#cogs and wires

[mothric]

the war between "this is cheaper to buy in bulk" vs "the pricier option will take far less time and energy to prep and eat" is much more constant than I would like it to be

[bfdifan26]

what the hecky

[mychlapci]

Sparkle on!

i can draw a full OC, no problem. this is Wires. His name.... his name is Wires, believe it or not, he cogs are mostly decorative (they used to be very fashionable. They're not anymore, but he thinks they look good on him). He is nice, mellow, a good listener. However, you are to not, under any circumstance, let him hug you, though, he WILL touch your ass. but other than that, he's pretty harmless. weird uncle vibes. you can see his new shirt below

[earth-b0y]

Huh… Odd… Did Thirteen tell you anything about what it contains…? It sounds like she knew something about you…?

It's nothing I'd be interested in... It couldn't identify for certain what it was, but it could potentially be some sort of memetic or cognitohazard. It would need to be studied more

[mothric]

I was confused about whether I needed this because I just got a booster in October. according to the CDC, you only need an updated vaccine if your last vaccine was prior to September 12, 2023.

at urgent care and the sheer number of people with covid in here is absurd. if you haven't gotten the most recent vaccination, NOW is the time to get it. if you arent wearing a mask, NOW is the time to start. protect yourself and others as much as you can! you will regret it if you don't.

[ghostlypawn]

every day i wake up and am confronted with the fact that i will never be normal

[wirepuller-toontown]

"Hello? Is this thing on?"

Due to a company wide decision to have all important workers make blogs on this site, I am joining my coworkers here.

My name is Simon Thaddeus Prince Cabelle, aka The Wirepuller.

I look forward to seeing what kind of questions you all have~

*Ooc and reference under cut*

Hi! Super excited to be doing this! I plan to introduce more cog ocs to this over time.

You can call me Doll, my main is @corrupted-tale and I go by she/her pronouns.

Wirepuller goes by He/They btw!

Tags directory:

~Pulling wires~ - Wirepuller text post

~Doll on the shelf~ - ooc post

~Take a look~ - pictures

~Incoming data~ - asks

~Coworkers~ - posts about cogs

~Tangled up~ - posts about toons

[teddylynn10]

The Bad Wire In The Socket

When I was a kid, I found an electrical wire at my dad’s house that had been cut off from some electronic item. The ends of the two wires had been stripped about an inch or so, evidently to reuse later.As I looked at the two naked wires, the wheels and cogs in my inquisitive brain started turning. For some reason, I started to wonder what would happen if I tied those two naked ends together, and…

[mothric]

I find it very funny that this survey opens with "this will only take about 20 minutes!" before proceeding to give autistics numerous clear and specific prompts with free reign to talk about their own experiences, in their own words, in as much detail as they want, uninterrupted, with no character limits. for science.

y'all are getting multi paragraph essays from me on every question and no less

Autistic researchers from University of Cambridge are conducting research into autistic adults’ experiences of sensory overload, shutdown, and meltdown. Interested in sharing your thoughts? Check out the survey here: https://cambridge.eu.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_2c8p4KuV7itn6po

[mothric]

2023 was the year of finding out just How deeply rooted people's ableism is and how deeply they do not realize they are ableist even when the ramifications of their ableism are staring them in the face

[yandere-wishes]

⚙︎ Just same quick Yandere Transformers One thoughts

Imagine Sentinal Prime taking you as his darling. It's so easy for him to make you disappear, to erase you from a semi-functional world. He snaps his fingers and you're kneeling before him, optics wide in fear, servos bound behind you. All Cybertron runs through his digits, and you little girl should be utterly honored to have caught his optic.

He colors you in the richest of paints, upgrades you with the newest enhancements in all of Cybertron.

Reconstructed as the perfect doll, sitting pretty in his lap as his golden wings gently caress your back. Maybe if you're particularly feisty, rebellious, and tenacious he'll even remove your T-cog. Making you watch as he crushes your metallic organ in his fist.

"Don't forget your place, my dear. Don't make me remind you again"

Sentinal always has you propped up pretty on his lap. Trailing his fingers over your arms and thighs. Half-heartedly tracing stars and swirls as he's forced to listen to Cybertron's newest developments and his latest orders. The senate's conversations are unfiltered, they peel away the senator's golden facades leaving only the monstrous truth. Sentinel especially is the wickedest of all. Diabolic traitor playing king-prophet. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into him, biting and ridding until only scrap remains...

But the truth is too brittle. You have no power, no strength compared to him. And you're too terrified of Sentinal's punishments to step out of line.

Sometimes when the conversations get too grotesque to drown out, your desperate optics weave to an open window, peering helplessly at a world that's forgotten you. It's usually Senital's cold lips that melt away the melancholy trance. Reawaking you into your nightmare...

── .✦⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ✦ . ──

Imagine D-16 finding you as he's defeating Sentinal. You look so bruised and battered, so broken. Maybe he knew you once, a transformer who was always sweet and kind to the miners. Maybe it's the look of utter despair and hopelessness in your optics that catches his attention. Almost like a mirror of his pain. His servos itch to wrap around your neck, to crush wires and circuits, to eliminate anything that Sentinal has ever held dear.

But he can't...

His broken spark screams in pity. You're just another helpless bot trapped in Sentinel's web of deceit. He saves you for himself, a shivered war prize he's convinced he can fix. He makes plans to seek out Solus Prime's T-cog to lay within your chest. He wonders if Megatronus would approve.

But it doesn't end that way now, does it?

Destiny is too cruel for such fragile hopes.

⛧°。 ⋆༺★༻⋆。 °⛧

Alternatively, Maybe Orian is the one to find you, sacred confused, and utterly alone. He's so eager to lend a helping hand. Wanting so badly to wrap you in his arms, to give you warmth and hope. He plucks you away from Sentinal's tarnished castle. Pulling you away into a life that tastest of saccharine daydreams and sugar-laced optimism.

And Orian -or rather Optimus- is perfect, sweet and loving, and hopeful...

But he's also tasted loss and duplicity. Bitter truths leading to his jaded obsession. He's so careful with you always having a servo on your hip, always listening to every conversation. He can't have this fragile world hurt you again. He needs to protect you from everything at every cost.

Sometimes when your body is curled next to him recharging peacefully. He'll reminisce about the other Primes, wonder if they've ever felt such a love that bites so sharply at the spark. He wonders if he can really make Cybertron the perfect world for you...

[hardrockshrimp]

Drafting out a faux plush tag for the Johannes doll I made a WHILE ago that I'm finally taking to a show with me in May. PLSSSSS I just wanna give it to him, and I think the tag would make it so much cuter.

[mothric]

genuine question. if we're reclaiming it then what are we saying it means? I ask because the reason the puzzle piece was chosen was to say that a "piece" of us is "missing," which is inaccurate, and not a concept I want to align myself with or have other people associate with Autism... so what are we saying the puzzle piece symbolizes instead, beyond just Autism as a whole?

(for example, could it symbolize community - like when we find each other and connect on a level of understanding that we often don't have with allistics? or perhaps the feeling of something 'clicking' when we find out there is a word for our experiences?)

also, is there a meaning behind the colour purple, other than to not be blue?

this user is reclaiming the puzzle piece

we had to redo this, as we made the puzzle piece blue. so we chose purple. remember, Autism Speaks made the BLUE puzzle piece, and are not the original creators of the puzzle piece

[hbdttg]

“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

[dewdropdinosaur]

Fixer Upper

ALASTOR x (F)READER Summary: Someone dared to break Alastor's precious radio and his wrath is inconsolable. But turns out you may have some small tricks up your sleeve. Warnings: NONE For the dearest @anon-of-the-void. My darling, it is a pleasure as always to write these for you.

In the bustling chaos of the Hazbin Hotel, where demons sought redemption amidst the fiery chaos of Hell, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, found solace in the presence of Y/N, an inventive soul from the Victorian Era who had found herself amidst the peculiar denizens of the underworld.

Y/N was a tinkerer, always tinkering away in her workshop, concocting gadgets and gizmos that would make even the most adept engineers marvel. Alastor, with his vintage charm and macabre wit, found her creations fascinating, and the two formed an unusual bond over their shared love for innovation.

One fateful day, disaster struck when Alastor's beloved old-time radio, his prized possession from his living days, broke down. The demon was devastated, his usual jovial demeanor clouded by a rare display of anger. The residents of the hotel trembled in fear, knowing the havoc that could be unleashed if the Radio Demon's rage remained unchecked.

Alastor's crimson eyes blazed with fury as he prowled the halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his usual jovial smile replaced by a menacing snarl. The residents cowered in fear, whispering among themselves as they caught glimpses of the Radio Demon's wrathful form.

"You there!" Alastor's voice boomed, sending shivers down the spines of those unfortunate enough to cross his path. "Do you have any idea of the inconvenience of my beloved radio breaking? The nerve, the audacity!"

Niffty, the hyperactive cleaner demon, spoke with a frantic passion as she viewed the mangled radio."Alastor! I'll do it! Let me clean it please!"

Alastor's laughter rang out like a chilling melody, sending a chill through the air. "Oh, my dear Nifty, no thank you. This requires some…interrogation but feel free to clean up the aftermath."

Angel Dust, lounging lazily on a nearby couch, scoffed, "Oh, lighten up, Al, it's just a stupid radio. Besides, it's not like anyone listens to your old-timey tunes anyway."

The room fell silent as Alastor's gaze bore into Angel Dust, his smile twisting into a sinister grin. "Is that so, my dear Angel? Perhaps I should demonstrate the consequences of underestimating the power of music."

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor summoned a spectral microphone, its ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the room. "Now, let's see who's laughing when I unleash the full force of my wrath upon this wretched offender!"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel trembled as Alastor's menacing laughter echoed through the halls, knowing all too well that when the Radio Demon was in a foul mood, no one was safe from his terrifying fury.

As fear spread throughout the hotel, Y/N knew she had to act swiftly to quell the storm brewing within Alastor's heart. Ignoring the warnings of her peers, she clandestinely snatched the broken radio and retreated to her workshop, determined to restore it to its former glory.Under the cover of night, she stealthily crept into Alastor's room, her pockets filled with tools and determination. With deft hands, she dismantled the broken radio, each cog and wire familiar to her skilled touch.

Hour after hour, Y/N toiled away, her nimble fingers dancing across the delicate machinery. With each adjustment and tweak, the radio gradually came back to life, its familiar crackle filling the air once more. But as the night wore on,  fatigue gnawed at Y/N's bones, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion. But she pressed on, fueled by determination and a desire to see her friend smile once more.

Finally, with a soft click, the radio sprang to life, emitting a crackling sound before filling the room with the familiar strains of vintage jazz. Y/N let out a sigh of relief, a triumphant smile gracing her lips as she admired her handiwork.

But as she stood there basking in her success, fatigue finally caught up with her. With a yawn, she sank into a nearby chair, her eyes fluttering closed as sleep claimed her.

Unbeknownst to her, Alastor had been silently watching from the shadows, his expression unreadable as he observed Y/N's tireless efforts to fix his broken radio. When he saw her succumb to exhaustion, a pang of concern tugged at his heart, softening the edges of his usually stoic demeanor.

Quietly, he approached her slumbering form, his footsteps barely audible against the creaking floorboards. Gently, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"My dear Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "Such devotion, such selflessness. You truly are a marvel."

A warmth blossomed in Alastor's chest as he watched her sleep, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. For the first time in centuries, he felt something akin to tenderness stirring within him—a feeling he realized with a start was nothing short of admiration.

With a soft sigh, Alastor leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's forehead before picking up her form and striding over to his bed; tucking her in with the utmost care. As he stood there in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the quiet hum of the fixed radio and the soft breathing of his friend, he knew at that moment that he was irrevocably touched by her kindness.

And as the first light of dawn painted the sky, Alastor silently vowed to cherish and protect Y/N, for she had not only fixed his broken radio but had also managed to mend something far more precious—his wounded heart.

The next morning dawned upon the Hazbin Hotel, the air tinged with a sense of relief as the residents basked in the knowledge that Alastor's beloved radio had been fixed. Alastor strode into the lobby with a confident swagger, his usual grin plastered on his face. With a flick of his wrist, he turned on the radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the air before giving way to the melodic strains of love songs from a bygone era.

The residents exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident as they listened to the unexpected playlist. Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, looks like someone's feeling a bit sentimental today."

Alastor's grin widened, though there was a hint of something softer lurking beneath the surface. "Ah, my dear Angel, music has a way of stirring the soul, don't you think?"

As the love songs continued to play, the other residents couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth wash over them. Even the gruffest demons found themselves tapping their claws to the beat, caught up in the unexpected romance of it all.

But as Alastor's gaze lingered on Y/N, who stood among the crowd with a shy smile, a wave of realization washed over him. It wasn't just any love songs he was playing—it was a silent declaration of his growing affection for the inventive soul who had captured his heart.

And as the music filled the room with its sweet melody, Alastor couldn't help but feel a surge of hope coursing through him. Perhaps, in the midst of Hell's chaos, there was still room for love to blossom—a love that transcended time and defied all odds.

With a soft chuckle, Alastor stole a glance at Y/N, his heart swelling with newfound courage. For in that moment, amidst the gentle strains of love songs and the soft glow of morning light, he knew that he was falling—falling head over heels for the one who had fixed not only his broken radio but also the shattered pieces of his soul.

[fanaticsnail]

Body Worship: Franky

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 3,100+

Themes: Franky x gn!reader, angst, self worth, Franky has a little bit of dysmorphia, affirmation, fluff, smut, thigh riding, confession, body worship, praise, love, porn with feelings, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+, non descript smut, grinding.

Notes: Massive shoutout to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for listening to my thoughts and aiding me with my time on this fic. I love this man, and I adore you. First time writing for Franky.

Cogs, wires, fizzes, and snaps of electrical circuits rang and shuddered within the chambers crafted by Franky’s own hands. There was never a silence to be held within him, not a calm moment where his body was not ticking like a clock wound by a coiled winch. He was constantly on, always on.

There was not a moment where man and machine were no longer merged as one, and Franky usually had no issue with being a self-made man in more ways than simple determination and gumption. But today, he just felt unnatural. He felt those cogs, wires, fizzes and snaps of electrical circuits overtake the humanity he so desperately attempted to preserve within himself.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t see the body he crafted as a work of mastery, but something foreign and tainted. He couldn’t look at himself without seeing the parts of his flesh, bone, and muscle he replaced, rendered, soldered, and attached. He was no longer himself, but just those parts he forged to keep himself alive.

A pile of scrap made into the shape of a man. Flesh from his prior life stretched over a frame of humanity pushed to its extremities.

Unsure as to when the first tear fell, or whether they were tears at all, his rounded eyes swelled and poured heavy drops down his cheeks and onto his chest within his workshop. Usually when he cried, he had the sensation of an almost sting in his nose: nostrils flaring and a saltiness within his nasal cavity. The lack of this feeling within his steel nose now only made him feel more like a machine and less of a man.

A soft knock at his workshop door was barely audible over the mechanical symphony rattling within his mind and skull. He scrunched his eyes shut and focussed finding a single sound to focus on within himself to no avail. It was just too much. Too noisy. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Too-.

“-Franky?” your voice shocks him out of his spiral, truly unaware of the opening and closing of the door to his workshop. He jolted back, beginning to panic a little while his body caught up to the way his mind was spiraling.

Keeping a safe distance away from the cyborg, you took him in. Noticing how his shoulders and hands were beginning to shake, you tilted your head and furrowed your brows while assessing him further. Franky’s eyes met with yours, a soft quiver of his lip atop his tri-pointed chin matching the forlorn expression blooming over his face.

As ships’ counselor, it was your job to advise and flesh out plans for your captain. It was also within your job title to unweave the troubled thoughts and matters of the head and heart for your crew.

Franky was a friend to you, and you adored the large cyborg wholeheartedly. If he ever gave you an opportunity to see him as more than just a friend or crewmate, you would take it before your heart could skip a beat.

There was no favorites on the Straw-Hat crew, but if there was, Franky would be it for you. You truly loved him for all that he was: man, machine, or otherwise.

It did not take much more than a soft sniffle from the larger man to usher you towards the larger man, opening your arms and taking him within your embrace. Pressing his head against your chest, you cradled his face within your hands and slowed your breathing for him to join with his own. His shoulders slouched, a single hand wrapping around your back and feeling the warmth your body had to offer him in the sensors within his palm and fingers.

Gently carding through his blue hair, you felt him relax into your touch while his ear pressed up against your heartbeat. His broad hands began to clutch at you and tug you into his lap, each thigh placed atop his own at the side while he pressed more of himself into you.

“Want to talk about it, big guy?” you asked softer than a murmur, but louder than a whisper, “I’m always here to talk with you when you need it, just like you are with me. Open door, honesty policy, remember?”

Franky sniffed before a raspy chuckle rattled in his throat. Tugging you nearer to him and releasing a sigh, he moved his chin to rest on your chest while peering up into your face. Gazing down at him, you offered him a softness in your smile while peering into his unshrouded eyes.

“Just-...” he began, waiting for the words to find themselves in his throat, “...It's just… I can't quite put it to words, now you mention it.” His chuckle was more in a bid to rise one of your own, teetering off the more he drank in your smile.

Darting his dark eyes between your own, glancing briefly down at your lips, he drank in your appearance the closer he drew to your face. You and he were nothing more than exceptionally close friends, but the cogs churning in his stomach and heart desperately desired there be a moment. He leaned in just a touch more, his eyes rounded just a touch more while his jaw grew softly slack.

“Franky?” Your voice soothed him, a smile found in each syllable, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting to kiss me.”

Franky’s eyes darted down to your lips, angling his tri-pointed chin up just a small shift more. His eyelids grew heavy, lashes heavy as his pupils focussed on the way your lips curved in your smile.

“Do you?” he whispered, his voice heavy and husky within his throat. His hands desperately clasped the small of your back, his receptors tingling in indicating your body heat growing warmer.

“Do I ‘what’, Franky?” you queeried, not shying away from his touch. You were curious to see how far he would take this action, enjoying the attention he was giving you and feeling secure within his embrace.

Franky’s outer hand slid down to your thigh, his other moving you closer to press yourself into his chest. The blue-haired cyborg moved his lips in a tone just above a whisper, his breath tingling against your mouth as he ascended them towards yours.

“Know any better.”

His lips immediately claimed your own, focussing his own existentialism on claiming your lips against his own. His skin felt your warmth as you opened yourself up to him. Each roll of his lips mouthing at yours was reciprocated with eager enthusiasm, and Franky began to feel just that little bit calmer.

Until he wondered if it was truly his skin touching your own, not what receptors told him it was. Was it his lips touching you, or the cogs behind him sending sparks to his mind and alerting his brain that it was truly you giving into him.

Did you even like him?

Were you attracted to the man that he made himself to be?

Did you even see him as a man, not just a creation marred with the injury of battle and reforged by his own mind?

You sensed his enthusiasm dwindle against your lips, prompting you to close off the embrace with a soft peck. As you pulled away your lips from his, you peered down at him with your eyes half-lidded and holding nothing but a slight amount of teasing pulled in a soft smirk.

“Franky?”

When you met his gaze once more, your smirk immediately fled your features.

His eyes were glassy, his expression the polar opposite of the manner he usually presented himself as. There was nothing of the boisterous, uplifting, passionate, and optimistic cyborg you had come to adore, and it's absence held you hostage.

“Franky,” you sighed, gently reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Please. There's something going on, and as your counselor, I need to know. I could leave the job at the door and just be-.”

“-What am I?” he answered suddenly, his lips toppling hurriedly over the words, “I need to know.”

Taken aback by his hasty questions, you furrow your brows at him and check him over. Darting your eyes over his face, noticing his posture becoming slightly slouched and his hands holding you in heaped fistfuls, you inhale a soft and steady breath before exhaling.

Your breathing inadvertently has him so the same, both inhaling and exhaling slowly and steadily. After a moment of you both dwelling in the silence, you answer him with a non-rehearsed speech from the heart.

“You are Franky,” you whisper, rolling the pad of your thumb against the apple of his cheek, “Shipwright to the Straw Hat Pirates, senior officer shepherding the Straw Hat Grand Fleet. Creator and master constructor of the Thousand Sunny. Former gang leader, who convinced those joining to switch from beer to cola, and-...”

Franky nodded you on, convincing you to continue to affirm him with your words. You could see it was not entirely the answer he was seeking, which spurred you on to change to how deeply remarkable you found him.

“...-You are so kind. An exceptionally intelligent person with your heart beating for others,” you nod to him, catching the hitch in his throat and paying it no mind. “The way your mind can see the mastery in machines, crafting it with your hands, and forging it into the best version of itself is a gift.” You draw your other hand up to his bare chest, feeling a fizz and beat beneath the skin while you speak.

“You don't just do this with your skilled labor, Franky.” You reassure him, glancing down to your knuckles on the back of your hand in his chest. “You see the potential in others, and coax them skillfully to bring it to the light.” A small laugh fled from your lips, prompting you to shake your head and whisper, “A remarkable skill, and I envy you for it.”

The dampness felt beneath the fingers on his cheek had you moving your eyes slowly back up to meet his own.

“You are, and will forever be, Franky: man, machine, both married as one and inseparable from the other,” you concluded, drawing your hand up on his cheek to slowly caress away his tears. “You are all of this, and you are so much more.”

Franky felt his chest soar, whichever fluid, whether cola or blood, pumped his heart and had him desperate to know more. Considering the fact you didn't pull away from the offerance of a kiss earlier, he drew his hand over your back and rested it on your hip while leaning in.

“What am I to you?”

Without skipping a beat, you spoke truthfully and from the chamber's within your own beating heart.

“And you are beautiful to me.”

Franky scoffed, rolling his eyes and almost pouting at your response. You sigh out with your brow arched high, gently perching your hands against his broad shoulders and grasping his muscles firmly.

“I mean it, Franky,” you reaffirm enthusiastically, “Everything about you is beautiful. Your heart, your soul, your mind, fuck,” you gasp, feeling the firmness of his shoulders beneath his hands.

A warm flush crept up your neck and swelled your cheeks with a vibrant fluster. Franky searched your eyes, darting down to your parted lips and back up to meet your gaze.

“What was that?” he chuckled, picking up your vocal inflection and teasing you with his smile.

“I just,” you halt yourself, slowly molding the joints beneath your palms and squeeze his muscles. “I usually… I usually focus on the mind and heart, but you're-...” Your fingers move down to his scarred pectorals, gently caressing a trail of timidity down towards his nipples.

“...-You're really attractive. Physically attractive,” you admit, pressing a little firmer against his muscles before dipping the pads of your index fingers over his pebbled buds. “Whether it was the kiss from a little earlier, confessing how I see your mind, my position currently on your lap, or the fact that there's a lot of tension between us right now…”

“Oh?” He taunts you a little more tilting his head to the side with a cheeky grin drawing up over his lips. Leaning forward, he pressed more of his pectorals against your hands and whispered coyly against the shell of your ear, “Tell me?”

“Shit,” you stutter past your lips. Eyes rolling a little, you suck your lips into your mouth to halt a moan from fleeing as you feel the tension only swell to a greater intensity.

Franky chuckles, his hands still running circles against your hips and gently ushering you in closer.

“Better yet,” he drew one hand away from your middle and drew it up to collect your chin in his grip. “Show me?”

Your breath hitched as you slowly drew your hand around in circles against his flesh. His skin felt warm to the touch, smooth and soft with coiled ringlets of cerulean fuzz shimmering against his pectorals. Moving your hands up and down his chest, your lips parted in surprise at feeling the buzz of circuitry beneath the stretch of flesh.

“Every nook you've notched into yourself is a work of art, Franky,” you exhale, rolling the pads of your thumbs against his abs and raking them towards his belly. “Each alteration and modification has just made you more you, you know?”

Franky felt his throat hitch at the admission parting from your lips. His body that he saw moments ago as a trap for his spirit, now being worshiped and praised for its mastery. As your hands ran over his skin, his receptors and skin both felt need and desire course through his circuits and veins.

Without any more prompting at your touch, he maneuvered you to straddle one of his thighs and held your pelvis flush against his own. Your hands automatically fled back up to the shoulders that held you captive as he pressed you firmly against himself.

“You like my body much?” The rasp in his voice tangibly reverberated within your chest and shot straight to your crotch, igniting it with need.

“Franky…” you gasp, his hands holding you against his thigh pressed harder, slowly rocking you over the hard muscle lurking beneath. “If you'd give me an opportunity, I'd drop to my knees and worship you like a devotee at an altar.”

Franky chuckles at the comment, using his large, metal hand gripping your waist to slowly rock you back and forward over his thigh. Your stomach bound in knots, your needs only growing higher and more incessant the more he puppetted you against his body and gazed into your eyes.

“No need for all that. I don't need it,” he laughed once more, moving forward and brushing his metal nose gently against yours, “But I do need this.”

His larger hand completely trapped your waist within his grip, knocking your knee against the bulge in his pants and grinding his clothed cock against your own body.

Manhandling you against his leg, bouncing you up to brush more of yourself against his cock, you felt trapped against him as he bore you fully against his body while holding your face gently. His metal thumb stroked your lip as you parted them to release a groan.

Soft whimpers and mewls left your throat as he held your gaze, his own gasps growing in need the longer he rocked you against himself. Your desire began to seep through your pants the longer he held you firmly and guided your motions.

“Show me,” he whispered, peering down his steel nose through half-hooded lashes. “Show me everything.” He worked you harder, his own cock leaking it's head and staining his red briefs with soft dewdrops of precum.

His abdomen tensed, feeling the need rise further in his stomach while his cogs, wires, flesh and bone felt more unified as one than ever. Humanity overtook his senses the longer his primal urge to feel more of you against himself.

You were no different, feeling your own release clench in the pit of your stomach and sizzle your eyes with the first sparks of euphoria. The need fogging your mind spurred you on to bare yourself down against him and begin rutting against him harder. As you found yourself falling over that edge, you clenched your eyes shut, earning you an immediate reprimand from the cyborg cariotting your bliss.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered firmly, “I said ‘show me’. I want to see you. Just you, baby. Gonna cum on my lap?” He rocked you harder, pinching your chin and giving it a soft shake to draw back your gaze on his own.

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Franky-!” you cried, feeling your eyes spring open as your vision blurred as your focus was marred by ecstasy. Your body flooded with endorphins, spurring within your chest and releasing the heavy knots in your belly. The damp patch below you deepened in intensity as your release seeped into his thighs.

Franky’s lips quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, finding in you that tether binding him to the mortal realm. With you anchored against him, he used your body rutting against his own to buck up his clothed cock and roll his hips against your thigh.

With a rough bark of your name, his cock began flooding his briefs with his own release. His eyes never left your face as he rode through his high while you came down from yours.

Two breaths, two hearts, two souls, two people: both enjoying their bodies while clinging to one another. That is where you found yourself, truly just intending to find his office to inform him your crew were about to make port in an island in two hours according to Nami.

As your body slouched against his chest, he cradled you in the same manner you did moments ago while reassuring him of his own body. He had never felt so secure as he did just now with his own body.

“Franky?” you whispered softly, turning your head and pressing your forehead against the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, baby?” He nuzzled against the crown of your head, “What's up?”

“We'll be making port in about forty-five minutes,” you gasp against his skin, pressing a shy kiss against his neck before hiding your gaze in his shoulder to cringe away your giddiness. Franky chuckles, reaching down and collecting your chin in his grip and turning you back to meet his eyes once more.

“Stay with me until then?” he asked softly, blinking slowly and and almost unsure of himself as you seemed to be. You found yourself drowning in his eyes, raw emotion swelling between you as you feel the chemistry fizzing up to a ruptuous tumble.

“After all that?” you scoff playfully, your smile painted over your lips and causing him to mirror it himself, “I'll remain by your side always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

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