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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

#sex doll au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere diluc #diluc x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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half-dead-ham · 3 months ago

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Tim Drake's I.E.F chapter 2

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Going in alone wasn't his best idea, but maybe he wasn't alone?

The last month has been weird for Tim.

His days have been mostly normal, conference meetings and emails for WE, school, and family drama were all as okay as usual. His nightlife, however, was driving him crazy, for multiple reasons. Well, mainly just two reasons.

The first reason was the big case he was working on. Department store robberies and break & enters focusing on electronics have been popping up throughout Old Gotham and the City Hall District. Reports say the goods just vanish from sight, only to reappear on the black market. The fact that security cameras and motion sensors in the stores can't detect the perps means that Tim is either working with advanced camouflaging tech, or a meta. He hopes it isn't a meta… Either way he can't find them and it's giving him a massive headache.

The second reason is the thing that's been following him almost since the beginning of the case. It started with one of the robberies, either the third or fourth. Tim had gotten a call from the GCPD about a theft at an older repair shop with the same M.O. as a few of the previous thefts they've gotten over the week, and the officers wanted help looking for evidence. He showed up and they took him behind the counter to show him the—frankly piss-poor quality—CCTV footage.

It didn't make sense, one minute the parts were there, old stereos and DVD players lining the shelves, and the next poof! They had vanished. It had Tim replaying the tape—literal tape!—over and over to try and see through the pixely mess for anything useful. By the fourth replay he was getting a tension migraine and the officers that had directed him to the tube TV displaying it had moved on to other parts of the shop.

He felt it then. A cold… something bumps the back of his head. Too cold for any living person, short of Mr. Freeze, had any right to be. He whipped around expecting for the officers to be tied up, a gun at his head, something different that he hadn't noticed because he was too focused on the damn tape. But he found nothing. The cops were still looking at the shelves and racks lined with spare parts, the lights of their cars still flashing through the floor to ceiling storefront windows.

Tim was reeling.

He was sure he felt something, he was sure! He could still feel something, a chill creeping down the back of his spine and an extra set of eyes on him he couldn't account for by where the officers were standing. Just to make sure he did a few sweeps of the shop with the different view modes built into the lenses in his domino mask.

He forgot the fact that what had touched him was cold due to lack of sleep and hadn't switched to infrared. If he had he would have seen a person sized cold spot floating above him.

'Lack of sleep must be getting to me more than I thought.' He had to grumble at the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Dick telling him that coffee wasn't a sleep substitute and he was 'a growing boy that needs his rest!'

He ignored that voice and turned back to the tapes, still feeling the eyes on him.

After that it became a regular thing, the cops would tell him about another robbery, he'd show up, then after a little while he'd get that cold creep up his spine and feel that invisible set of eyes on him. It was honestly driving Tim more crazy than the 'ghost thieves' as the GCPD were calling them. A few times he thought he could see something out of the corner of his eye, a flash of white and black, an extra silhouetted reflection above and behind him in a window or mirror. He knew something was following him.

The eighth time it showed up it wasn't at a crime scene, he was perched on a rooftop near the clock tower, enjoying the view, when he felt those—by now—familiar eyes on him. With a better view to the open space he tried to get a look at the thing following him (this time switching to inflated even!) but as it was already mid fall it was too cold to get a good reading up so high at this time of night.

'Why is it so insistent on following me?' he thought exasperatedly. It wasn't like he was one of the more interesting vigilantes in Gotham. From the way this creature felt (predatory, like a wolf stalking a deer) it would probably have loads more fun stalking Jason, or maybe it'd like Dick more, with his funny quips and fluid movements. Tim was… he was Tim, the smart one, but he wasn't very flashy or enthusiastic about what he does. He was just one of the bats, the replacement, and not a very good one if he got replaced.

A snowflake landed on Tim's nose, startling him out of his depressive spiral. He looked up, wondering how long he had been like that, when two things occurred to him. One, it was late September, it wasn't due to snow for at least two more months, it couldn't be snowing unless one of the colder rouges got out of Arkham and decided to build another weather machine. Two, the thing. It was right next to him. He could feel it watching him. It was… was it worried for Tim? Had it noticed Tim going down a bad train of thought and decided to startle him out of it… with a snowflake?

He discreetly inches his hand over to where he thought the creature was beside him, but only came into contact with the cornice underneath them. Retracting his hand, he let his legs drop out from under him, going from a crouch to a sit and letting the circulation back into his feet. He looked out into Gotham and watched the lights of the cars travel underneath them. It was peaceful, until Oracle called him about a shooting two blocks west of his location.

The being stuck with him until his patrol ended, and by the end of the night he figured even if the thing was creepy and following him, he didn't mind the company.

Then he told Dick about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim was riding to his stakeout spot when he felt the presence come up beside him. He no longer thought it was malicious, despite how weird it felt, and he had noticed a few more times of the thing trying to be useful while on patrol; tripping up thugs, redirecting stray bullets away from him, highlighting clues during an investigation (he still doesn't know how it made the weapon actually glow.) It was nice knowing someone had his back that weren't his annoying siblings, who still thought he was making the thing up.

He stopped two blocks down from the electronic store his contacts had told him would be targeted tonight and set off to don't a good vantage point. The bakery across the street wasn't ideal, but it had a good view and a large enough smoke stack that he could easily hide behind if needed, so he went around the back to the fire escape. Two attempts was all it took to get the ladder clanging to the alley pavement, and knowing his family he'd be getting called rusty or a disgrace by at least two of them if they knew he didn't get it on the first try.

The bloom of frost on the back of his neck made him shiver and refocused his thoughts back on the mission. He scaled up to the first landing and resecured the ladder to its upright position, then went the rest of the way two rungs at a time. He hopped up onto the back ledge of the building and strides across to the front, booting up the security bypass coding feature to connect him to the CCTV footage of the store in front of him.

He worked to get all the cams up in a grid then waited, absently noticing the cold presence floating in loose circles around his head. The sounds of Gotham's nightlife has his mind wandering as he went back to the morning he accidentally told Dick about his patrol company.

"Awwwee, Timmy has an imaginary friend!" He'd exclaimed, getting the attention of the rest of the breakfast table.

Stephanie, lovable Stephanie, burst into a guffawing laughter, Duke barely restraining his giggles behind his hand. Damian had just sent him a scowl for interrupting the peace.

"It's not imaginary, Dick, the thing following me is real! It landed a snowflake on my nose last night. It's September! We won't have snow for another two months! Explain how that could have happened Dick." He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

"You sure you weren't just imagining it?" He countered with a stupid, stupid smirk.

Tim did not pout, he didn't, especially when the other two burst into another fit of unchecked laughter. Knowing he wouldn't get anywhere with them, he decided to take his death wish coffee back to his room to answer some company emails.

The alarm blaring from the store in front of him brought him back out of his reminiscence, realzing he'd only been half paying attention to the security feed, and that the cold spot was now right over his shoulder.

A silent curse was all he gave before standing up, -the cold floating off a bit- and pressing the button on his comms to an open channel.

"Oracle, it's RR." The comms popped and came to life with a response.

"Red, I'm guessing you couldn't see anything on the CCTV footage?"

He was hoping the better equipped Oracle had noticed something, but with the tone of her voice, that wasn't the case.

"So you didn't see anything either?" He replied with a groan. So much for that lead. Walking a few paces away from the cornice he groaned, "what kind of tech could hide someone from all the cameras in there?"

No reply meant Oracle was just as stumped as he was, and after a pregnant pause he murmured "you think it could be a meta?"

Continuing with the thought would only give him another headache, but he couldn't dismiss the possibility. "That could be why we didn't even see the goods getting moved," he added on.

"That's a worrying possibility, but even metas leave traces. Maybe something will come up during the investigation this time? See what you can find."

"I'll try, but I don't know how much I'll find even if I can see them," was all he could say in reply. It was sad how little he'd been able to get during the last dozen investigations, and he doubts it'll be different for this one.

He was alerting the police while keeping up the conversation with Oracle when he felt something go through him. He couldn't suppress the full body shudder he had to the sensation. It was like someone had poured ice water down his front and caught it with a towel before it could reach his leg, and he did not like that.

He breathed out a wheezy "what the fuck?" Before needing to stumble back on stiff knees.

"RR, are you okay? What happened?" It was so sudden he couldn't shut his comm off. Great, now he needed to explain to Oracle what was happening.

Shakily he sputtered "I-I'm f-f-fine. My patrol buddy just gave me the worst heebie-jeebies e-ever."

"Patrol buddy? Tim, no one's in your vicinity to be on patrol with you, who are you talking about?"

"Oh, are we talking about Timmy's imaginary friend again?" Dick broke in, stupid open channel, stupid slow crime night.

"Imaginary friend? Tim, are you okay, you told us you were getting enough sleep after patrols." The worry in her voice would have been comforting if he couldn't hear Dick's smarmy smirk all the way from Blüdhaven.

"Don't worry O, Timmers' here is just finally getting to be a kid again," Dick explained lightly. Tim wanted to strangle him right now, the concern radiating from Barbara's end was not helping.

"I don't know Dick, this could be something bad, what if he's hallucinating due to lack of sleep? It's happened more than once already."

Tim snapped at that. "The amount of sleep I'm getting is neither of your concerns! Just because I'm getting less than recommended doesn't mean none at all. And no I am not hallucinating! I just felt something go through me and nothing's here! I'm-" He was cut off by Dick saying something about a cold with all the shivering he was doing but he quickly cut that off.

"No I'm not coming down with something Dick!" He shouted into the comm. He was tired of his family making fun of him for being stalked. Sure, the thing stalking him may be friendly, and may help him get out of spiralling thoughts, but it could be a spy! Or an evil alien come to replace him! Or one of their rouges' new secret weapons! And they're laughing about him having an imaginary friend! That was all kinds of degrading he didn't want to have on him.

Before he could get another word out his wrist computer beeped. Stunned and confused to silence, Tim raised his gauntlet to show that, somehow, his tracker was travelling away from him and towards the docks.

He was still on the same roof he was on half an hour ago.

"What?" Was what came out of his mouth, mentally followed by a 'the fuck?' as he watched the little blinking light speed through the grid representing Gotham's street system. Frowning further he stuck his other hand into the front left pouch in his utility belt, the one that normally held the tracker. He felt around in it as though the pouch was deeper than a few fingers, and pulled back his gloved hand with nothing in it. His tracking bug wasn't in his belt. Remembering the full body chill he got moments before, he realized the sensation ended just below his belt.

Where his tracker used to be.

His head shot up, swivelling and searching for something he knows he won't find with his eyes. The cold spot had travelled to the back of the building and was slowly making its way back to him, coming from the sound of screeching tires it wasn't hard to make the connection.

His buddy just put a lead in his lap, and damn if Tim wasn't going to take it.

Interrupting whatever lame spiel Dick was ranting about, Tim cut in.

"Guys, I think I got a lead." He was met with a few seconds of dead air before both Dick and Babs blew up on him.

"What?!- How?!- When did you see them?- Do you need backup?- how did you get sight of them if you were talking to us?-"

Tim cut them off again, he loved his family, but sometimes they could be loud.

"Something took my tracker. I don't know what has it but it's heading to the docks, I'm going to see where it's headed and maybe find some clues about either who took it, or that tech."

Dick spoke up, worry laced in his serious tone, "Tim this is a really good time to point out that this could be a trap. Whatever has your bug was able to take it off you without you noticing, maybe you should get someone to go with?"

The presence seemed to droop at Dick's worrying, if it really just gave him the one thing to bust this case open, he couldn't not go.

"I don't think it's a trap," he replied. "If what I think happened, then that thing that's stalking me might just have given me the lead I need to bust this case open. And yes I know you guys still don't believe me about the thing, but I've seen and felt too many things over the past month not to think something's keeping tabs on me."

While they couldn't see them, the hand gestures gave him some relief for his exasperation. Grumbling the last bit made him feel like he was talking to an older brother though, which, he guessed he was, technically.

"I'll be in Gotham soon for the weekend, radio me if anything, and I mean anything comes up, okay?" Dick's older brother qualities really shine through at times like these, making a spot in Tim's chest warm.

He sent a small reassuring "will do" through the channel before turning his comm off. He needed off that roof to follow the tracker, and even while rushing to his bike he kept glancing at his computer to make sure the bug wouldn't magically go offline.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finding the tracking bug wasn't all that difficult, when it finally stopped in a section of the docks known for shady deals and villain hideouts Tim had to ditch the bike in favour of the stealthier rooftop option. He really didn't want any other criminals noticing him, and even though the bike was quiet, it wasn't that quiet. Corrugated steel wasn't the best surface for freestyle parkour, but when you're part of the bat family you get used to it. The fact that it had rained earlier in the day meant he had to be extra careful with how he landed, if he didn't want to slip up between jumps.

His patrol buddy seemed to be getting more active the further they went into the area, feeling the cold spot circling around his head as though waiting for something to jump out, and Tim had to wonder if that was a good or bad thing. He hoped it was the first option.

Tim had to refocus as they bounded over another rooftop and came up on the warehouse in which his tracer had stopped in. It was lit up like a Christmas tree compared to the surrounding buildings, unnecessary, but a good first clue to what's going on inside.

Three guards, all armed with handguns, were positioned at the main entrances but weren't doing a very good job of being lookouts. Seemed like an amateur group, then, all the better. Amateurs in Gotham were stupid and overconfident, they didn't know how to handle the bats and were often brushed away as easily as Alfred sweeping up dust.

Finding an entry point was easy, after circling the building via adjacent rooftops Tim figured the open window in the rear end of the building, that probably led to an old office space, would be his best bet. He made sure there wasn't anyone in the room, then used his grapple gun to launch himself through the frame in such a way Dick would be proud of. Rolling on his shoulder and coming up in a crouch, he canvassed the room for bugs or weapons (empty as it was.) Finding nothing he crept his way out through the doorway and into the hallway.

The hallway held five more doors, most likely leading to more old offices, but unlike his entry point these frames all had their doors intact. Investigating to make sure the second floor was clear of people would be his first task, but a sound reverberating from the open end of the hallway had him creeping to the grated catwalk above the main part of the warehouse to investigate.

He gasped. 'This is it,' Tim thought as he observed the floor below, 'all of the stolen tech is right here!' Thirty men dressed in black and armed were sorting through gaming consoles, PC towers, camera equipment and other devices on his left. On his right were three vans, one with its back doors swung open, revealing the freshly stolen flatscreen displays they had pilfered from the electronic store only an hour before.

He watched it all, taking note of the stark white belts some of the goons wore and taking photos through his domino lenses. A quiet scuff behind him had Tim instinctively swerving out of the way of a lead pipe aimed for his head. Kicking out and catching his attacker on the shins, the thugs' forward momentum carried him face first into the iron mesh grate keeping them on the second floor. Tim smiled a little at the mental image of the guy going splat, but the humour was short lived as the impact of the fall had loosened the grunts grip of his still outstretched arm on his weapon. Causing the pipe to roll out of his hand, and falling down to the workspace below before Tim had a chance to catch it.

Shit.

The pipe landed with a loud echoing clang! as the whole warehouse went deathly quiet. Tim held his breath, hoping the ghost thieves would just go back to sorting their goods so he could hightail it outta there, but as a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed by his temple, he realized only the second part of that thought would be happening.

'Fuck fuck fuck fuck!' was all he could think as he raced full tilt back to the window that had let him in. Bullets and angry exclamations ringing through the air as he made his escape onto the rooftop across from him. Looking back to the main entrance Tim thought he would be safe for a few moments to catch his breath while they rallied together, until the doors crashed open and a mob of angry men stormed out of the building to give chase.

He needed to leave. Now.

Sprinting over the roof and bounding across the steep to the next overhang, Tim couldn't keep the shouting and gunshots out of his head. He stayed focused, knowing that the urge to get away and staying alive was overriding the freeze response that so badly wanted to lock his joints. Practice and experience were the only thing keeping his brain focused on launching himself and landing even as bullets sped past his form. A searing pain in his bicep bloomed as he came on a downward arc of a leap, followed by a ribbon of pain across his face, but he kept running.

Only when a burst of heat and pain shot through his chest did he finally lose enough focus to slip on a slick section of roofing, legs going out from under him and down the side of the building. His upper torso slammed onto the corrugated steel in a way that had him crying out as the pain raced through him, nearly blacking out. Weakly scrabbling to gain purchase along the sleek metal only made the pain in his arm scream and pulse louder through his head until there was nothing left to grab.

And so he fell.

Static buzzing accompanied the sound of rushing wind as Tim plummeted the thirty feet to the pavement below. He absently wondered where the buzz was coming from, alongside the thoughts of 'Dick's gonna kill me,' 'shit shit shit shit,' and 'Alfred will be crushed that I got crushed, heh.'

Before he could meet the unforgiving pavement rushing up to catch him, something grabbed his uninjured arm by the wrist. He thought he would be jerked to a stop until he felt a cool sensation wash over him, like he'd just chewed on a menthol candy. Then, as if by magic, Tim felt gravity lift off him like shaking off a weighted blanket. The buzzing only got louder as he was gently carried to the ground, legs collapsing on contact.

They were too weak to hold him up.

When he was held by the shoulders and positioned so his back was against the nearest wall, He realized belatedly that it was his patrol buddy.

It had caught him.

It was checking him over.

It was the source of that static buzzing he'd heard before.

Another sensation washed over him, this one of exhaustion, pain, and the feeling that it was safe. That he was protected. That he could close his eyes and everything would be okay when he opened them.

Before the darkness that encroached on his vision overtook him he saw a green light surrounding him, then a figure appeared. He was too exhausted to tell whether the figure was male or female, but he did notice a shock of snow white hair on an otherwise dark clothed body. As the figure stood and turned to meet the angry mob Tim got the last look at who he would later realize to be his patrol companion.

The static buzzing pulsed with the figure as they proceeded to expand. A swirling mass of black cloudy mist with white, glittering flecks rolled towards the other end of the alley like a thundercloud. The haze got too much for Tim to fight and the only thought that entered his addled mind was 'ah, beautiful.'

And then, Tim blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Ao3][Prev][Next]

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #tim drake #dc x dp #ham writes #chapter fic #chapter 2

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httpseungmxn · 2 months ago

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Funtime No-time

Protector!Quackity X Security Guard!Female Reader

🍧 - angst/horror

Authors Note: Hello my lovely Angels, I’m sure you’re all surprised to hear from me after being gone almost a month, hm? I went away on quite a bit of a hiatus due to my sister passing away the day before Halloween. I didn’t abandon you all, and I most definitely didn’t forget about this fnaf fic I promised you all! This isn’t a romantic fic at all, it will hold angst and horror, with hope near the end! Q’s face will not be revealed to reader at all, he is said to be faceless for reasons! I hope you guys can enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!<3

Warnings: Pure horror within bits, mentions of the hanging guards in the Sister Location game! Angst, reader comes to find out what happened to q while he was a guard there! And I think thats it!

Triggers: Blood, mentions of hanging, reader ends up with cuts and scratches from escaping Ennard, and a third degree burn from someone on her hand at the end!

Your first day as a Security Guard at the sister location had gone shaky. Your second day was a little easier. By your third day you had learned your tasks, but things were getting strange. Your fourth day wasn’t easy like the previous day, it was stressful and had you rethinking your life decisions.

When you walked into the location on your fifth day, you could already feel something off. All the lights were on, which wasn’t a normal thing, and there were tools all over the vents. Listening into the handy helper voice, you heard them mention that two other men had been here doing repairs.

You wondered where they were now and why they left all these tools around. Surely they knew they’d get in trouble for leaving things behind….right?

Fear felt like a hot injection shooting through your veins as you checked the lights on the right side where funtime foxy usually resided.

Instead was the hanging shadow of a man, he wasn’t moving, and only then did you realize why the tools were left behind. You tried to dial up the owner of the location while checking the left side, and let out a startled gasp when you saw another hanging shadow.

They hadn’t just carelessly left their things there for you to pick up. They had been hunted and murdered. You didn’t know what to do. Your hands were shaking so bad that you were sure you’d lose grasp of the ringing phone in them. When the owner didn’t pick up on the fifth ring you decided to leave him a very panicked voicemail before calling 911.

Once 911 got here, they could power down the animatronics, check the cameras, and retrieve the two bodies. She wouldn’t be dragged into some sudden investigation.

Thoughts and plans running through her head as she turned to leave through the vent only to realize it had been shut. It must’ve been an emergency response, but how would the location have known there was an emergency.

You jumped almost ten feet in the air when a static, hoarse voice rang loudly through the intercom that your handy helper usually spoke through, “ Move quickly. Ballora gallery. “,

You did as the voice said slowly, cautious about listening to people but the voice sounded human enough for her to follow it. Ballora was nowhere in sight as you walked quietly through the gallery.

Something watched you silently from the shadows though. Ballora wasn’t there but the mess of wires was. Waiting to make its move.

When it saw you pull open a door, it was quick to stand in front of you, slamming the door shut and reaching for your body when wire fingers. Enjoying the loud cry of fear you let out as you quickly backed away.

Pain was the last thing you felt as you ran in the opposite direction, your arm was bleeding, you could feel the dribble of blood as you ran. You had seen photos of the animatronic named ennard, but assumed it had been trashed before you were hired in due to never actually seeing it.

Oh how wrong you were though. You could hear it following close behind but on the ceiling, crawling after you fast.

You wished this was just a bad dream that you could wake up from. Looking around for another exit in the darkness of the room. You couldn’t slow down and you couldn’t look behind you. It was right there, if you stopped it would snatch you up in a matter of mere seconds. “ go right. Fast. dont even think twice. “, there was that damn voice again.

You wondered if someone else were in there with you, maybe they were watching you on the cams and leading you to them so you could escape together.

Your questions were answered as you set sight on a door with the word “exit” above it in bright red lettering. Quickly pulling open the door, the thing was quick to grab onto your shirt from behind.

Pulling away from it with all your might, but not being able to do much due to the wired monsters strength. Watching a glowing blue human shamed hand come out of the brightness of the doorway in front of you.

You grabbed ahold of the hand without a second thought, feeling a strong burning sensation as you’re pulled through the doorway. The door is slammed shut behind you. Looking forward to see who the hand belonged to, but not actually seeing anyone.

You knew they were still there, just hidden by the bright lights that felt like they were burning away your sight. Suddenly finding your voice and calling out shakily to the person,

“ who are you..? Where are you? “. The person didn’t immediately answer your questions, and even when it did, it only answered one.

“ Alexis. “, you could hear movement and a door to the left opening to reveal the outside world where you could hear sirens coming near. A door on your right opened and closed.

Only now did you realize that the man who had been talking to you had gone back into the building. You wondered why but didn’t think twice on escaping out the doors. Looking back suddenly when a sudden heat singed your clothes, staring at the fire with wide eyes.

The cops pulled into the parking lot of the now burning location and rushed to you to ask what had happened. Your only reply was, “ he helped me escape. “. They assumed you were attacked by someone who broke in based on the cuts you had and that you got the burns from pushing open a burning door.

You were driven home in a cop car after the paramedics fixed you up. The cops told you to take a bath and get some rest after the long day you had, but that wasn’t at all what you did. You needed to find him. You needed to find the man…the thing that helped you escape.

It took you hours to find his identity. An article catching your eye that had a sub-title of, “New guard found dead in Fazbear Sister Location”. You assumed maybe this was a guard who had previously worked there and maybe died, thinking this could help you find your helper.

Thats when you saw it. A name at the start of the first paragraph of the article had your eyes widening and your hands shaking. The article wasn’t about just any guard who had died there before you. No it was a name that shook you to your absolute core. The name of the man who had saved your life. The name of the thing that had helped you escaped.

There was the name Alexis in big, bold, print. Your savior.

Authors ending note; wow o wow, that was definitely something! I actually loved writing this, and it ended up being much longer than I planned, but I don’t mind! Maybe one day I’ll write a part two of this and you guys can find out more about what happened to Q! Next on my list for writing is part one of my l0ser=l♡ ver txt mini series which will consist of five parts, one for each member and based around their parts in the mv! After the first one I will probably continue with our streamer series and then part two of the txt series, and so on! Until next time, My Angels 🫶

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milkymolle · 12 days ago

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i'm at the point where i'm writing transformers fanfiction. it's dratchet and it's very self indulgent sci fi headcanons. so if you're interested here's the link, and the whole fic is under the read more!

Some patients like to watch Ratchet's hands while he works, curious how he'll fix them up. Sometimes they just glance about the room, quiet or making idle conversation. Ratchet's gotten used to that stuff; he can chat while he works, or not, either way he's wholly focused on the task. But apparently there is something that can distract him--if his patient is silently boring a hole in his head with their staring.

"Can I help you?" Ratchet grumbles. He's already pretty pissed at Drift's general lack of self preservation, manifesting very obviously in the many repair jobs he's neglected on himself. He saw Drift's limp and demanded he sit down to look at it. Having Drift try to melt Ratchet's face with his bright yellow eyes doesn't improve his mood.

"Sorry," Drift replies. Ratchet can see a smile twitch onto his face from his periphery. "I'm looking at your aura."

Ratchet pulls back to make an aggrieved noise. "Great." He leans back over to finish soldering the wires in Drift's knee, in order to keep his own mouth shut.

"I'm serious!" says Drift, though he has laughter in his voice. "You have a really lovely aura. I think it comes across to your patients, even if they don't realize it."

"Uh-huh," Ratchet says, to keep himself from saying something mean. He came all this way, so he ought to at least try to be nice to Drift. "What's it look like?"

Drift's quiet for a moment, still scrutinizing with those damn eyes, like he has to really consider it. "Well, there are layers to auras, but I don't wanna make your head explode. Basically, you always have earthy tones surrounding you, but when you work on someone, pinks and blues come out. Energon and spark colors." Ratchet glances up to see the smile on Drift's face. "You're a healer to your very core."

Drift often says disarming things like this to rile Ratchet up, and what's worse is that he usually truly means what he says. So the statement that Ratchet is a natural doctor is not affecting really, it's something he's heard many times before, but when Drift says it in his way and he smiles so genuinely, it does get to Ratchet. Annoyingly.

Trying to save face, he replies, "Yeah, 'cause Primus made me that way."

"That's what I've been saying!"

Ratchet scoffs and Drift snickers.

They get into trouble again soon, and as much as Ratchet would like to blame Drift as a magnet for these things, he's at least self-aware enough to know he's no better. He only wishes less Decepticons had decided to continue evil-doing in damn near every corner of the galaxy.

The rig they are currently trying to flee is stupidly labyrinthine, and the blaring alarms don't help Ratchet's focus. He shoots out another security camera and shouts, "Are you sure we aren't going in circles?"

"Let me think," Drift shouts back. He's just standing there--granted, with his swords drawn--scrutinizing further down the hallway. Ratchet can't see anything identifying where they are, where they're going. It's all dark gunmetal walls and floors and ceilings.

Ratchet darts his eyes around, checking their six. A door to the left slides open, and as soon as the con's head pokes through Ratchet blasts a hole through it. (Once again, he feels a sick gratitude towards Pharma's hands.)

They'll be more soon. "Drift--"

"This way." He's running off, and Ratchet has to scramble after him. They take a series of purposeful turns, like Drift's been possessed and Ratchet has no better ideas than to follow him. Drift punches open a heavy door, revealing a room with two cons. Drift doesn't hesitate lopping the head off one, so Ratchet guns down the other. Only after they're dead does Ratchet realize they are somehow in the escape pod housing.

"How did you know where this was?" Ratchet asks as Drift wrenches one open.

"You wouldn't believe me," he gruffs, and grabs Ratchet's collar to chuck him inside. He only stumbles a little.

"Were you seriously just guessing?" Ratchet shouts as he finds the controls and frantically works them out.

"I sensed it." The ignition kicks, and they're shooting out from the Decepticon ship. Ratchet opens his mouth and Drift continues, "We'll argue about it later, if we don't get shot out of the sky."

Some part of Ratchet is still loath to agree with Drift, especially right now when he feels morally obligated to argue against the ability to "sense" some escape pods, but he really doesn't want to get blown up so he grits his teeth and gets them the hell away from that stupid rig.

Drift's pretty quiet back on their ship. Apparently the promise to continue the argument was empty. Ratchet's not sure if it's a PTSD thing he's going through, being back on a Decepticon ship, or maybe the fact that news of their last location will get to the DJD sooner rather than later. He doesn't have the nerve to ask, just to watch Drift sitting against the wall with his greatsword laid out in his lap.

Ratchet does sit next to him, though. "Y'know," he says, "I was thinking about it back on the con's ship, and I realized I don't think I ever thanked you for it. For Pharma's hands."

Drift looks at him somewhat bewildered, like he'd never considered it himself. "You don't need to thank me for that. But you're welcome."

They sit quietly for a bit. Ratchet maps out all the rivets on the wall across from them. Then Drift says, "They're not his hands anymore, you know. They're yours."

Ratchet smiles a bit grimly. "Yeah. Though honestly, it doesn't feel great. Carrying around a dead person's hands. An old friend's, even." He holds his hand out to look at it, the miniscule differences in Pharma's fingers and wrist from Ratchet's old ones, the ones he had for millions of years. "It doesn't feel great using them, knowing what they did before."

Drift catches Ratchet's hand from the air. He holds it firm while being careful, like it was a precious thing. Ratchet blinks at him.

Drift stares back with intent. "They're yours," he insists. "Because I gave them to you."

Ratchet's not quite sure what he means--though maybe some part of him does, some implicit understanding, but he can't think about that right now. He sees how serious Drift is, so he concedes, "Alright."

After he's sure, Drift lets go.

They spend a lot of time getting far away from that quadrant of space. They also don't head back to the Lost Light, to avoid bringing trouble with them. This little shuttle is so much quieter, just the hum of a space vessel and occasionally a strange creaking. He leaves Drift alone for a bit, or perhaps he wants to be alone himself. He reads, like he usually does when he's not working, and he finds some texts about Spectralism and energy reading that make him pretty angry but he tries to read it anyway. It makes some attempt to connect with reality, citing properties of light and electromagnetism that aren't incorrect, though it always circles back to the soul and to God. It makes it difficult for Ratchet to not mentally construct an argument against religious doctrine that was written many years ago.

There's a knock at the door and Ratchet hides the article away like he's been caught. "Yeah?"

The door slides open, and Drift peers up at Ratchet like he wished he could stay hidden behind it. "Hey. You busy?"

Ratchet laughs a bit; he's currently lounging on his berth. "Nope."

"You bored?"

"I think it's pretty hard not to be."

Drift walks in like that was permission. "If we're going to be stuck in a crappy little shuttle for the next 78 hours, we should probably find something to do."

Ratchet feels very self-conscious on his berth suddenly, and he wishes this conversation wasn't happening in his little room. He meant it when he said to himself he didn't have time to think about this. He lurches to sit at the side of the berth, trying for some scrap of respectability. "Like what?"

Drift stands in front of him with his impeccable posture, looking strong for someone covered in dents and scratches. "Could I teach you some hand?"

For some reason this surprises Ratchet, though it is a pretty good idea. Drift rushes on before Ratchet can reply: "There are situations where it could be useful. It's the only way of communicating possible without being able to hear, speak, or see. I mean, I don't know exactly what would happen to leave us like that, but--it just seems like a good backup."

"Yeah, it does." Ratchet gives a little smile, and Drift smiles back, relieved and beaming. Then he hops up onto the berth, sitting cross-legged next from Ratchet. He holds his hands up expectantly.

"Right now?"

"Were you not just saying how impossibly bored you are?"

Ratchet huffs and moves to mirror Drift, sitting across from him and raising his hands. His hands, the ones Drift gave him. Drift takes them by just barely lacing their fingertips together; Drift's hands are slightly bigger, scuffed, but they feel clever in Ratchet's own. His touch is not firm like it was before, it's something shy but eager. Ratchet briefly squeezes them.

Drift's still smiling. The lesson he gives then is precise and confident, like he'd planned it all out beforehand. Ratchet privately enjoys the thought.

There's a lively port they deem far enough away that they decide to dock at. It's good-sized moon with an atmosphere that supports organic life, and Drift assures Ratchet that the DJD avoid organic space as much as possible. (Apparently, the pleasure they take in murdering non-mechanical life is outweighed by their pure disgust.)

They stock up the shuttle and take a moment to sit on a bench to rest, and to enjoy the life around them. It reminds him of the Lost Light in a way, feeling like a very small piece in a large, loud world. It's something of a comfort.

Drift is rather impassive when Ratchet takes peeks at him. He briefly, mortifyingly, wishes he could sees people's emotions the way Drift claims to. It's such an absurd and sudden thought that he can't help but linger on it.

"Hey." Ratchet points out someone in the crowd. "Can you see their aura?"

Drift gives him an absolutely disbelieving look. "What, is this a joke?"

"No, seriously, I wanna know."

Drift still scowls at him, but he does turn to look at the person Ratchet pointed out. Then he gets that focused look. "Hm. They're getting old. They give off deep colors, like someone who carries a lot with them."

"What kinds of colors?"

Drift tilts his head. "Deep, purply colors. It's harder to define than just the color wheel."

Ratchet stares at the person, a wide mechanical that puffs out steam from their vents every half minute or so. He can't see anything other than the off-white of the smoke.

An organic person walks up on two pairs of legs to speak with the mech. Ratchet jerks his head. "What about them?"

"It's harder for me to read organics, I'm not as used to it." He studies them. "Hmm, they're warmer, sort of green? They remind me a bit of you."

Ratchet huffs. "I thought I was pink and blue or whatever."

"You are, sometimes. Auras change constantly. But something about them...it reminds me of you when--we first met."

Ratchet watches the organic quietly. Drift thinks about that time a lot; he's admitted as much. Most of them probably think of the days before the war, for many different reasons. Ratchet spent a lot of his life thinking of it, thinking of what could be different, of what he should've done. Like there's some way he could've saved more lives. Eventually he'd learned that it was a useless endeavor, trying to calculate the right decisions for things that were long dead. He tries to let go of his regrets now.

He thinks of the day he met Drift a lot, too. There was a time where he'd thought of what would happen if Drift had died; how many Autobots would still be alive? He'd operated on soldiers that had been shot by Deadlock, or he tried to. But like he'd realized, it's a useless type of math. He doesn't regret saving anyone's life, not a single person.

He's been staring at that couple for a long time, and when they finally notice him he glances down to his feet. "Guess I was greener back then," he says.

Somehow he can feel Drift rolling his eyes. "Uh huh. So are you asking this to make fun of me or what?"

"No, I'm just curious. I'd like to know how it works for you."

Ratchet turns to see Drift making yet another face at him. "Did something happen back on the Lost Light that made you less of an ass?"

Ratchet flicks at his finial.

The only windows on the shuttle are in the cockpit, and occasionally Ratchet would sit in there just to observe the space outside. He'd honestly seen enough of space at this point in his life, mostly flat black dotted with pinpricks. Though sometimes they pass a nebula, or sail over the ring of some planet, and those are things Ratchet can still appreciate.

Drift spends a lot of time in the cockpit. He seems to just stare out at unmoving stars with intent focus; it may be his way of meditating, though his eyes are searching. A lot of Cybertronians are drawn to the stars, and it doesn't surprise Ratchet that Drift is one of them.

"Are you one of those people that think stars are alive?" Ratchet asks him, startling Drift from his reverie.

"Aren't they?" he asks.

Ratchet sighs. "Well, a lot of people argue that they meet the qualifications of being 'alive.' There's a lot of things you could argue are alive, if you broaden the definition enough--they're similar enough to sparks. I guess I meant if you think of them as...people."

"Ah." Drift turns back to the window. The cockpit is dim except for a green light emitted by the HUD. "They're alive, but I'm not sure they're 'people.' They don't have the aura of something sentient. I know some people think they're the souls of the departed, sparks reformed far off. I think there's merit to thinking that our sparks are reformed somehow--when they fade, it's just the energy scattering, and it could go any number of places, become anything really. But...the soul isn't something material, something you can see. It's held in our spark, and when the spark dissapates, it's freed."

Ratchet's quiet, and Drift glances at him with something like discomfort on his face. Before he can continue, probably to defend himself, Ratchet says, "No, I think it's...interesting. How you think of things. There's a logic to it, if you believe in things like souls. It's just...how do you believe in something that you can't see, or can't be proven?"

Drift gives a small smile at that. "It can't be proven in the scientific sense, but it can definitely be experienced. I have." He pats at the greatsword laid in his lap. "I feel Wing with me, always. It's like another sense, and you can't really understand it until you identify even having that sense. Like...you won't know what 'tasting' is until you put something in your mouth."

Such a strange way of putting it. There's a knee-jerk reaction Ratchet has to things like that, things so esoteric they border on nonsensical, but when he thinks on it he can sort of understand what Drift's trying to say. But he can't help but ask, "Is that how you 'sensed' those stupid escape pods?"

"That was Primus' guidance."

"Right." Ratchet sits in the copilot seat and shuts up, for his own sake.

When they're not practicing chirolinguistics, and there's no more frivolous repairs for Ratchet to work on, he demands regular check-ups on Drift. He reasons that he needs to keep up his practice and that Drift is far overdue for extensive repairs. They both really need an overhaul, if they can scrape the money together. For now, he resorts to rote examinations to make himself feel useful.

He examines the jagged scar on Drift's spark chamber. Of all the Decepticons' stupid beliefs, forging their badges from their own metal, ripped from the most vital organ of their bodies, is one of the more irritating. There's any number of conditions that can arise from the practice, if not an almost instant death that can come from a botched surgery.

"I can practically smell you judging me," Drift says from above. He sounds hauty for someone with his chest wide open.

Ratchet huffs and pulls back a little from his scrutinizing--all the scans came back fine, anyway. "You know, I'm just annoyed because--"

"--you worry. I know." Drift smiles at him. Ratchet still doesn't like having his sentences finished, but he lets it go with just a scowl.

"What did you even do with your badge? I know some defectors have it smelted down and reattached."

"It's long gone--I didn't want it anymore." Ratchet pushes his chair away from the examination table, and Drift shifts his chest plates back. "For a while I regretted it, but I think it's good that the scar is there. It's not something I want to burnish over and forget."

Ratchet remounts the scanner into its port, and his gaze feels distant. "Yeah, I get that." He swivels back around with his penlight out, reaching for Drift's face. He places his chin in the hand, and Ratchet maneuvers it to get a good look at Drift's eye.

The last time he'd looked at them like this, they'd been leaking rust. They're clear now, healthy, though they certainly have some wear. The light sensor at the back of the eye seems standard, a CMOS with a few dozen gold wires. Ratchet counts six lenses instead of five, which isn't unusual and makes sense for someone who was a sharpshooter. Ratchet frowns as he moves to the other eye.

"I didn't ask you what you think of the stars," Drift says suddenly.

Ratchet thought they'd moved past that. "They're giant balls of gas formed by gravity and nuclear fusion."

Ratchet decides to be satisfied with his exam, so he shuts the light off and frees Drift. Drift's smiling and says, "I figured you didn't have a very romantic view of them."

"The similarity to sparks is interesting," Ratchet says. "I agree with the theory that stars are our ancestors; Vector Sigma is likely a small neuron star that evolved to carry code. But no, I don't think of them as gods or souls or anything. They're natural phenomenon that, in incredibly rare cases like with Cybertron, learned to reproduce as small bundles of positrons and code that formed a protective shell around them that we call our bodies."

Drift puts his chin in his hand as Ratchet speaks. "You know, that seems far more miraculous than a higher being granting life to a planet."

"Something I've learned after all this time--especially on the Lost Light, is that the universe is far, far more vast and old and unknown than we like to imagine. Things that seem unbelievable can find a way given enough time and the right circumstances. I think it cheapens the grandeur of the universe just say a god made it all and stop questioning how and why things are."

Drift nods. "Religion doesn't negate the need for scientific inquiry, I think. There's nothing wrong with trying to understand and finding answers for yourself--we know what it's like to have those in charge tell us what to believe without explanation. But don't you think all this is the way it is, that anything exists at all because the universe itself has a will--many wills, even--that make the shape of everything?"

"That's stupid."

Drift laughs. "That's more like it."

They take time getting back to the Lost Light. More than necessary, but things always seem to get out of hand. They need to get the shuttle repaired and they need to find a place that supplies energon, and then there's a stop Drift wants to make nearby, and somehow they'll end up being chased out of that town and onto the next. They are currently stowing away in cargo that's being shipped back to the station they left the shuttle at to be fixed. It's cramped and humid and dark, huddled together behind large metal drums that rattle as the ship fires its thrusters. It's not so bad though. It gives Ratchet time to think, to piece things together in his head like he's had so little time (or will) to do.

Drift's hand finds his. Ratchet turns it over appeasingly without thinking. Then Drift does something with his fingers, and Ratchet realizes it's chirolinguistics. Drift does it again so Ratchet can catch it:

Are you okay?

Ratchet has to make the translation in his mind. Fine.

You seem happy.

Drift has that pleased little smile on his face. It used to grind Ratchet's gears, but now it feels like a good-natured tease that he needs to return. Somehow, talking in hand has a layer of removal that makes talking about things like this a little easier.

Yeah. Weird, he signs back. Drift grins.

Drift's refueling when Ratchet puts down a stack of pads on the table before him. "Hey," he says, and he doesn't bother sitting or letting Drift reply before he continues: "I've been reading and thinking and it's possible you have very mild outlier abilities. Being able to see an energy field--if that's what 'auras' are--says to me that you're processing light in a more advanced way than average Cybertronians. It's possible you have general enhanced senses, like how you're able to do so much crazy shit with your swords, but by just looking at your frame there's nothing suggesting any unique hardware helping you run like this. So I can only guess that there's something in your CNA that developed a unique code for how you process stimuli. There's really no way to know without looking directly at the code in your brain, but that's leaning way too far into mnemosurgery than is comfortable, in my opinion. I think the theory is sound, though. I'll ask First Aid to read what I've written when we get back.

Drift's staring at him. Ratchet suddenlt desperately wishes he hadn't run out of things to say. Somehow he thought if he just talked enough he could bowl over the awkwardness of the conversation. He debates opening a datapad and showing the research he'd gone over when Drift speaks: "You believe me?"

"Hm?"

"You think I--that I can really see auras?"

Ratchet huffs. "Well, obviously you're seeing something. I don't think it's emissions from your soul or whatever, so I'm trying to figure out what. If...you wanna read what I wrote, maybe it'd help..."

Everything becomes increasingly embarrassing as it stays quiet. Ratchet feels very, very exposed, standing before Drift and being honest, being thoughtful. He then realizes that he's not quite sure what he hoped to accomplish with this; Drift is more than satisfied thinking that he can read people's auras and doesn't need a scientific explanation for his beliefs. This was an entirely self-serving affair that he has dropped before Drift and expected a response.

As Ratchet is thinking through an escape strategy, Drift stands up and takes Ratchet's head in his hands and leans forward to kiss him right on the mouth. It effectively stops every process in Ratchet's brain, so he's just standing there with his hands half raised and his eyes open. He can see the pretty color of the metal on Drift's face, a mild color that looks like a rich grey but has the warmth of lavender in it.

Drift pulls back pretty quickly--the whole kiss lasted maybe a second. Drift's still staring at him with his eyes brighter than Ratchet ever remembers seeing them. Implausibly, he sounds out of breath as he says, "Thanks."

Ratchet doesn't say anything so Drift drops his eyes and his hands to scoop up the pads Ratchet had brought. "I will read these. If that's alright."

Ratchet replies, "Yeah. Great."

Drift walks right out the door. Ratchet watches as it closes and he stands there and wonders if he'd secretly hoped something like this would happen, if his own mind betrayed him into being vulnerable so Drift could take him and do whatever he wanted with him. It's very, incredibly possible, so Ratchet stops thinking on it and makes his own hasty retreat from an empty room.

#writing #transformers #mtmte #dratchet #transformers drift #ratchet #ANYWAY!!!!!!

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mischiefnevermanaged89-blog · 10 months ago

Text

Love Me Like You Do~Part 2

Juice Ortiz X Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clay, Jax, Opie, Bobby, Tig, Piney and Juice all arrived back at the Clubhouse, signaling for the others to join them in Chapel.

Happy and Chibs left the shop to follow. Inside, Clay hit the gavel to get started.

“Chibs, Hap, you guys remember Piney’s daughter (Y/N)?”

“Aye.” Chibs replied. Happy nodding.

“She’s back. Settling down back in Charming. She’s opening a little roadside bar on the outskirts of town. I want a protection detail on her so no one messes with her. She’ll be living there, too. Said there’s an apartment type house out back.” Piney said to the group.

“Agreed.” Everyone said.

“What cut will we take for the protection?” Clay asked.

Opie and Jax scoffed. “Really, Clay? She’s family. You expect her to pay us a fee for watching over her?”

He shrugged. “This Club is in the business of protection.”

“Then take my part. I’ll pay to protect my daughter.”

“No disrespect, Pres, but I don’t feel right asking her to do that. Like Jax said, she’s family.” Tig chimes in.

“Put it to a vote. Protection for (Y/N) free of charge?” Clay asked.

All hands went up. He sighed. He slammed the gavel down. “Any new business?”

“Things with the Irish are on track. All looks well for awhile longer.” Chibs said.

“Books are straight. Still in the black for a few more months.” Bobby replied.

Clay nodded. “Good. Meeting adjourned.”

Opie, Jax and Juice walked to the bar where the Prospect, Half-Sack, was.

“Listen, Opie’s little sister is back. I’m going to need you to go with Juice tomorrow and give her a hand with anything she needs. She’s got crews coming in but she needs things moved out.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll go, too. Don’t have any repairs due tomorrow.” Happy said.

“Juice, do me a favor. When you help her set up the security cameras, make sure to set some up around the back facing her apartment. I want to make sure she stays safe.” Opie got close.

“Of course. I’ll see what system she wants and set it all up. I’ll make a backup location for all feeds to my laptop here, just in case.”

“One more thing. The two of you are close in age. Besides my wife and kids, she’s everything to me. Don’t try any funny business with her. Understand?”

Juice nodded. “Yeah. Got it.”

Jax stood behind them smirking. Opie slapped the Puerto Rican’s back. “Good. Now, I’ve got to get home and let Donna know to cook extra.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I drove to Donna and Opie’s for dinner, I couldn’t help but look around at how much things changed around Charming over the last three years. Taking note to try out the coffee shop, I turned down the little street that led to my brother’s.

As I neared the house, I seen Kenny and Ellie out front playing. When I pulled in, they instantly started yelling.

“Aunt (Y/N)!”

“We missed you!”

I hugged them both to me. “I missed you guys! My goodness y’all have grown!”

Kenny looked behind me. “Whoa. Cool car! What kind is it?”

“This my little man is a 1970 Dodge Challenger in special order Purple. My Grandpa had this restored for me for my birthday last year.”

“Can I drive it?”

“I don’t think so.”

I turned around and smiled. “Hi, Donna!”

She smiled back and held her arms out. “Hi, (Y/N). It’s good to see you again.”

“Come on. Let’s washed up. Dinner is almost ready.”

Dinner was a wonderland event. Catching up with my niece and nephew on school and sports. After dinner and dessert, I helped get Kenny and Ellie ready for bed and then joined Opie and Donna on the porch.

“It’s good to have you back. Opie hasn’t stopped smiling since he came home. Kept trying to get it out of him why but he just told me it was a surprise.”

I sat back in the rocking chair. “It’s good to be back. I can’t wait to get started on the bar tomorrow.”

“Juice will be there with Kip and Happy. Later on me and Jax will come by.”

“You still stay at home?” I asked Donna.

“Yeah. Sometimes I think about going back to work though. I usually sit here bored when Al the housework is done and kids are in school.”

I gave her a smile and leaned over. “Well, I’d like to make an offer. You can take it if you want. Discuss it with brother dearest here. I’d like to offer you a job working with me. I’d pay you $10 an hour, make your own hours around the kids. Weekends if you want and you keep all tips. Plus I have an apartment out back the kids can hang out in if you don’t have a sitter.”

She was speechless. I looked at my watch and stood. “I’ll leave you two to discuss. If you want the job, it’s yours. I’ll be up early tomorrow to get ready for everyone to show up to work. So come on by if you do.” I gave them a hug before I left, and a kiss to the side of my head from Opie.

“Thank you, sis.”

I gave him a wink before I headed off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Juice, we’re ready in ten.” Happy stuck his head in my dorm room.

“Yeah. Im coming.” He zipped his backpack up and slug it on his shoulder.

Juice couldn’t think of anything other than (Y/N) since he met her yesterday. His heart pounded in his chest at the thought of seeing her again. He couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. What drew him to her the most was her curves. She had curves in all the right places and she knew how to carry herself. A smile crept on his face at the thought of spending time with her setting up her security cameras and being close to her.

It didn’t take long for the three bikers to pull up to the old bar. Juice couldn’t help but eye the car that sat out front.

“Damn. If that’s her’s, little girl has style.” Happy spoke.

“As a matter of fact, Hap, it is. A birthday gift last year from Grandfather.”

(Y/N) stood on the steps, hands on her hips. Juice’s breath caught as he looked at her. She stood there in a purple sequined tank top, blue jean shorts that showed her thick legs and biker boots. Her (y/c/h) was pulled up away from her face.

“Hey, little girl.”

She smiled as she came down the steps. “Hey, Hap. Good to see you again. It’s been ages.”

Happy nodded. She then turned her attention to Juice and Kip. “You must be the Prospect, Kip. I’m (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you.” Kip said, hands in his pockets.

“Good to see you again, Juice.” She smiled at him.

“You, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, let’s get inside and get started. I got coffee and donuts inside for you guys. Let me show you two what I need done then Juice and I have some business in the office.”

I waved the guys inside and gave Happy and Kip instructions to what I needed. Before they could get started, Donna walked in.

I smiled. “Does this mean you want the job?”

“I want the job. Ope and I talked about it. Making my own hours could help and the extra money would be a plus.”

I gave her a hug. “I’m so happy.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Now, I’ve got security business to work on. Could you keep these two in line and make sure they don’t take too many coffee breaks? I need all this cleared out so we can get repairs done.”

“You got it.” Donna put her bag on the counter and started helping Kip and Happy.

I turned to Juice. “Looks like we’re together. The office is this way. It’s big enough to store all the monitors and such. I had the best security system delivered. I just have no clue on how to set everything up.” I chuckled.

Juice chuckled and smiled. “That’s what I’m here for. I can get you set up in a jiff.”

The two of us sat for a few hours, discussing every angle inside and out where to put the cameras. One on each corner on the outside, both sides of the bar for multiple angles and facing the bathrooms and in the kitchen. Lastly, he told me my dad and brother wanted one facing my apartment. I agreed.

As I watched him put up all the cameras and angle them, me looking down at the laptop every once in awhile to make sure it was set, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. The way his biceps moved under his shirt and the sweat rolling off his tan skin.

“Alright. I think that does it. Let’s go take a look at all of them.” He climbed down, bringing me from my daydreaming.

We walked back into my office and he showed my how to switch the cameras and how to back them up.

“Now, this here is where all feeds are stored. I also made a backup file that goes directly to my laptop as a precaution in case something should happen. It’s always with me at the clubhouse or my place.”

I turned to him and smiled. “Thanks, Juice. I really appreciate it.”

He gave me a breathtaking smile and looked down. “No problem.”

“(Y/N)? Jax and Opie are here with the others.” Donna said from the office door.

I gave her a nod and Juice and I walked out to the main bar. Opie was unloading bags of takeout for everyone and Jax was passing out drinks.

“Well, there’s my favorite Lass!”

“Chibsy! My favorite Scotsman!”

We hugged each other tight before we all sat down to eat. Opie brought my favorite from the Chinese place and Jax remembered my favorite beer.

“So, sis, any names for this place?”

I nodded. “Pop quiz time, big bro. Let’s see if you can guess. What’s my favorite color?”

“Purple.”

“And my favorite gemstone that’s purple?”

“Amethyst.”

“Correct. Now, where is this place sitting?”

“Outer edge of Charming?” He asked questionably.

I raised my brows and waved my hands at him.

“Amethyst Edge?”

I turned to my new favorite Puerto Rican and pointed. “Brownie points to Juicy Boy! Yes. Amethyst Edge. I was approved for the name. My business license will be in soon and all I need is a fancy schmancy sign and I’ll be set.”

“I can draw you up some designs. Find one you like I got a guy who can make it.” Happy spoke up.

“Thanks, Hap.”

The rest of the day went smoothly. The guys finished getting all the old booths and tables out, the crew was halfway finished redoing the kitchen area and me and Donna worked on a menu for food and sending out an ad in the local paper for help.

The day was winding down and everyone was heading home, promises of seeing me again the next day. As I was locking the front door, I heard my name being called.

“Hey, (Y/N). Listen, if you need anything, you know, security system wise, here’s my number. Don’t be afraid to call or anything.”

I took the paper with Juice’s number on it. “Thanks. I’ll send you a text later so you can have my number, too.”

He gave me a smile that sent a shiver down my spine. I watched as he climbed on his bike and drove away. I went to my little apartment, grabbed my pajamas and showered. Once done, I laid in my bed and grabbed my phone and the slip of paper beside it.

*Hey, it’s (Y/N)*

*Hey. Got you saved. :)*

*Awesome. See you tomorrow?*

*Yeah. I’ll be there after work.*

*Okay. See you then. Goodnight.*

*Goodnight, (Y/N)*

#juice ortiz x reader #sons of anarchy #jax teller #opie winston #plus size reader #soa fanfiction #juice ortiz fanfiction #juice ortiz

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darkkitty1208 · 11 months ago

Note

if you still accept prompts...

wholesome wings au?

Sorry it took like, nearly a year lol. Anyway. Thank you for the prompt!

"Okay," Tony huffs out, adjusting Stephen's new mechanical wings carefully. This is the moment they've been waiting for. Tony takes in a shaky breath, turning to Stephen.

"You ready?" he asks, assuring himself repeatedly that Stephen is taking flight in a safe, secure place and within his sight in case things didn't go as well as expected.

They were in a secluded, clear field, the sky above them bright and blue. He checked the area multiple times to make sure no one is in their vicinity. He's brought some of his bots, EDITH, and made sure his suit is with him in case things go south.

The wings attached to Stephen's back has been a project he's spent the last few months trying to perfect.

When the accident happened, Stephen had been the most devastated Tony had ever seen him. His wings had been damaged horribly beyond repair, and taking flight in its state is near impossible. Tony hates seeing him that way. Since then, he had made it his mission to make sure Stephen could fly again.

It took so long to perfect, but here they are now.

It surprisingly did not take a lot of convincing for the Wakandans to lend him some vibranium for it. He thought about using nanotech instead, mainly due to its flexibility and his familiarity with it from past projects, but he wanted nothing but the best for Stephen. And if that meant one of the strongest metals in the world? Then he'd fight hell and back just to get it.

His nervous eyes meet Stephen's gentle ones, a small smile stretching the sorcerer's lips.

"Yes," he says, "Yes, I'm ready."

There was certainty in his voice. It calmed Tony's nerves.

"Alright," he says, turning to DUM-E. "Look alive, DUM-E. You're gonna stand by for fire safety." One can always trust DUM-E for fire safety. Even if the bot does a shit job at it. (He just can't bring himself to get rid of it.)

There really isn't any possible fire hazards but, well, who could blame him for being prepared? (Perhaps he just wanted to bring DUM-E along, but whatever.)

He points to another bot at a far distance, the camera attached to it turning to Tony. "You, start rolling."

He claps his hands together and takes a step back. "It's gonna take a while for you to adjust to flight again."

"I know."

"It's gonna be hard to balance it, but there isn't any wind currently so you should be good. Oh, and make sure not to put too much of your weight upon landing."

Stephen chuckles. "I know."

"And y–"

"Tony," Stephen cuts him off, and Tony gives him a look. Stephen responds with a reassuring smile and a slow recline of his head. "I've got this," he says, gently, "You've told me everything I need to know. We prepared for every possible wrong thing that could happen. Hell, it's mostly guaranteed it won't go wrong. Even if it does, I won't be in any major harm. Don't worry."

Tony nods curtly, more to himself than anything, jaw clenched. He breathes in.

"I just can't stop worrying that it'll just blow up or something." That gets a surprised laugh from Stephen. The edge of Tony's lips tilts up on its own at that.

"Which won't happen," Stephen shakes his head as if the mere idea is ridiculous. It is. "You know it won't."

"Yeah, you're right."

"How come you're more nervous than I am?"

Tony cards a hand over his hair, chuckling as he shrugs. "I just... I really want this to work, Stephen. It can't go wrong," his tone turns serious just as suddenly as his eyes stare intently into Stephen's. "It just can't. I... I want you to fly again."

Stephen smiles, hand reaching up to cup Tony's cheek, who leans into the touch immediately. "This means a lot for me, Tony. And you've spend so long for it. It's going to work," he says, "Thank you."

The edge of Tony's lip tilts up. "Yeah, 'course. For you, Stephen, I'd give the world if I could."

Stephen laughs a little bashfully. Tony expects him to call out how sappy he's being, but instead he says, "You have," and with gentle eyes, "It's you. You're my world."

And with that, Stephen steps back. Tony moves to a safe distance, enough to give Stephen space when he takes off.

"Okay," Tony says, "Take off in 3, 2..." He stares nervously, "...1."

Stephen takes flight.

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #wings au #ficlet #my writing #ask #j-snapdragon

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security-cameras-installation-la · 2 years ago

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plumbersolution · 2 days ago

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secureace · 2 years ago

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kkrcomputer · 1 month ago

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Laptop rental near me in Mohali for business, study, or personal use. We provide affordable laptop rental services with flexible terms and fast delivery. Choose from a variety of models for your specific needs.

Laptops Rent in Mohali | Affordable Laptop Rentals

Rent Projectors in Mohali | Quality Projector Rentals for Events

Example of projectors to be rented in Mohali for the upcoming event or presentation. We provide high-quality of rent projectors in mohali, perfect for business meetings, conferences, or educational purposes. Affordable rates and timely delivery available.

Rent high-quality projectors in Mohali for events or presentations

Ideal for business meetings, conferences, or educational purposes

Affordable rates for projector rentals

Laptop on Rent in Mohali | Rent Laptops for Work or Study

Rent laptops in Mohali for your personal or professional needs. We offer a variety of laptop on rent in mohali, including high-performance models for business, education, and entertainment. Affordable prices and flexible rental terms available.

Laptop Accessories in Mohali | Rent or Buy Laptop Accessories

PC on Rent in Mohali | Affordable Personal & Business Rentals

Rent a PC in Mohali with our affordable service. We offer high-quality PC on rent for personal, business, or educational purposes. Choose from a variety of desktop configurations to meet your needs. Flexible rental terms available.

Rent a high-quality PC in Mohali at affordable rates

Ideal for personal, business, or educational purposes

Choose from a variety of desktop configurations

Laptop on Rent Near Me | Rent Laptops in Mohali for Business & Personal Use

Searching for a laptop on rent near me? We provide reliable laptop rental services in Mohali with flexible rental terms. Choose from a range of laptops for work, study, or personal use at affordable rates.

Rent a Gaming PC in Mohali | High-Performance Gaming PCs for Rent

Computer Repair Services in Mohali | Expert Solutions for All Devices

Looking for computer repair services in Mohali? We offer fast, affordable, and reliable repairs for desktops, laptops, and other devices. From hardware issues to software problems, our experts are here to get your device back in working condition.

Fast and affordable computer repair services in Mohali

Expert solutions for both hardware and software issues

Repair services for desktops, laptops, and accessories

PC Repair Shop Near Me in Mohali | Trusted Computer Repair Services

Searching for a reliable PC repair shop near me? Our PC repair services in Mohali cater to all your device issues, from minor fixes to complex problems. Whether it’s a broken screen, slow performance, or virus removal, we offer expert repairs at competitive prices.

FAQS:

1. How can I rent a computer or laptop in Mohali? You can easily rent computers or laptops by contacting us through our website or phone. We provide flexible rental terms, quick delivery, and setup to ensure a hassle-free experience.

2. Are rental computers suitable for business purposes? Yes, we offer high-performance desktop and laptop rentals ideal for business use. Our corporate desktop rental service is designed to meet the needs of businesses, with options for various configurations and flexible terms.

3. Can I rent projectors for an event in Mohali? Absolutely! We offer high-quality of rent projectors in Mohali, perfect for events, presentations, business meetings, conferences, or educational purposes. We ensure timely delivery and setup for a seamless experience.

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