Maybe I should—" Beta starts.

"Leave it to me."

Without any warning, Gamma grabs Beta firmly by the shoulders and gives a sharp tug. The motion jostles Beta's hood back, causing his purple rays to flare outwards, inadvertently smacking Gamma right across the face.

Gamma lets out an exaggerated yelp of pain, the sudden noise jolting you awake, while Beta dissolves into mortified sobs and a rapid-fire barrage of apologies.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Damn, Beta, you pack some serious hidden weaponry there!"

Meanwhile, you blink, consciousness returning like a slow-motion wave crashing over you.

You have never felt so utterly confused and disoriented in your entire life. Your small, blanket-wrapped body feels like the filling in a very strange, very large robotic sandwich. They’re being careful, you register dimly, not crushing you, but their towering figures loom over you as they seem to bicker about the recent assault, momentarily oblivious to your awakening.

"W-where the hell am I…?" you murmur, voice thick with sleep and confusion.

"In the paradise of my arms, obviously," Gamma replies instantly, his grin back in place, the earlier slap forgotten. Beta, however, still looks borderline traumatized by the incident. "Surprise!" Gamma continues cheerfully. "Decided I wanted my own human plushie too, but Beta here wasn't sharing. Rude."

The poor purple robot just gives you an anxious, apologetic look, optics wide, seeming perpetually on the verge of tears. You feel your face heat up again at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Guys… this is… really strange…" You mumble, rubbing your temple. You do feel marginally better, though. The sleep, despite being punctuated by vague fever dreams, was surprisingly deep. You have hazy recollections of gentle pressure, comforting weight, large hands holding you with unexpected tenderness, and soft, murmured words that felt like a warm shield against the discomfort. It was strangely restorative. “You two are lucky that I trust you both enough.”

Beta is now a complete mess of embarrassment, looking like he wishes the floor would swallow him whole. Gamma, conversely, seems utterly unfazed, laughing heartily. He gives your head a few friendly pats like one might pet a dog.

"You're welcome!" he teases.

Beta shyly holds out a small pill and the cup of water Gamma had placed on the table earlier, avoiding direct eye contact. As you take them, he fidgets nervously with the edge of the blanket still draped over you.

"P-please drink this… before you go home."

You feel a pang of sympathy for him now.

Offering a small smile, you swallow the pill. It scrapes slightly against your still-raw throat but goes down easily enough. Gamma makes a sound like snapping his fingers.

"Alrighty! Now that our precious human is awake, I think it's high time you drank your magic robot tea and then skedaddled home to sleep in your own soft, warm bed, instead of being draped over the hard, cold chassis of two poor robots desperately craving validation and affection."

You raise an eyebrow at him, unable to tell if he's being serious or deeply sarcastic. Beta’s immediate, unbridled reaction, however, strongly suggests the latter might hold a kernel of truth.

He practically throws you into Gamma’s arms, scrambling off the couch and dashing towards the café area, calling back, "I’ll go get the tea!”. All you see is a purple and yellow blur disappearing around a corner, his two flexible grabber appendages flailing behind him like overexcited tails, narrowly missing several chairs.

An awkward silence descends as you realize you are now solely in Gamma’s lap. You sniffle, then sneeze, fumbling in your pocket for a tissue.

"What a weird day…" You whisper, mostly to yourself.

The silence stretches in response.

When you look up, Gamma’s mismatched eyes are fixed on you with an intensity you’re not accustomed to seeing from him. They gleam, a deep, assessing green; they seem to judge, penetrate, yet hold you captive, making it impossible to look away. His hand comes up, fingers firmly grasping your chin, tilting your head back slightly. His thumb traces the faint line of a scar near the right corner of your lower lip, a mark barely visible but not missed by his scrutinizing gaze.

"What was the point," his voice is suddenly low, resonant, cutting through the quiet room, "of dragging yourself here when you knew you’d only be inefficient?" The reproachful tone lands like a physical blow, stinging your chest. "Suffering, far from home? Why? Nobody pins a medal on you for martyrdom. Are you some kind of masochist?"

His words slice deeper than you expected, hitting a nerve you didn't know was exposed.

"I didn't come here… intending to be a burden," you manage, your voice trembling slightly. "I just…"

But the words die in your throat.

Gamma remains silent, his gaze unwavering, first on the tiny scar, then locking onto your eyes, waiting. All you can do is stifle a sob, hot tears welling up unexpectedly.

It must be the lingering fever, you tell yourself, or perhaps the accumulated exhaustion from the preceding days. But a sense of powerlessness washes over you – the dizziness, the melancholy that descends when you contemplate the tangled mess of past choices, the things that might have been, the decisions made and unmade. It hurts with a sharp, selfish pang because you know, deep down, that your actions often stem from a desperate search for something, anything, to fill the echoing void in your existence. Because, subconsciously, you ignored all logic and dragged yourself here, yearning for mere crumbs of the connection that feels so distant in your life. Because buried beneath layers of denial, you knew they wouldn't leave you alone. Because you crave the simple, fundamental comfort of affection and care.

Because at home, there's no one.

It’s a selfish desire, isn't it? To simply matter to someone. And even if this fragile connection feels illusory at times, who is the universe to deny you the right to cling to those who are here, offering solace, even if just for a fleeting moment? Who is to deny you the right to feel content and at peace?

Gamma’s intense gaze softens. His gloved thumb gently brushes against your damp skin, wiping away a stray tear tracking down your cheek. A small, conciliatory smile touches his lips.

"Foolish human," he grumbles, but his eyes now hold a mischievous glint, something that strongly resembles affection. "You’re damn lucky we all trust you enough."

Fresh tears spill over, fueled by embarrassment and a confusing surge of relief. Gamma lets out a chuckle.

"Thank you… guys…" You manage between sniffles.

"Yeah, yeah. Now you owe me," he repeats, the teasing tone returning.

You snort, a watery smile finally breaking through. Whether any of this is 'real' in the conventional sense… You find you no longer care to dissect it. Whatever this is, whatever complex web of programming and emerging sentience is unfolding around you, it’s already more than you ever dared to ask for.

"B-Beta is taking a long time…" you murmur after a moment, wiping your eyes.

"Maybe he hasn't decided on the optimal tea blend yet," Gamma opines dryly, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Meanwhile, unseen by either of you, the tall purple robot remains partially hidden. Peeking cautiously from behind a large column, a steaming cup held carefully between two large hands, his default expression of faint anxiety is starkly contrasted by the sweet, gentle smile slowly blooming across his face. Blue eyes gleam with an undeniable light as they fixate on you, a soft blush coloring his cheeks.

"If only you knew, Angel," he breathes to himself, adjusting his hood, "that all of us share the same dream… and someone just like you is the only data stream appearing in them."

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#as always i apologize for any mistakes #this is not intended to be serious but chill tho #I BELIEVE it at least flows acceptably??#huehue #dear lord i had so much fun writing Gamma #he is a menace #such a silly guy #Biohazard oc #GC Biohazard #GC Beta #GC YN #eclipse x reader #Gamma Code AU #Gamma Code fic #GC what if #GC short stories #dca fandom #dca community #asks

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