#like they technically are improving. slowly. against their will.

[httpscomexe]

Avengers Crumbus

Summary: Everyone is excited for Christmas except Bucky.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Incredibly corny.

Word Count: 1468 (Find all chapters here)

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

It was Christmas Day in the Avenger tower.

Tony was getting drinks ready, with Pepper helping him ready enough food for everyone there. Everyone else was decorating cookies in the lounge room, a good majority of them with coloured icing to look like themselves. You can’t help but smile at it all. Everyone dressed in Christmas sweaters, smiling and all talking together like they were all a big family, and they were all there. Except Bucky. It was his first year in the tower, so you understood why he didn’t want to be part of the entire holiday. He would rather trap himself in his room and pretend he’s just a shadow against the walls.

“Y/N! Get your ass over here and help me!” Wanda giggles, standing up and grabbing your hands to drag you over to the couch, and she hands you an icing tube, she was decorating her gingerbread house. Was it sloppy and an absolute mess of icing and candy? Yes, but, it was adorable. It honestly suited her well.

“Okay, okay!” You giggled in response as she drags you over, and you help with putting the roof and walls apart, sliding the tip of the icing tube through the little cracks to keep it as sturdy as icing could keep gingerbread sturdy. You look over, and see Steve and Natasha knee to knee, painting a last minute Christmas ornament, and Tony carries in some drinks, setting everyone’s favourites on the table in front of where they were sitting.

“Alright, let’s get this party started. Who wants to go first?” Pepper follows after him, Peter walking behind her and helping her carry in plates to set on the tables as well, and you grab your plate.

“How shall we decide this year?” Bruce stretches.

“Youngest first!”

“We did that last year! How about oldest first?”

“We did that the year before last year.”

“Well, rock paper scissors?”

“That’ll take wayyy too long!”

“How about newest recruits?” Clint looks over at you. “We can have Y/N start, then we can play popcorn and she can decide who goes after her, and so forth.”

“Well, technically, isn’t Bucky the newest-?” You hesitate.

“Well, he doesn’t wanna be here. So unless you think you’d be able to get him out here.” Tony bends down next to the Christmas tree, grabbing your first gift, your name written in Steve’s handwriting. “Then guess what? You’re first.” You take it slowly from his hands, and look over at Steve, who smiles softly back at you before pulling Natasha closer, kissing her forehead.

“Alright. I’ll go first.” You lean back, and unwrap the gift, trying not to rip it because you know Vision likes to collect the papers, even though he doesn’t ever join, saying Christmas was useless.

Inside the wrapping paper is a box, which you have to open as well, and once you peer inside, you smile and chuckle a little.

“Oh my God Steve…” You roll your eyes.

“What? Maybe then you can definitely get Bucky out of his room.” You take out one of the pieces of cloth, and show it to him with a stupid blush and smile on your face.

“You got my daughter lingerie?” Tony glares at Steve, but you can tell he’s only joking.

“That’s okay, wait til he sees his.” You shrug. You got him condoms.

A while goes by, at least an hour. Normally unwrapping gifts wouldn’t take so long for a a normal family, but there was some sort of conversation about every item that was given. Soon, there was only one box left, it was a smaller box. It wasn’t very well wrapped, so it was either by Peter, who was improving with the help of Pepper, or Bruce, who’s arm is still messed up from the snap.

You take the little gift in your hands, but before you can unwrap it, you notice there’s no tag.

“Who’s this from?” You hold the gift up a little, and every glances at eachother. Bucky…? You don’t say it outloud. You didn’t want Steve or Tony to tease him endlessly for his horrible wrapping skills. Plus, it was possible that it wasn’t Bucky.

You start to unwrap the gift, taking off the little bow first before taking off the paper, a little blue box with a silver heart on it on the top cover. You take off the lid, and on a little cushion is a necklace, two rings wrapped around each other with the chain; and it looked like both with adorned with diamonds. It makes your lips go slightly agape, and you take it gently out of the box, smiling, and out of the corner of you eye, you see Steve smiling. He’s proud of Bucky. You assume he wasn’t sure about getting you something, and being the great friend that he is, Steve managed to push him along.

“I uh… Well whoever got it for me, I love it.” You mumble, and Wanda reaches out to help you put it around your neck, clasping it in place.

After everything is cleaned up, and everyone is ready to head to bed, Thor in his new My Little Pony bathrobe. You dry your hands from washing the dishes with Peoper, and tell everyone goodnight before going to your room, taking off your sweater, and switching from your jeans to your plain red and black pyjama pants. Then you look in the mirror, your hair a messy bun, loose strands falling out, looking a mess. And you touch the two rings that are hanging by your chest. Then, without another thought, your leave your room in your bra and pyjamas, heading straight to Buckys room. Your theory seriously needed to be confirmed.

“Buck?” You don’t even knock, you just walk in on him, reading a book in black joggers, comfortable already in bed and… shirtless… anyways.

“Do you have hands?”

“Uh- yea?” Weird question…

“Can you curl them into fists?”

“Yes..?”

“Do you know how to knock?” You roll your eyes and move to his bed, sitting in the edge by his feet, and you see his eyes go to your chest. Not your breasts, but the necklace.

“Did you get this for me…?” You get straight to the point, and you watch as he sets his book aside before leaning forward, and he crosses his legs before patting the spot in front of him, which you quickly scoot over until you’re both sitting with legs crossed directly in front of eachother.

“Yes. I did. I’m sorry I didn’t come out today, I-“

“Buck…” You hush him, and put a hand on his knee, which he stares at. “None of us are going to force you to come out of your room. If you want to be alone, then that’s fine.” You reach up, gently grabbing his chin so he’d look at you. “I love the gift, James.” He smiles, and honestly rare occurrence.

“Hah- I haven’t gotten a decent gift for anyone in a while… but Steve said you would love it…”

“Well, it’s amazing.” You want to ask so many questions. Like why rings? Why you? Why would he spend that much on you.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course Bucky, you can tell me anything.” You take your hand away from his face to lean back, but his hand basically shoots up, gently grabbing your wrist to keep your hand there.

“I uh… Fuck.” He shuffles a little. “I really like you.” You both stare at eachother for a minute, a tiny smile trying to force its way upon you. “Fuck that’s so corny, I’m sorry.”

“No, no that’s not corny. How did that word even get into your alphabet?”

“I’m not that old.”

“Yea you are.” You both stare again. “And I really like you too, James.” He smiles again, and his hand moves up your arm, until his palm is cupping your cheek.

“Tony would kill me.”

“My dad would kill the most perfect man that he chose for me, Buck. You’ll be fine. Equal treatment honestly.”

Then without warning while your babbling away, you feel his hand move to cup the back of your neck, and he pulls you in, pressing his lips to yours for a few seconds, and you melt into it, closing your eyes and reaching back to gently run your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted to do that forever…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift…” He tilts his head, both of your foreheads connected.

“But you did.” He chuckles. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

“Of course you do…”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, James…”

[arolesbianism]

I wanna make art for my dst roleswap au sooo bad but at the same time I think if I had to deal with even a single person deadnaming Wx on my posts I would snap

[meownotgood]

forwards, beckon, rebound. / machine herald!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, angst, size difference, fingering, choking, dry humping, praise, russian terms of endearment, somewhat toxic relationship, mild augmentation kink, way too many emotions, mix of arcane + league lore / spoilers. word count: 16.2k

read on ao3

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Viktor enjoys making you feel helpless. 

Technically, it isn't enjoyment so much as it is a responsibility; you'll repeatedly show up at his secluded lab in the Undercity, and as he does with everyone who comes to his doorstep worn and destitute, he'll take it upon himself to give you what you need. You are like the rest of his endeavors — meticulously examined, ambitiously furthered. But unlike his various grandiose experiments and his pursuits for evolution, it isn't just his mind you occupy. 

There is some dusty, disregarded hole in his once-perfect mechanical heart, and if the hypothesis he's formed but doesn't want to acknowledge is correct, you are the most probable cause. Or perhaps, you'd be the cure. 

Carefully, with his usual amount of precision, Viktor pulls his leather glove from his hand. He allows his fingers to flex: scarred skin improved by intricately-crafted metal joints. He's positioned above you, large and imposing while he keeps you pinned beneath him. The firm, steel surface of his giant worktable feels cool against your bare back. The room itself is dim, worktable lit by an overhead lamp that burns when you happen to look directly at it. Thankfully, Viktor's armored form above you, encased in dark shadow, blocks out most of the light. 

The Hextech third arm on his back grasps your wrists unwaveringly, and keeps them in place above your head, utilizing an exorbitant display of strength. You can't move a muscle, not even if you tried. Lingering heat sears into your skin, radiating from the metal — from where the laser he's perfected could easily sever your wrists from the bone. 

What's more, you can hardly think. Your head is spinning; your heart pounds from between your ribs, fiercely yet uselessly. You can only stare at the glowing, emotionless eyes of Viktor's mask, and wait for him to decide what he plans to do with you. Gentle. With the way you're looking at him, you need him to be gentle, this time. 

He presses his palm to the center of your chest, where he can feel the erratic beat of your heart. Slowly, he begins to drag his hand down. It's a knowing, practiced motion — not as soft as it ought to be, considering his cold, purple-veined hand and calloused fingers. As his touch is brought down to your stomach, your waist, you shiver, and your body relaxes. Finally, fully. 

It doesn't take long for you to arch into his touches, just as he predicted, just as you always do. Your flesh loves to sing for him. 

This dance has been performed by the both of you numerous times beforehand. Viktor questions if you'll ever grow tired of it. Of the pirouetting, of revolving constantly around unspoken, trembling complications, just to return, to let your mind and your heart reel all over again. 

What he feels for you — what he has evaluated from you, because machines do not feel — is something unexplainable, foreign, futile. He knows this, this dynamic you've fostered; it hardly makes sense. You are allies with no common goals. You were friends, some disregarded years ago. Every other night, you stumble into his lab to interrupt his work, and he lets you. 

No, he indulges you. 

"You are quivering," Viktor hums, voice muffled and deepened by the mask's filter. A usual, matter-of-fact statement, but the edges of his tone sharpen in the wake of a held-back, dark chuckle. "You want me to touch you. Say it." 

The powerful, vastly-superior Machine Herald already has you right where he wants you. 

Slightly riddled with static, the way his thick accent curls around the words only serves to make you shudder more. Your breathing is choppy, your chest rapidly rising and falling. 

Not from fear, if Viktor had to guess. His scans of your heart rate would come across much differently if that was the case. This is from arousal. Clear, easily definable arousal. Just from his thick voice, his soft touch, and the imagery provided by his large body above yours. 

The sight of you is addictive. Addiction isn't a sensation built into his mechanical repertoire, but it's the best word he can think of to describe this. You are small when you're underneath him. So malleable, so fragile. So human. How abnormal. The compulsive surge that runs through his veins should not, according to all of his tests and conclusive research, be occurring. 

Viktor supposes this type of behavior would be more fitting of the past version of him. Presently, he doesn't have room to let time go to waste. His vision is all that matters. The old him, though, the Viktor you once knew would've given you whatever you desired without a second thought, even though he hardly deserved it. 

He was weak, once. For you, perhaps a part of him still is. 

You are intelligent, you always have been. He has cast away much of his past in pursuit of chasing a better, more important future, but still, he remembers each and every moment he shared with you quite vividly. They play in the background of his mind sometimes, persistent like a system error, recurrent like a late-night looping television program. 

Your inventions often kept pace with his. Your smile was bright, brighter than the pillars of light that shone from Piltover's grandest lighthouses. Starry-eyed and driven, you wanted to improve, as a person and as a scientist. You challenged him to push further right alongside you. 

Of course, you knew him better than most, but Viktor wonders: did you ever expect him to go this far? Did you ever plan on retreating back to Zaun with him, to fall further into madness together? 

By now, you must be smart enough to know he is different. What you might've had, a friendship or a partnership or something delightedly improbable, it is now nothing. Nothing more than another one of his shed weaknesses and old, discarded memories. 

Perfect machinery does not feel. Not even for you, no matter what it once felt. Scientifically, it can't. You should understand this relationship is not beneficial. He could and would gladly break you, it's what he built himself to do. And yet, as he's starting to realize, perhaps being broken by him is exactly what you want. 

"Please touch me," You're begging, as his palm caresses the all-too-human curve of your side. Your voice is warm, lustful. A sweet, familiar taste settles in the back of his throat, as you coo the old nickname you still reserve just for him. "I need you to, Vik." 

And just like always, because of you, because of his predisposed sense of responsibility, or perhaps because of an unrecognized fault in his complex machinery — Viktor gives in. 

He revels in your vulnerable, quivering limbs and your heavy, desperate gaze. The grip of his Hexclaw tightens on your wrists, your hands closing, fingers tensed. He drags his palm down your stomach slowly, carefully. His gentleness is calculated, but it is yours, all the same. 

Your legs spread for him on impulse when his hand reaches your thigh. He squeezes, before he brings his hand between them, allowing the end of his index finger to brush your clit; his touch is precise, with all the efficiency and learned confidence of a flawless, apathetic machine. He could make you fall apart for him so easily, every part of you perfectly attuned to his touch, and his touch alone. 

Yet, he's teasing you, careful and slight touches barely grazing where you're oh-so sensitive for him. Your thighs shake, and spread wider; your body is exposed to him, soft and sweat-soaked expanses of skin contrasting splendidly with his bulky, armored chassis of metal. Now, instead of his index, Viktor uses his thumb, providing more friction and a slightly firmer touch. You squirm, the pretty features of your face washed over in pleasure, before you breathe a small, satisfied whine. 

"That's it," He murmurs firmly. "To think this is all it takes to make you submit." 

Viktor allows his thumb to trace circles onto your swollen, needy clit, and your breath proceeds to hitch so deliciously for him. An action, and reaction. Repeated experiments make for predictable results. Hextech hand practically digging into your wrists, Viktor brings his free, metal hand to your cheek. Oddly tender, his cold palm cups your face. He isn't surprised at the response it gets out of you, your chest heaving with a deep, trembling sigh. Every part of your skin tingles, as you lean into his faux, steel touch. 

"Earlier, you wished to be defiant. Disobedient." Viktor scolds, his thumb flicking over your clit while his fingers brush your cunt, gathering your dripping slick on the digits. He takes his metal hand away from your cheek, and he presses it flat to the table, right beside your head. Your brows pinch disappointedly, clearly unsatisfied with his subtle form of punishment. 

"And now look at you. Wet and desperate." 

He's barely touched you, barely even begun with you, and you're already dripping. 

"I wasn't- I'm not disobedient," You're countering, although it's damn near impossible to keep your voice sounding steady when his persistent touch is toying with you. He's teasing, circling your clit agonizingly slowly, just to make you squirm. "I brought you everything you asked for. Like always." 

"Yes, and you did well," Viktor praises flatly. As though he's reading off a trained script, rather than watching the way your eyelids flutter as his knuckles brush your entrance. "Our current project will run smoothly now, utilizing the tech you acquired for us. But when I told you to wait, to bring the tech after I had finalized our plans, you did not listen." 

You admit simply, foolishly, "I missed you." 

Those words are familiar. You'll often tell him you missed him when he returns to the lab, home at last after finalizing a few affairs elsewhere. You said you missed his face the first time you saw it, your hands gently holding his cheeks, caressing metal and skin — despite how different he looks now. Despite the scars, the mechanical parts. 

He knows you missed him. In a soft, delicate way. In an indecent, desperate way. His form of longing is much, much different. When the mortal matter and fraying wires of his brain yearn to have your presence beside him, with him, under him, it is strong, it is carnivorous. It is encompassing. 

"You nearly comprised everything we've been working towards." Viktor's third arm tightens even more, making your wrists and arms go nearly numb. "There is only so much I can do to protect you. I disposed of the last enforcers to attempt tracking you down, but if you were to lead them here, you will not just be putting yourself at risk. You are threatening our entire vision with your recklessness." 

Carefully, his index finger finds your entrance: sensitive and wanting. He deliberately pulls his hand away when you whine, instead placing his palm back on your inner thigh. Your skin is soft to the touch. Your gaze stays steady on him, on the unflinching shape of his mask, your eyelids heavy, pupils blown with clear arousal. As though he encompasses all you need, anything you could possibly want, and everything that could devastate you. 

You are frustratingly beautiful. 

Viktor hums, the sound low, somewhat mechanical. He gently guides his hand over your neck, just how you like, until large, metal fingers are wrapping around your throat. Not squeezing, just tightly holding. Enough to ground you, to remind you of who you belong to. You let go of a sigh, your eyes growing heavier. Your heart is skipping, and with his hand around your throat, the subtle vibrations of your quick pulse shudder through his complex machinery. 

"Viktor-" You start, voice weak, barely there. "I'm-" 

"I know you want more." He squeezes your thigh, applies just enough pressure to your throat to make your mind go fuzzy. "Tell me what you have been waiting for me to give to you, what you desired so strongly that you ran to me, instead of following the plan. And perhaps, I'll let you have it." 

You tremble: a full-body, tingling shudder. Viktor — the Machine Herald — is so much larger, so much stronger than you. He's augmented himself to be significantly taller, significantly more imposing, and underneath him like this, you must look meager. Pathetic. Fully bare, your legs spread open for him. Giving yourself to him so easily. Your chest heaves, your mortal heart skipping and wavering at the sight of him above you, pinning you beneath his heavy, metal form. 

"Breathe, zayka," Viktor murmurs, his grip on your neck loosening up. "Your heart is racing. Focus on me." 

Taking in slower, deeper breaths, your mind quiets, your pulse calms. Stars and static thrum in the corners of your vision, your thoughts a knotted up blur. Viktor — his touch is all you can focus on — traces his fingers further up your thigh in approval. 

"There. Very good. You're alright." 

"Your fingers," You pant, "Please." 

Viktor scoffs, his tone mechanical and rough, "You can do better. Try again." 

Huffing, your head knocks the firm worktable when you toss it backward. 

"Bastard." Your hands clench and unclench, your wrists giving a poor attempt at struggling against their hold. To no avail, of course. "Are you at least going to let me touch you?" 

"No. Answer me. Do not make me repeat myself." 

You briefly gnaw on your bottom lip, your jaw tense, thighs shaky. "I need your fingers inside me, Vik. I've missed you, I need you, please. I'm going fucking crazy." 

Viktor's unmoving, glowing eyes examine you carefully. "That's it. That is much more sufficient. So exquisite, when you are begging. Take what you need, then." 

You're well aware he isn't the same man you once fell for, nor is he the soft-spoken, bright scientist you once knew. Rumors paint him as a maker, a monster, a machine. He is cold to the touch. He isn't supposed to feel, he removed such functions ages ago; they were useless to him. As were his failing lungs, his weak legs, his heart. A heart made from machinery never skips. It can't be blinded by love, or lust. It cannot be distracted by old, unkindled flames, in the same way you often are. You envy him, somewhat. 

But Gods, when it's just you and him in his lonely little corner of Zaun, and when you are at the pleasant mercy of his perfected touch, you swear, he feels more human than anything. Nothing else truly matters, because still, he is yours. 

Viktor's index finger slides inside you slowly, just barely stretching you around its thickness. You're wet enough that he could press it in easily, could have you melting and drooling over whatever you're given — but instead, he chooses to let the digit fill you languidly. The feeling is slight, enveloping and enthralling and familiar, yet not enough to make you feel full, at the same time. His fingers are long, dexterous. Pretty and scarred. 

You've watched him work on plenty of augments and automatons, hands tightly grasping a wrench to turn it, fingers carefully holding the ends of thin wires to thread them together. Each action swift, exact. 

With the same level of precision, Viktor presses his finger deep inside you, and crooks it upward to nudge it right against your sweetest spot — and you whimper, your whole body shivering, collapsing. 

"One is never enough to satisfy you," He asserts; he gently pumps his finger into you to a steady, easily manageable pace. "Isn't that right?" 

If his mask weren't there, you're sure you'd see him speaking through a slight grin, maniacal and crooked, impossibly him. Your heart pounds. You're doomed, you must be. 

In response, you nod your head fiercely. Another shaky moan tears through you as he works you on his slender digit. Pressing in, dragging out. Calculated and perfectly steady, like the continuous beats of a metronome. 

"Or," Viktor questions, "Should I have you come undone around just one?" 

"No," You snap quickly, although you're obviously in no position to be making demands. Your eyes flutter open, your face contorted in a mix of pleasure and frustration. He finds your desperation strangely satisfying. All for him. It's the same sort of hungry satisfaction that comes with working on an automation, striding closer and closer to a job well done. He adjusts, pushing your legs apart with his large knees when they tremble and threaten to close. 

"Give me two," You're pleading, "Please." 

Viktor hums, the sound low and vibrating. 

"Guiding you to your peak would prove trivial, even without the means of penetration. You are simple. Easy to unravel." His low, intimidating voice effortlessly sends goosebumps careening down your spine. "You could most likely be led to cum against my shoe or my thigh, from modest friction and my voice alone." 

"Viktor," You almost wince at how pathetic you sound. "Stop talking." 

Viktor eases his index finger as deep inside you as you can take, and heat surges across your form in thundering, breaking waves. "Why would I stop when you are enjoying it?" 

Oh, he knows you far too well. 

"Dammit, at least-" You exhale, trembling through a moan, and Viktor's Hextech arm holds onto your wrists impossibly tighter as your hips roll into his hand — desperate to feel more of him. It works, momentarily. Until he is using his free hand to firmly grip your waist: thick metal fingers digging into warm, pretty skin. He pushes you back against the worktable, holding you in place. 

You groan in frustration. "At least quit teasing me." 

"Such impatience. I am working you upwards, gradually conditioning you to take higher levels of stimuli. It will make the process as a whole much more pleasurable." 

"Gods if you weren't wearing that stupid mask, I would shut you up in no-" 

"I always satiate you, milaya," Viktor answers calmly, as he slowly drags his finger out, leaving you quivering and empty. The nickname he uses is tender, familiar. It reminds you of your once different life. Vividly, it forms blossoms in your chest, unfurling flowers and delicate petals. Tugging sweetly at your thudding heart, despite the cold artificiality of his manufactured tone. Milaya. His darling. 

Though, the Machine Herald does not covet. What he desires, he takes and makes his. 

"Interesting," He's muttering, seemingly mostly to himself. "Your neediness has greatly increased since the last time we convened. Normally, you are capable of controlling yourself. To a certain extent." 

He tsks, metal hand caressing slow, reassuring circles onto your waist, while his other palm dives back between your legs. His fingers drag over your cunt with an irrational sense of clumsiness, considering the motion is coming from him. He lets his fingertips search for nothing in particular, getting them slick with your arousal, nudging your clit carelessly with his knuckles until your back is arching, and your sighs are sharpening. 

"Sorry." You mumble a half-hearted apology, eyelids softly fluttering. 

"It was not a complaint." Viktor presses his fingertips close, dangerously closer. 

Your body needs him, needs what only he can give to you. His hands, his fingers inside you. Every inch of you screams for his touch. As though you are a solved puzzle, a piece of technology broken down to let him understand each individual part. Your thighs shake, and that's part A. Your chest heaves, your shoulders go tense. Significantly human responses. Components labeled B, C, D, V. Your lips quiver, before they mutter another breathless, desperate plea of his name. 

Predictable, and understandable. Yet, for certain, you are a delight to decipher. Those pieces and budding sensations come together as he thought they would, and they — and you, are primed to be bent at his will. 

You expect him to tease you further. When he falls silent, becoming more impossible to read than he already was, you feel your arms and your thighs tense with what must be anticipation. Surely, he can sense how eager you are. 

But Viktor doesn't falter, he does not hesitate. He guides his metal hand underneath your back, predicting its arch, and he presses two of his fingers, his middle and ring, to your drooling entrance. They slide into you with a filthy, wet noise; it's almost obscene how eagerly your cunt accepts them. How you plead with whiny utterances of yes, yes, your voice breaking, eyes closing. He eases them inside you slowly, fills you with them completely — until his scarred knuckles are nudging against you, and you're sobbing through a half-sigh, half-moan. 

He doesn't wait to hear you beg for more. You're given a calculated amount of time, just enough seconds to catch your breath and get used to the stretch of both digits inside you. He fucks you on his fingers, pumping them in and out to the tune of your broken whines and gasps for air. It's a gradual process. A coded, mastered technique well-baked into his mind, his heart, and his hardware. 

Of course, he's long since learned just how to make you fall apart. He has studied you, he's proceeded to subconsciously store your data in the most important vault in his mind. It is simply a matter of getting you there, of drawing out your pleas for him and your tremors and your pulses, to push you even further past your previous crescendos. 

You can always be louder. Finish harder. You deserve to. And when it comes to any and all of his endeavors, including this one, he is persistently, unquenchably ambitious. 

"Vik-" You're babbling, in a wavering voice he might logically, astutely label as precious. His quiet lab echoes with the whirr of various displays and devices. With your soft noises, echoing alongside the wet squelch his fingers make each time he presses them deeper. "Please, I just- I'm so- I want you so much-" 

"You have me," He answers rigidly. Prepared and intentional, his fingers move slower, drawing out your moans and your shudders of pleasure. "Or were you demanding more?" 

"I always want more with you." A faint, endearing pout forms on your features, the kind of look only he can draw from you. "Want- I want you to fuck me." 

It isn't anything of importance; just an aimless, desperate plea. The kind you might be expected to ask of him when you're in this state — your mind wandering, your body relaxed. You need fuel for your building fire, you need to hear him outline through words what he can't through actions. You cannot make him feel as you do, but Viktor is kind enough to let you play pretend. 

Though, for whatever strange, unrecognizable, illogical reason, he goes against the fixed line of actions he was previously adhering to, and he hesitates. He contemplates. He twitches, circuitry briefly inoperable, fuzzy and working against him. His center, his self-regulating core, hums with marginally more force than it did before. The hand he has pressed to your back trembles. It thrums with artificial, built-up heat, before he grips you much tighter. 

Fortunately, he rediscovers his composure as quickly as it waned. Viktor quirks his fingers into your sweet spot to make you cry out for him, and then he drags them half-way out — every moment agonizingly slow, so he can admire the way the digits glisten in the lamplight. 

"Filthy little thing." His voice is thick. His words are stern, making you picture how his jaw might be tightened. "I am already providing you everything you asked for, and yet still, you act greedy. Human desire is terribly intemperate." 

"As if-" You're squirming, sweating, your hair a mess, warm gaze and moon-wide pupils locked onto his obscured face. "As if you feel nothing from this." 

"I cannot feel. You are well aware of this reality. I suggest you do not continue to persuade yourself otherwise." 

"Bullshit." 

"In fact, I do feel nothing." Viktor brings his thumb to your clit on his next press in, rubbing it roughly, circling it precisely. "I am incapable of experiencing desire," His fingers crook and spread. "Nor enjoyment." They pump slowly, while they stretch you around their shape. "Or affection." 

"But you were worried about me- fuck- when I went off on that stupid mission," You're mumbling, barely able to speak through ragged gasps for breath, "You were fretting over my safety. You- hah, you stopped everything you were doing just to check on me, because you felt relieved, you felt happy when you saw me walk in, didn't you?" 

Did he? 

Hours earlier, you returned to his doorstep, and he knew it was you from the way you knocked; he put aside the small automaton he was working on, and hurried to meet you at the door. He gave you a quick once over — in this form, he is vastly larger and taller than you, to the point where you have to crane your neck to look up at him — but you assured him you hadn't been injured. When you fell against his armored chest in something of an embrace, he didn't push you away. Nor did he protest when you pulled his heavy, bulky shape on top of you as you fell back against the nearest surface, his additional sensors picking up your already increasing breathing and heart rate. 

He recalls your arms around him, hands tugging at his cape, removing sections of his armor, fingers threading through his hair. Soft lips pressing to cold steel — 

Viktor tenses. You are plenty capable on your own, capable enough that he rarely considers whether or not you'll return. You always do, after all. This mission was considerably riskier, though. Considerably more worrisome. 

If anything had happened to you, if he discovered you were injured or captured or worse, his subsequent reaction would be less than logical. His mental processes would malfunction, and he would lose the ability to think rationally. The stifling, unstoppable force that would build within him could be compared to something like rage, something like love. 

You swallow thickly, and the room swirls around you in a dizzy haze as Viktor slowly pulls his fingers from you. Leaving you empty. 

He murmurs, "Look at me." 

It's a little difficult of a command to follow, with your head spinning and your eyes all heavy. Still, you force yourself to breathe deeply, to steady, in the wake of the sudden lack of attention. 

You look up, and his hand, fingers slick and filthy, momentarily moves to grasp your chin. He tilts you towards him, to make sure you're watching. Viktor reaches up, and he presses a mechanism on the side of his mask. It hisses, releasing air, small puffs of steam streaming from either side. 

He removes it tentatively. He tosses it aside with a bit less caution, causing it to clink, spin, and nearly fall when it hits the upper edge of the table. 

You're met with messy brown hair, scarred skin, and familiar moles. The entirety of his jaw is made of metal, reconstructed into intricately crafted steel that continues down his neck and underneath his armor. His skin is overly pale, to the point where you can notice deep eye bags, and the criss-crossings of several individual, purple-hued veins. His expression is stern and deadpan, his brows slightly creased. He takes you in, gaze flickering down for a moment, then back up — and searing eyes, dark purple pools and bright orange suns, finally meet your own. 

"Your legs," He's instructing; his voice, no longer filtered through the mask, sounds warmer, clearer, a little less deep. Despite everything, terribly familiar, and blissfully human. "Place them around me." 

Unable to stifle a smile, you lift your thighs, casually locking them around his back at the ankles. You rarely get to see his face, and it's impossible to keep your eyes off of him, nor can you stop your heart from pounding. Viktor returns your gaze, cold and unflinching. It's like he's examining you, regarding you with the same restrained interest as he'd have for the subjects of his experiments. 

"There you are," You're cooing, head tilting, "Vitya."

Viktor's expression finally shifts from his usual indifference, his brows scrunching up to form a slightly irritated scowl. 

"Defiant again. As expected." 

"You used to like it when I called you that. Am I not allowed to tease you now?" You're laughing, and your smaller frame, still pinned underneath him, shifts somewhat when he loosens his grasp on your wrists. A faint amount of mercy. You offer him one of those radiant smiles he can't stand — can't resist. "You can be such a hypocrite." 

"Open your mouth," Viktor sneers coldly, "So it can be put to better use." 

With a firm, metal hand, he holds the curve of your soft side, measuring your individual tremors, paying attention to the steady movement of your lungs. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your lips. Your breath hitches, and your mouth forms a line. You can't help but roll your eyes. 

"I can just leave, you know," You mutter, your voice still playful, yet noticeably a few volumes lower. "But I'm guessing you don't want me to." 

Funny. You seem to think you could escape from his grasp. 

"Open. Your. Mouth. Before I give in, and do something I shouldn't." 

"I'm not-" 

Your protest fizzles out into a surprised noise and a subsequent sigh; Viktor grabs you, he pulls you closer in tandem with surging forwards, and his mouth promptly crashes into yours. 

Finally. 

The kiss tastes sharp, like iron and ash, like something distinctly him when his tongue slowly brushes against yours. You allow your eyes to close — but Viktor hardly leaves you any room for air as he practically devours you. It's deep, enthralling, and clumsy. Needy, on your end, and hungry on his. The kind of kiss that possesses you, consumes you. Your mind is dizzy, your breath is gone, but you need to kiss him more than you need to breathe. 

You melt into him gently, naturally. Like you were always meant to. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek: a motion far too soft, far too important. 

When he pulls away, finally giving you some breathing room, your eyes immediately meet. Your chest is heaving, your heart warm and pounding to a tempo made just for him. His gaze is once again sharp, once again perfectly composed. 

You miss the softness of his lips already. "Vik." 

And he needs you, needs more of you. He's wanted to feel your lips against his for far longer than you or even he could have realized. Since those days when you were both young and stupid, when you vowed to achieve your dreams together. As though your gentle voice pleading his name is just tender enough to push him over a metaphorical edge, to flip some hidden switch in his complex mechanics — He kisses you again, again, again. 

All of this, it isn't meant for him. It is unfathomably human, from the way you breathe fervently against his mouth; stuttered breaths, quicker than his, heavier than his own could ever be. To the way he touches you, a half-machine's best imitation of intimacy. His still-human palm moves to brush your neck, then glides further to hold the back of your head. Your body is all awkward limbs and soft edges and smooth skin, but you fit underneath him oh-so perfectly. 

He can't stop. It doesn't seem real; Viktor imagines he must have fallen into a different reality, he's in a different body with a different, mortal heart. None of this makes an ounce of logical sense otherwise. Then again, when do you ever make sense? 

He can't focus on anything but your lips on his — because for a few fleeting moments, he isn't defined by metal and machinery; he is himself. He is a mess of muddled thoughts and imperfect touches. Your legs around his back pull his figure closer to yours, and you have him wondering what it might entail without any steel in the way. Just skin against skin. 

It'd be impossible for him to feel such a thing, when there's little skin left. His entire arm, his legs, his torso, his spine; they've since been replaced, improved upon. Is this the closest he'll ever get to you, to love? 

Waves upon waves of warmth wash over you, they drown you, they envelop you. Even once Viktor has finally pulled apart from you with one last soft kiss, you still aren't able to breathe. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so fiercely it almost hurts. 

He settles back above you, and as you calm again, he holds your gaze. His slender fingers move to trace the column of your throat, where they not-so-subtly seek out your pulse. It's racing for him. He looks remarkably composed now, compared to how disheveled you're sure you appear. 

Gently, he trails his hand upwards. His thumb swipes your kiss-swollen bottom lip. Your mouth parts instinctually, allowing him to carefully press the digit into your warm mouth, onto your wet tongue. 

"Do not leave," Viktor murmurs, an analytical edge already returning to his tone, in spite of what transpired between you. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, brushing it over your bottom lip again, smearing your lips with your saliva. "Stay for tonight." 

"Are you asking? Or is that a demand?" Your breath on his skin is foggy and hot. When it's clear he isn't going to answer, his gaze regarding you inquisitively, you propose another question. Your hands clench, they briefly push against the unyielding grip of his Hexclaw. "Will you let my hands go now?" 

"Tsk. Only if you are capable of keeping them to yourself." 

"C'mon…" You hum disappointedly. He appears routinely unaffected by your pouting. So, you change your approach. 

You shuffle, trying to get more comfortable. The table beneath you feels especially firm. "What if I say please? Is that what you're looking for?" 

"Go ahead. It will not affect my decision." 

"Seriously? But I want to touch you. You're so pretty." 

Viktor hesitates, but only briefly. He senses the whirring in his chest, the usual hum of his augmented components. Substitutions where imperfect pieces should be, strength replacing frailty, mechanics coming to life once more as his mind becomes forcibly unclouded. His systems are working as usual again. All it took to experience a malfunction was your lips on his, and all he needed to do to rebuild his composure was pull away. And you are still a gasping, heavy-eyed mess. 

Still, there is something troubling him. The same illogical functions that've been prodding at his mind since the very beginning. Lingering errors. Faults in his perfected frame. When he looks at you now, he strongly senses the push and pull of those inaccuracies. 

If he allows you to touch him, each framework, every mechanism — Everything he's been carefully constructing might come crashing down. 

Would that be so bad? 

Pretty. How ridiculous. Viktor scoffs, his jaw tensing up, his next words arbitrary. "Most are afraid when they look at me." 

Perhaps they should be. Perhaps you should be. 

But you just smile, your expression growing soft as you tilt your head, and you answer in earnest: "I don't think I've ever been scared of you." 

Again, there goes his worthless, thrumming, obsolete heart. 

You should be afraid of a man who's designed himself to fit an image you no longer recognize. You shouldn't try to get so close to him, when his compulsive obsession to destroy and remake borders on a clear line of danger. This new chassis embodies perfection. It has long since relinquished any weaknesses, but if you detested him, he wouldn't blame you. Others are reluctant to embrace his vision, save for a select, fortunate few. You and him have history. History that would make seeing him like this rather difficult, he assumes. 

Usually, Viktor is able to keep any oversights from throwing him off course. He can't be distracted from achieving his goals. The people of Zaun need him. This new body poses no hindrances. Pain doesn't disrupt him; it can be turned out, like anything else. Pain of the body, and pain of the heart. 

You, though. Any thoughts he has of you start as small blips. Tiny, persistent sparks. They build overtime, burning brighter, hotter. Until he sees you, and you look just like how you did back then, so, so long ago. There are tired lines on your face, faint scars, and he knows they're his fault. All at once, his mind is threatening to become a mess of discordant, fraying parameters, of processes that are refusing to function in the manner they should. 

He wants to keep you far, far away; far from him, from this lab. Far from this terrible, awful place you both grew up in. If he could, he'd have you go somewhere so very distant, where you couldn't distract him — where you could be happy and free. You will see the sky, feel the sun's warmth, and breathe fresh, cool air. It'd be what's best for you. And he will continue to further his endeavors in evolution. Alone, as intended. 

But ultimately, no matter what he winds up doing to his mind or his body, he would think of you. Of holding you or unmaking you, sometimes he isn't sure which. If you were truly afraid, if you ran, he wouldn't follow on your heels. But along with you, you'd take a piece of himself, a faint trace he would never get back; for better, or for worse. 

Viktor listens to the sound of your breathing: steady, deep. His gaze studies you, but it lingers on your eyes for longer than intended. You are still looking up at him, smiling, sparkling like a sky full of stars. As though he is a sky filled with stars. 

Your breaths become heavier when he presses his palm to the center of your chest. He drags his touch down, down. You are more sensitive this time, he notes. You lean into him once his hand caresses your pelvis, your waist, and you loosen your legs from around his back to become more comfortable. His fingertips trail up your inner thigh, and you shudder, you shiver. 

He thinks of kissing you once more. A couple times more, maybe. Proper judgment tells him he should resist. The thought remains there, lingering and burning between you. 

"Viktor…" You murmur, your voice a bit broken, but he's hanging onto every word. "Touch me again." 

Pleasant sensory inputs glow within him; tingling veins, reverberating wires. Overwhelming heat fills his shoulders, the back of his neck, his head — the heat of machinery, the warmth of his soul. 

Viktor grabs your waist assertively, metal fingers digging into your hip. His gaze doesn't waver from yours as he guides your thighs to spread. Suddenly, he pushes himself against you, until you are hopelessly pressed between steel and metal. Between him, and the worktable. 

You feel his weight, you feel the intricate ridges of metal plates and hard edges, the artificial heat of his much larger body radiating against your bare skin. Now, you are completely pinned, practically chest to chest, pressed underneath the Machine Herald so closely it's enough to make your head spin. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating. Perhaps he can hear it. Or maybe, he just knows your heart must be pounding for him, as it always does. 

Your limbs tremor with excitement. As his palm squeezes your thigh, you can't help but arch into his touch. Thin, skillful fingers press close and feel how wet you are — still so sensitive, already dripping out onto him. You aren't teased, you aren't even able to catch your breath, because two of his fingers are swiftly dipping inside you, giving you exactly what you need. 

It feels so right. Viktor reaches for your cheek. He encourages you to continue meeting his gaze when your eyes flutter and nearly close. 

Your gaze on his, you let his name leave your mouth in a series of sharp gasps, and desperate pleas. He fills you slowly, but wastes no time building a rhythm; his fingers pump into your sensitive cunt gently, then methodically. Satisfied, Viktor hums, and he carefully shifts his other arm down. He holds your back as it arches, further pressing you against himself. 

Now, the way he pleasures you is deliberate, it isn't enough, but Gods, you'll take anything he gives you. 

"That name," Viktor starts, speaking in a smooth, level tone, perfectly contrasting the airy huffs and whines you utter for him. The name he hoped to relinquish, his name. "It sounds best when you are pleading it." 

You smile through a soft moan. "It's my favorite. Such a sweet name." 

Precisely, determinedly, his fingers crook into the spot within you he knows all too well, and you crumble, you sob. 

"The tech you brought to me will accelerate the completion of our latest prototype," Viktor is explaining, matter-of-factly. As though the conversation is as simple as it is necessary. Like he doesn't have his large body shoved against you, and his fingers knuckle-deep inside you. It just serves to excite you further, honestly. 

"I will install the heat core, and adjust its interior components accordingly. We could have its systems operational by tonight. However, I doubt I will be able to focus." 

You take a forced, deep breath. "Yeah? Because of me?" 

Obviously, he wants to say. You'll be here, staying in his lab, as you usually do after a tough afternoon or a previous sleepless night. He doesn't mind. Your chatter might occasionally be disruptive to his work, but your voice is nice, it is calming. Your presence itself might be a distraction, an interference that his mind tells him he should discard, but having you here is a nice change of pace, compared to the long, lonesome hours he's grown used to. He has never minded. 

Sleep is less of a necessity for him. Resting for a handful of hours a few times per week is usually enough to keep himself operational. The torn leather couch he keeps in his quarters is there just for you. He no longer needs to eat in the typical sense, although he still needs to recharge burned energy. He keeps stocked up on the foods he remembers to be your favorites. 

It's strange, out of everything he's forgotten, he still remembers such useless, trivial details. Each and every detail about you. 

Without you, this space — the adjustments he's made to accommodate your presence, the dip in the couch from where you always sleep, your articles of clothing strewn over the floor and the couch arms. His lab would feel so empty. 

His next words sound much gentler than usual. Warmer, more desperate. 

"Because your voice will not leave my mind. Begging for me. Breaking for me," Viktor murmurs. He nudges his fingers against your walls, testing, teasing you. "Pleading my name." 

Once more, he challenges your limits; his fingers slide into you deep, so deeply you can feel them everywhere. Nudging at your core, filling you perfectly. As if on queue, you whimper a broken plea of yes, and as your eyes flutter, you're cascading into a needy mess of pleasant, shaky gasps. You writhe, your pinned hands trembling, wishing for something to hold onto. Though, he keeps you in place underneath him, blissfully unrelenting. 

"Say it," Viktor demands, "My name. Tell me who it is you need." 

"Viktor," Your voice is light, clumsy and slurring slightly, but in the way you say his name, there's an unmistakable lilt of pure adoration. You need him, you need to feel him everywhere: his practiced touch, his soft skin, his steel-built anatomy. You want him to not have to leave you, to not need to choose between you and the Undercity's future. 

You feel completely, utterly dizzy. You want so much. You want his hands, flesh or metal, to study every intricate inch of you. You want him to stop holding back, you need the both of you to make up for the stupid amount of time you've lost — "I- hhah- I want…" 

With your eyes nearly shut, static and stars flickering at the edges of your vision, you hadn't noticed how close he'd become until Viktor's voice echoes warmly, right against the shell of your ear. 

"You want me to fuck you?" 

And holy shit, his tone is sultry, his accent is thick — you shiver so hard you're sure he's left feeling the aftershocks, your body still pressed up right against his, even through his layers of metal armor. Viktor doesn't stop the steady pace of his fingers, pumping and arching and working you so well. Nor does he quit speaking, simply because he knows this is what you want to hear. What you need to hear. 

"You are insatiable," He scolds, although there's little emotion in his level tone. Just an obvious, already-known sense of acknowledgement. His voice is a thousand times more intense when it is curling directly into your ear; "You wish for me to render you even more weak than you currently are, so you can be shown exactly who you belong to? Oh, and how I'd fuck you. How I would take you. I would make a mess of you, I'm sure. You'd be begging to be given all of me. To be used by me." 

It's merely theoretical, a set of fake promises and dirty words to put pleasant visualizations into your mind — calculated, like everything he pursues. And it works. Predictably, your entire body shudders with pure, forceful need. You pulse around his fingers, throbbing like a heartbeat. You sob, and try to twist to face him, although it's impossible, considering you're still tightly pinned beneath his figure. 

You want to see his face, he figures, so Viktor shifts up. He re-puts himself in the center of your vision, and you glance towards him, eyes flickering across his face; your gaze on his is practically teary-eyed. Desperate and eager, you find ways to plead without words. 

You want to let go. Of course you do — always forced to be strong, you need nothing more than to melt at the hands of the last person left in Zaun that you trust. Even if he is more machine than person. Even though he is not right for you. 

For a moment all too brief, Viktor wonders what it would be like to push those boundaries. To truly have you, beneath his hands and in his heart, to feel you resounding beside him like the echoes of a rippling, rolling wave. 

How would he take you? No, how would you want him? 

He formulates a few possible outcomes. Perhaps you'd want him hard and desperately. You need to be put in your place, to feel him as close as he could possibly be while he molds you to his shape. You want to be obedient. A good little subject. You want to be called good, very, very good for him while he pounds you into the table, or maybe while he leans back, glowing, masked eyes focused solely on you, your hands gripping his armored shoulders so you can bounce on his lap however you'd like. The Machine Herald's perfect little pawn. He wagers with such filthy actions and words, he could make you even louder than this. 

You'd be pinned underneath him, and instead of his fingers, he'd fill you with all of himself — carnal and raw. Warm and sweat-soaked. Yet still, your body pressed to his would be agonizingly tender. 

Or maybe you'd want him in a different way. In a much softer way. 

Tenderness has never been afforded to him, it's hardly a concept he knows, but perhaps it's what he once hoped for. With you, it's what he once pictured. 

Every touch would be slow, delicate. Your hands interlocked. Bodies pressed together, galaxies against galaxies. So close, they could be mistaken for the same shape. He would learn you truly, and honestly. Warm and gentle, you would touch him soft enough to make him human again. 

Your voice would beg for him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears, against his form. Useless, perfect declarations of love. Viktor shudders. He imagines your hands, pretty and delicate, brushing the space between his shoulder and his steel spine. Feeling his scarred skin, alighting fiery sensations he assumed he'd long since lost. 

Compared to who he was before, he is much stronger. He must be strong, must be forged of grit and iron, he must not submit to worthless, human desires. But you make him oh-so weak. 

He isn't supposed to be weak. 

"Please," You're gasping. You are barely able to speak at this point, babbling sweetly between broken noises as he fucks you on his fingers; it's just enough to make you shut your eyes and imagine more. "Fuck- Vik- Oh, p-please…" 

Splintering, throbbing with mechanical heat, his inner workings surge with a sublime abundance of molten, unbridled energy. Burning, it's burning him up from the inside, melting him down and making him fragile. 

You've gone fuzzy beneath him — No, his vision is fuzzy. Your edges are blurred, your chest is heaving as his fingers barely leave you before pressing back in. His hand adjusts, allowing his thumb to brush your puffy clit on the next press in. When you whimper his name, as you've done countless times before, he swears he sees nothing but flickering, colorless static. 

Burning and heightening and building, he must be malfunctioning, experiencing crucial gaps in his design. This shouldn't be happening. He should not feel, and this isn't feeling, but there is something building inside of him, something with your name on it. 

No, no, your name is flickering through him, pounding against his mind like a drum, and he has to establish control. He has to fucking fix this. 

He needs to be closer, so much closer. He needs you in an unexplainable, all encompassing way. In a way that shouldn't be occurring. He doesn't want anything, he can't experience the sensation of wanting because it isn't meant to exist. 

Truthfully, he's past the point of no return, and you might be all that's left to hold him in place. Impossible. The only thing he's ever desired is progress, evolution. Improvement is what matters. Improving, fixing, augmenting. 

You are going to be the death of him. He needs to be pressed against you, holding you, in you, examining your inner workings, guiding you to reach your true potential — 

Something snaps. 

"Do you know," Viktor grasps your face, roughly tilting you in his direction. The newfound harshness to his tone is exhilarating. "How impossible it is to resist breaking you?" 

He laughs, the sound sharp, almost chilling; his smile is crooked, barely recognizable, showing off even more crooked teeth. His gaze holds your own until it practically burns into you. His body is hot. To the point of overheating. You feel the heated metal against your skin, pressing to your chest, your thighs, faint puffs of searing steam pouring out from gaps in the plating. 

The grip his Hexclaw has on your wrists is so tight it nearly hurts. But it's faltering, his hands are twitching. He seems to recognize he might be hurting you, and so he lifts off of you slightly, he forces himself to loosen his hold. 

There's a sound coming from him that echoes like grinding gears, like the hiss of burning filaments. Like something is crumbling. Fighting against itself. 

"It is all I have ever known, milaya." Viktor lets go of something akin to a sigh, although he has no need to breathe. He is utterly ruined — the poor excuse for a heart he once placed between his ribs is aching, shuddering with the anticipation of a touch, soaring with the softness that comes with a kiss. Is this what it feels like to be dizzy, to be lovesick? 

You shudder as his thumb rubs your clit, and he digs his metal fingers into your side, feeling the space just beneath your ribs. "You will soon understand," He murmurs, "And if you are incapable, I am still willing to teach you. To make you into so much more." 

There's a stirring in his chest at that, at the thought of completing you; a deep-rooted abnormality he can't quite pinpoint. Is it excitement? Guilt? Lust? 

You swallow. You're crumbling, as he sends tingles through your veins in the wake of more enthralling words. 

"You are mine. Your fundamental place is at my side." Viktor senses the building heat of his inner workings, a deep wave rolling up from his constructed spine to settle onto the back of his neck. Building, burning, breaking. "I cannot wait to unmake you." 

Pulling you apart would be delightful. 

Your pieces would be disassembled, separated by each individual, pretty, dizzying section, so you could be redone carefully, gently, with a sense of tenderness only he could manage. He wants to understand you. To know exactly what makes you tick, down to your most basic of functions. To be close. Indistinguishable, the both of you made from the same materials. If you were constructed in his image, your components marked by his influence, there would be no doubt who you belong to. 

Through breaking you and mending you, he wonders if he could find new ways to make you sing. You'd relax under each touch, shuddering and breathing his name as he completes your newfound enhancements. Gazes locking. Touches lingering. Metal soldering. Viktor trembles. Gods, how he wants you. 

Furthering your potential and heightening your pleasure both require similar sentiments. Trust, and vulnerability. Opening your chest to watch your heart pound for him is the same as measuring your hitching breaths, growing heavier the deeper and faster he presses his fingers into you. 

Because delicately pulling you apart just to put you back together is some metaphor for intimacy. Carving out a space for you within the confines of his fake heart is some synonym for tenderness. Holding onto his memories of you, replaying everything he can't quite forget to the point of near insanity — to the point where he attempted to forcibly remove you, by removing those emotions. Only to fail. Feeling these sensations for you when he shouldn't is some form of devotion. 

You shouldn't feel for him either, right? 

Having you there from the very beginning meant something; you were beside him when he only dreamed of becoming someone greater. When his ideas for evolution were just prototypes, when he first put the full extent of his weight onto both his legs. Didn't it mean the world to you too? 

You were equally misunderstood. By your peers, by the world. Just as you believed in him, he saw light in you, from the very start. He thinks you could burn bright enough to melt anyone who stands in your way. And now, years down the line, when he is seen as less than human, you only see him. Not what he's become. It's infuriating. It's unmistakably loving. 

You are panting. Getting close. Your bottom lip quivers, and your body tenses, each shudder more forceful than the last. His fingers echo a filthy, wet sound each time they pump into you, and your back is arching, you are simply begging to fall apart around him. For him, because of him. You deserve to. 

And you sing, voice trembling like plucked strings, "Just p-please. You can do whatever you want to me, I trust you- I've always trusted you. Vik, I need you. I'm yours. All yours." 

All his. 

Whatever he turns into, whatever becomes of his body, memories, and heart, you would still follow. No matter what his goal might be; to destroy this city for what it did to the both of you, or to work in unison to try and remake it. Or perhaps, he plans to become more. An example of perfection. A God. As if he isn't one already. 

The first time he touched you, when he felt the softness of your skin and heard the plea in your voice, and knew you were in his heart still, still, wasn't it akin to a prayer? 

Oh, he is going to unravel you. 

Viktor allows his grip on your wrists to finally, fully loosen; his Hexclaw presses flatly to the table, helping to support his weight. Relaxing, you exhale a deep breath, but you don't hesitate for long. Your arms waste no time wrapping around him, pulling him close. When you kiss him, a hand cradling his cheek like he is something breakable, and not a perfected piece of unstoppable machinery, the tender press of your lips to his feels undoubtedly inevitable. 

All he knows is since the day he pretended to forget about you, when he decided to become something more, his new heart beat steadily, his enhanced mind was clear. But his systems wouldn't stop buzzing. 

When he hardly knew where you were or what state you'd return to him in, the noise grew sharper. Fervently pulling, Hextech whirring, unsated electricity sizzling like fireworks underneath his skin. Having you in his arms once more only made the static form so thick, he thought his mental processes might completely go haywire. All he knows is that now, as he's kissing you, feeling your lips on his, your body against his own, and your hands tangling through his hair — for once, the static is silent. Blissfully silent. 

And he kisses you, harder than before. Softer than anything and everything. 

"Faster-" You're pleading brokenly against his mouth, between breathy kisses, your voice echoing through him, "More." 

Faster, harder, more. Whatever you desire, he's going to give it to you. Viktor mumbles, "Of course." 

Finally able to move, you hook one leg around his waist, you use it to drag him in even closer. You rock into his hand when his fingers spread and crook inside you, and you grab tight, messy fistfuls of his hair. His lips on yours, kissing you over and over, leave you little room to breathe. 

Once you've pulled away, you're gasping for air, and his gaze fixates on yours: examining, devouring. Viktor takes note of your every movement. How you grind into his fingers when his thumb teases your clit, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, brows pinched. How you fall back against the table when the sensations overwhelm you, eyes shut and limbs weak. Pulsing and tensing around him, so sensitive. So close to falling apart. 

Your arms wrap around him again, and he tries to keep the pace of his fingers steady, while you begin placing hurried kisses to his cheek, his neck. You kiss the side of his face, soft lips on soft skin. Then, your lips continue down, they press to his steel jaw. He tilts his head to let kisses fall over the expanse of metal that runs down his neck. Tingling phantom sensations curl into him and split him open. 

"Close," You're muttering, so quiet he nearly doesn't hear. You hold him as tight as you can manage. Your breath is warm on the side of his face, tickling his skin, making him feel even warmer within. 

"You are close?" He repeats for confirmation; his hand finds your side, and you grip his shoulders, hands brushing over thick plates of metal, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Your nails dig in, firm enough that he thinks the steel might chip. Viktor breathes a slight laugh, "You sound so sweet." 

"So- I'm getting so-" You swear, "Oh, f-fuck…" 

The only way he might quench what's come over him and steady his systems is by watching you come apart. Pleading his name, while you melt into a needy puddle of all the emotions and pleasant sensations he could never let himself have. Brought to your peak by his touch, his voice, because you are his, all his. 

Viktor's free hand traces up, cool steel carefully finding your collarbone, your neck. Then, his fingers are wrapping around. He squeezes your throat just barely, just how you like, enough to make you fall back with your arms sprawled above you. Your head is perfectly dizzy, as his fingers work you steadily, his thumb flicking your needy clit much faster. Pushing you closer, closer. 

Until it's far too much, and you are at his mercy, guided right to the edge of an exhilarating, electrifying precipice. 

"Let go. I have you," Viktor instructs, "Let yourself submit." 

Everything you've been building towards, all of his touches, all of this ecstasy, and how terribly you've missed him coalesces into this. Into a single, shuddering moment, waves upon waves of pleasure pushing you over the waterfall's edge. You're melting, cumming hard for him, your arms shaking, until he's removing his hand from your throat and giving you something to grab onto — delicate fingers laced with thick, strong, metal ones. Perfectly contrasting. 

Your vision goes white. Your body tenses and then goes limp, like you've been shut down. The high is forceful, before it becomes soft, ebbing over you with gradual warmth, his hand in yours enough to steady you. Heart pounding, you take quick, loud breaths. 

You can't help but feel disappointed when Viktor's hand releases yours to return to your waist. He holds you carefully, cold fingers brushing your skin reassuringly. Every touch feels deliciously raw, alight and sensitive. 

Your eyes open slowly. Viktor's hair is a mess in his face, likely caused by you. He seems flushed, if only slightly. His unflinching gaze flickers across your form, before it settles back on your eyes. 

"Breathe," He instructs carefully, gently. His hand grips your side a bit tighter; he's clearly affected by the way you sigh. You do your best to follow along, the aftershocks fading as your pulse slows, and as you start to calm. 

"There. Excellent, you have done so well," Viktor praises. He smiles slightly in satisfaction. "You have never been this breathless." 

Whatever words you could've formed in response don't come. They can't, not when his fingers are still inside you; not when Viktor is pressing them into your sensitive cunt just barely, squeezing your side as he delights in the way you whine. Pleasure, white-hot and familiar, surges through you fiercely. 

It's so much, it's so much, it's too much, he's already fucking you with his fingers, and before you can fully wind down, you're swiftly building towards another high. Your body needs this. You just aren't sure if you can take it. 

"Ah- shit," You murmur; reaching up, you tangle both hands in his hair, gripping tight for leverage. His expression remains infuriatingly calm. "I want- I need more. It feels so good, Vik," You're practically purring those last words, your whole body shuddering through another wave of ecstasy. "But I don't- I'm not sure if I-" 

"You can." Viktor interrupts, assured and composed. "You can cum for me as many times as I dictate." 

You're smirking now, obediently spreading your trembling thighs wide, while you roll your hips into his touch; his fingers are so thick, so impossibly, perfectly deep — "Hah- and you said I'm the insatiable one." 

"Yes. You are the most insatiable human I have ever known. And it would seem you are particularly insatiable with me." 

"You were once- Oh-" 

Your head falls back as Viktor nudges that sweet, tender spot inside you, and your body becomes limp once more. 

He takes the opportunity to bring the Hexarm's hand to your cheek. It's large enough to eclipse your face, the same way it was big and strong enough to easily pin both your wrists in its grasp. The heat radiating from the metal makes your eyes briefly flutter, before he trails it down to your throat. Perfectly responsive, your eyes grow heavy. He provides you with your favorite, much-needed pressure. 

You've watched him use this very same hand to solder metal and create machinery. The device could heat to a temperature a thousand times hotter than it is now, it's capable of firing off a single ray of concentrated energy potent enough to slice through steel. And he has that hand wrapped right around your neck. 

Fuck, that shouldn't excite you. It shouldn't have you quivering more and whimpering, shaking while you try your best to keep meeting his eyes, all because you so desperately want to hear him speak again. Praising you — You are doing so well for me, so pliant, so adorable. Or scolding you — Pathetic, aren't you? Quivering like a rabbit, and all it took was a little brush with danger. You are amusing. 

Whichever he prefers. Because Viktor is so much stronger, so much smarter, and it hardly matters what he chooses to say, when any and all of it still gets you off. 

Deep within your heart, you know he'd never hurt you. He would take away your pain if you asked it of him, so you wouldn't have to feel it again. His words can be sharp, simply because he wants to protect you. He wouldn't even attempt to put his hand on your throat like this if he didn't have complete, total control over the Hexclaw's laser. Carefully, he observes your every movement for any sign of discomfort, calculating and controlling each aspect of your pleasure — and it only serves to make your heart pound faster. 

Of course, he can tell when you start to truly shake. He knows every inch of you is melting with overstimulation, and he's going to give you more. 

"Take it. I know you are capable." His voice gives you goosebumps, while his fingers press into you shallowly, but the smallest movements are more than enough to make a mess of you. "There, perfect, you are performing excellently. Relax. Continue breathing deeply, nice and slow breaths. I will take care of you, love." 

Love. 

"Don't-" You choke, trying to keep your eyes on his despite the way your vision wavers and blurs; your reaction is immediate, predictable, and instantly satisfying. "Don't stop…" 

You're beautiful like this, when you're underneath him. Since his enhancements, compared to his new body, you are now much smaller. He had to learn to adjust to the touches you need, to be gentle. Like you once were with him. Your roles, reversed in such a crucial way. You are undoubtedly strong in your own right, but when it comes to him, you are as sensitive as you are receptive. He needed to study how to keep from holding you too tightly, how to regulate his temperature to not burn your skin underneath his hands. 

You are a pretty sculpture of quivering limbs and glistening skin. Your chest heaving, eyes fluttering. As beautiful as you were back then, before this. Before he lost the warmth he felt in his chest every time he saw you, before feelings on their own became mere faded memories. His iron consequence, locking away his dying love. 

He gives you another. Three fingers press inside your dripping cunt, stretching you, filling you. A hand grips your side, his third lightly squeezing your throat — he works your pleasure for all it's worth, and has you gasping as he wrings out your aftershocks. 

Viktor's mouth can't help but twitch into the slightest smile. "Look at you. You are worthy of the world." 

He would give it all to you. 

The Machine Herald will have this city in his hands. His vision is moving fast and accomplishing much, so it is only a matter of time. If you wanted more, he'd just have to reach even further. Relinquishing his human emotions left him without the need to be happy, nor content. But you, your happiness, keeping you safe, seeing you smile. It is stupid, foolish, doesn't make sense; his mechanics stutter, until he thinks he is choking on his own contradictory tenderness. 

His body is betraying his mind. There is heat at his center, more than the normal amount emitted by his internal components. A very human, very filthy amount of heat. His skin underneath his armor is flushed and warm, his chest is aching from the weight of your heavy destruction. You are destroying him, and he can do nothing but allow it. 

"I missed you," You murmur earnestly, voice weak, close to shattering. Your eyes are closed. Why, why are those words making his hands and his limbs and his heart shudder? "I missed you so bad- don't stop, keep fucking me Viktor- don't, please don't stop talking…" 

Is that what you're imagining? 

So he doesn't stop. 

As you fall back against the table, Viktor removing the Hexclaw and letting go of your neck, he leans in to speak right against your ear. "I am proud of you, lubov. Infiltrating Piltover must not have been simple. You brought me more than I required, you did so with much efficiency. And you returned to me safely. Allow me to reward you. Fall apart for me, cum like I know you so desperately need to." 

Your body curls, your hands move to his shoulders and grip them impossibly tight in an attempt to keep yourself steady. "Vik- Viktor-" You're gasping, you're close, "Kiss me, please kiss me-" 

His hand holds your chin, the cool, rigid steel of his thumb swipes over your bottom lip; teasing you, making you whimper. Sliding further, into your mouth, until you're tasting the sharpness of metal. Until you're gently sucking, feeling the intricately crafted notches and joints on your tongue. When he pulls it out and kisses you hard, when his lips press to yours and your high-pitched moans become muffled on his mouth, you cum on his fingers hard enough to see the afterimage of stars. 

He's trailing kisses down your jaw while you pulse around him, your thighs shaking, your head tilting to let his mouth find your throat. In the wake of his soft kisses, his foggy breath, you melt, and fully succumb to your shuddering high. 

Working you back down is a slow, patient process. A kiss onto your neck for every gasp you take in, the feeling of gentle teeth once your body starts to fully relax. Everything you've wanted, everything you missed; far too tender for who he's become. 

There are faint marks on your neck by the time he pulls away. Signs he was there. Proof he is softer than he is meant to be. 

You could stop here. Instead, the next few moments happen in their own special space of reality. 

Away from this city, away from his lab. A different plane made for just the two of you. Your mind feels dizzy, heavy. Viktor meets your gaze, momentarily scanning your face, waiting to make sure you've calmed. 

He is all you can think of, all that has ever mattered. And even when he is right here, you miss him so, so much. 

You tremble from the end of your spine to the top of your shoulders when he carefully pulls his fingers from you. He brushes his palm from your thigh to your side in one steady, soothing motion. You can feel the scars on his palm, the slight hesitant tremor to his still-slick fingers. You're reaching up, palm pressing to his chest. You absently feel the various ridges of metal. Smooth to the touch, armor radiating the faintest flickers of heat. 

He glances down, watching your movement as your palm brushes further, further. Delicate fingertips trail the dips and outlines that continue down his stomach. Eventually, you reach as far as your arm will let you, your fingers drawing circles onto the rib-like sections of steel crossing just above his hips. As he glances back up to you, he finds your soft, pleading gaze to be already looking at him. As sweet as he's always remembered. 

Your breathing is heavy. "Vik," You're begging, "We shouldn't- I'm sorry. This is stupid. I know we should stop, but…" 

He is going to regret this. 

Before he can stop himself, before his mind and his systems can even be led to form a single rational thought, Viktor is pressing the palm of his Hexarm just above your head, flat to the table. He is leaning over you, he is finding your cheek with a soft hand and a gentle touch. He's pulling you in, crashing his lips against yours, and he knows you're right — you shouldn't continue. He shouldn't allow this. 

Machines do not feel. The Machine Herald feels nothing, and wants for nothing besides evolution. But Gods, you're kissing him like his lips are a drug, all you need after wanting to kiss him for so, so long. Since before you both became dim shells of what you once were. Your legs are wrapping around him, your fingers are brushing his face with such devastating tenderness, and Viktor believes he is feeling everything. 

He's reaching down between your gasps for breath that make gaps in your kisses, and he's deftly activating a set of small, circular mechanisms on either of his sides. The armor on his chest unlatches with a clicking noise, platings becoming loose, unaligned. 

The larger, more cumbersome sections of his armor, including his gauntlets, cape, and shoulder pieces have been discarded from the start, making the portion of chest armor come off as two simple halves. He has to pull away, sit up straight, and partially slide off of you to remove it all the way. Both pieces of armor hit the ground with a particularly heavy thud. 

Most of his body has been replaced. Underneath the metal armor, there's just more metal; sections of iron that've been fused to replace muscle and skin, alloyed parts that reinforce his thin frame. 

You have only seen him like this once. He was fixing some miscalibrated platings on his side, a wrench in one hand, the Hexclaw's laser busy welding a suitable replacement. Two thirds machine, and one part still human, he was definitely much different from what you remembered. Still, there were small sections of pale skin on his back, split where his spine had been reconstructed. And jagged scars, adorned by faint, dark moles. His messy hair still falls around his face just like you remember it. 

You wanted to touch — he says he can't feel, but would he sense your fingertips as they traced his scars, would he shudder as your hands felt his skin? If you kissed what remained of him, his hand and each of his fingers, his back and each of those pretty moles, his chest down to his stomach, could you alight new sensations in him? 

You've never wanted to touch him more than in this moment. 

The bottom portion of his armor comes off much easier, leaving just the thick sections that cover his thighs down to his legs, including the steel brace mechanism. You're only able to catch the faintest glimpse, before he's pulling you into another deep kiss — a kiss that burns with every moment lost, his body pressing you against the table and beneath him. Your arms wrap around him, palms trailing across his back. 

As they've always longed for, your fingertips feel the back of his neck: the ridges and hard edges of his spine, the solid base of the Hexarm, his soft skin. Viktor physically shudders. When one of your hands tangles in his hair while the other falls, landing upturned beside you, he kisses you harder, he absently finds your hand and holds it in his. Your fingers lace together. His hand feels so warm, still slightly larger than yours. His skin is scarred, your thumb brushing over calloused knuckles and thin, purple veins. Every touch is so tender, earnest, human, it's nearly unbearable. Your hand was meant to be in his. Even if it won't last. 

It's a strange sensation, when his body presses ever closer to your own. Metal leads down from his navel, across to his pelvis, trailing underneath the armor on his thighs as one smooth, solid construction. Partially welded into his skin, but seemingly designed to make some sections removable. It is warm like the rest of him, designed with faint ridges and indents. 

Your legs, locked around him at the ankles, encourage him to press ever-closer. He devours you, kissing you deeper than you thought possible. You sigh against his mouth, and hold on tightly to his hair. His body rocks against yours in an instinctual, clumsy motion. Close, pressing, grinding. Warm metal and those perfect little ridges grind between your legs, against your core, against your clit. And you practically jolt. 

Oh. You break away from the kiss to toss your head back with a breathy, pretty noise. Pleasure threads through you, thick and unrelenting. 

Viktor mumbles something that barely registers in your ringing ears: Should stop, you manage to make out. And then, Are you alright? 

"Yes, I just-" You mumble, panting hard, "Don't. Don't stop." 

So Viktor grasps your waist in a tight, yet careful grip. His eyes never leave yours, gaze burning with a fire you've never once seen. He guides you to press against him, grinds his body against yours until you're making a mess of the metal. Until the faint ridges are nudging your swollen clit just right, until the heat of the iron is burning through you, into you, and your slick arousal is glistening on the steel. 

Your mind and heart are racing. 

"Oh, fuck-" You're swearing, your words surely seeming broken; he finds your cheek, he tilts your head up towards him, and you can't decide if the gesture is tender, or possessive. "I need you, I really, really do." 

His body feels as though he just touched the surface of the sun, and Viktor hardly knows if the warmth is coming from his overloaded systems, or if it's surrounding him, heat drawn thickly from the friction between the two of you. Perhaps it's a mix of both. 

Either way, he is losing himself. It's all happening so terribly fast; when his body rolls against yours, and you whimper through a filthy utterance of his name, there is a clear, undeniable response. A tingling in his veins, an eager sensation that shoots from his back to his chest to his core, consuming everything like a wildfire, and threatening to envelop all of him. 

He doesn't even know what to do with this. How to silence these disruptions, how to get his stupid brain to stop picturing you shuddering beneath his form as he presses against you, presses inside you, and brands every inch of you with his own name — 

"Milaya," Viktor hums, and you swear, his tone sounds lighter, his voice sounds strained. "I have always needed you. I'm not- No, I want- I shouldn't…" 

Trailing off when you cry out, he swallows. His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he continues to guide you towards him. Sweat beads on your chest, your thighs. He instructs, partially shakily, "Keep looking at me. Please." 

You've rarely heard him stutter or falter, never seen him anywhere close to worked up. You hardly knew if he had the capacity to feel this way, even though he certainly wasn't built to, even though he definitely isn't supposed to. And isn't it all because of you? 

The way your gaze locks with his as he rhythmically rocks against you has your heart skipping beats. There's a slight softness to his cold eyes, to his expression, that you're sure no-one else has seen before. Not since back then. You are impossible to resist, and this definitely needs to stop, this is definitely too far — it's going even further when your hand reaches down, fingertips clumsily tracing the edges of the metal seared into his navel. 

He knows what you want. You're greedy, a glutton for punishment, a sweet, terrible fool. But if he's honest with himself, perhaps he is worse. You are pleading his name again, the sound echoing unendingly in his ears, and Viktor is removing the front-most section of the metal enhancement: a thin plate that forms a triangular shape from his hips, all the way down. 

When he presses against your form, the next sensation to bleed into you is much different. It's smooth, soft latex, shoving against you. The last layer remaining between you and him and — 

And you can feel him. Straining hard and heavy against his underclothes. Firm and warm as he rocks into you, grinding all of him onto your throbbing cunt. You aren't thinking, you can't think anymore. Not when Viktor is hard, and when your heartbeat is so damn loud in your ears, you couldn't possibly hear anything else. 

"Viktor," You're murmuring, your chest pleasantly aching. Pleasure welds with emotion, walking the same shaky line, until your heart is unfurling with delicate petals that fill your throat sweetly, consuming you wholeheartedly, "I love you." 

If Viktor's mechanized heart was still capable of faltering from its pre-programmed rhythm, he's sure it would be fucking pounding. 

Every part of him is set alight. Burning, he feels smoke in his throat, and swears he tastes fire. He's overloading, practically overheating, like a fragile body trembling with need and want, like a system with too many programs open at once — and oh Gods, it just keeps opening more. His vision has long since gone blurry, and every sound in his ears is thick, as though he's been submerged in deep water. 

How long have you wanted to say those words? He thinks of quiet days spent with you in Piltover, the lingering glances and faint touches he tried his hardest to forget. 

How long has he needed to hear you say them? 

Honestly, he could cry, if he was at all still capable of crying. His mind is a mess. Heat is threading through his circuits, devotion and desire, a terrible softness; he's so soft inside, it hurts. It actually hurts, and he believed he taught himself how to forgo any pain. 

Electricity and faulty Hextech sizzle in his core, radiating, echoing. His damn foolish, worthless, synthetic heart. He needs to hold you, fuck you, break you. To encode this sensation into his head and his blood, because forgetting the way your voice strummed those words would be worse than admitting he is too weak to discard them. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

He doesn't deserve this. He was not built to love. Love should be thrown out, along with everything else. Love is a weakness. You may be fine with placing your heart on railway tracks, you might not think twice before putting yourself in danger, but if anything were to happen to you, he might be entirely consumed. 

With his mechanized existence, he could soon become immortal. This longing would surely stick with him after you're gone, an eternity of something he could never understand. Swallowing him whole, holding onto him tight. Endlessly painful. But right now, when he is here and stuck in a dream at the same time, when he is more of himself than he has ever been, and you are all that exists in his veins, could he ever manage to stop? 

You are so close to so much more. So close to ruining everything — just one last layer, one more touch. One movement, one press of his palms to your figure before he slides into you, one last massive, unfixable mistake. 

"Vik, please, please, I'm-" You can barely hold on anymore, as much as you've been trying to. You curl into him, grinding back against him hard; "I can't, I can't fucking- hhah- I'm so close-" 

Your bodies rock together desperately, beckoning and wanting more of what they shouldn't have. His heat radiates into your skin, and your breath fills the air in thick, heavy huffs. You're still so wet, and it makes every movement slick and simple. Your hands feel his back, his shoulders, his steel jaw, his face. Anywhere you can touch, you're making the most of it. 

Viktor finds your chin, he holds it delicately, and when he says your name, it feels personal; devastatingly so. Like he could make a home with the familiarity laced through each syllable. He breathes them like he did back then, coveting you so deeply. Muttering it as one final plea. 

If he can't fix this, perhaps you can reconstruct this part of him. Could you show him how to live again, could you instruct his mechanized heart, and finally teach it how to skip? 

"I have you," Viktor sighs, because he's sure you want to hear his words as much as he needs to say them. He doesn't require a working heart, when he can let all of himself echo through his still-human soul. "I love you." 

Your chest bruises with sparks in the wake of his gentle voice. Still somewhat robotic. Spoken as though each individual, inevitable word is one he is learning to speak. I. Love. You. 

Your legs and arms wrap around him, holding him as close to you as he could possibly get. Exhaling shakily, your whines are broken, your nails digging into his back. They'll leave red marks onto his pale skin; he hopes they do. His chest is pressed right up to yours. Viktor allows his forehead to rest just barely against your own, utterly tender, and he melts, as your thudding heartbeat echoes through him. Body to body, scarred skin on softer skin. Delicate limbs held around a partial chassis of firm, strong metal. 

Helpless. Perhaps for you, he is the helpless one. 

It doesn't matter; everything is crumbling away, and the both of you are thrown right back into reality, because you are falling apart for him at last. One last time. 

You shake, liquid hot pleasure drips over you like burning wax, and you're left at the mercy of your blistering, final high. Another few deep grinds into each other are all you need — the both of you throbbing, his jaw tensing, Hexclaw twitching, stiffening, and radiating a powerful amount of heat. His eyes flutter, the artificial glow behind them flickering like a dying lightbulb. You hold onto him tighter, and he lets go of a slight noise. A quiet, shaky, all too desperate moan. 

You stay rocking against one another even while you're cumming, even after your voice is sore from chanting Viktor's name so loudly, you briefly worry that anyone just outside of his lab might've heard you. 

Finally stopping, you only begin to relax once your whole body is entirely spent. 

You breathe slowly. In, and then out. Deep, calming breaths. Your heart pounds with force. The room refocuses around you, the harsh light of his various lamps burning into the back of your eyelids and making you see colorful spots. Viktor waits a few moments, before he shakily pushes up to prop himself above you. 

There's a hum of ambient, grinding metal coming from him. The hiss of steam. The echo of small shudders, and forceful gasps. Your vision is still fuzzy, your limbs incredibly weak, but you notice when he reaches for something; the thin metal plating, which he secures back onto himself. 

Once your eyes are completely clear and your heart is beating to a normal tune, you're finally able to focus on him above you. In barely any time, with a half-machine's perfected efficiency, Viktor has already regained every last aspect of his composure. 

"Stay. You require rest," He instructs matter-of-factly, his tone filled with his usual sternness. His gaze scans you up and down methodically. "I will supply you with a change of clothes." 

Right. Viktor's heart can't shudder like yours. Soft sensations have no need to linger. You'd almost forgotten. This is what you were always bound to return to: you, an ally. And he is just a machine. 

Through heavy, lovesick eyes, you admire the sight of him above you. His thin figure, enthralled in shadow, light reflecting off of the metal sections of his outline. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, a gesture you find particularly endearing and human. 

"Oh, don't worry," You hum casually, stretching your arms and legs out. Your voice is light, foggy and still weak. The table beneath you feels firm against your back, but with how lightweight your whole body feels, you couldn't care less. "I don't think I'm moving even if I wanted to." 

Viktor raises a brow just slightly. He taps your neck with a single smooth, metal finger. "And something needs to be done about these." 

Briefly, your expression shifts into confusion. You tilt your head, allowing his fingers to trail further, and they examine the base of your neck down to your collarbones; the marks he left on your skin are swiftly darkening, forming blotchy, pretty bruises. 

Realizing what he's getting at, you smile smugly. "Worried someone's gonna ask questions?" 

"Half of Zaun acknowledges you as my right hand. I am not worried. But they will ask. It could prove arduous." Viktor explains, his tone exceedingly controlled. "Come. Hold onto me." 

When you don't immediately move, he stares at you expectantly. So, despite your tiredness, you listen, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his middle loosely. Viktor lifts you with ease. His heavy boots clunk with each step, and he carries you just a few paces from the table, setting you down on your back, and onto the familiar, ripped-up leather couch. It shifts, accommodating your weight and his. Compared to the worktable, when your back hits the soft yet worn cushions, you feel like you're resting on clouds. 

Viktor shifts, starting to move away, but you keep your arms wrapped around him, and speak before he has the chance. 

"Vik…" You're purring, "Stay here." 

A brief look of contemplation crosses his face, categorized by the slightest pinch in his thick brows. You smile, and nearly wind up kissing him again. He doesn't attempt to pull apart from you when you drag him closer to yourself, your lips gently brushing his cheek. 

At first, he's overly stiff. His arm fits underneath your back to hold you out of mere obligation. In contrast, his metal arm is kept beside you, refusing to touch, steel-jointed fingers flexing absently. But once your hands trail up, your fingers tracing the back of his neck, before they run through his hair, he honestly, earnestly relaxes. 

Your body underneath him is comforting. Limbs entangled, your legs brushing steel and the rigid metal brace. His head leans gently into the crook of your neck, almost hesitantly, as though he isn't entirely sure where to place it. He can't help but fall against you, bodies pressed into one another naturally enough to form the same grave. If he ever came face to face with death, he would refuse to accept it, unless it was just like this. 

You let your tired eyes close. You allow yourself to focus on his warmth, on the weight of him, and you can almost pretend this is natural. That you are in the past, or perhaps residing in a much different future. You are both lovers, as you wished you would be; simple and uncomplicated, nothing more, resting together in the dizzying comfort of your afterglow. 

It'd be nice. Nicer than anything you've been afforded. The only problem is Viktor is all firm steel and hard edges. His metal hand shifts to hold your side, and his fingers are digging into your skin, gripping a bit too tight. His weight on yours is making it damn near difficult to breathe. And right now, he is very, very hot. 

You frown, your eyes fluttering open again. "You're overheating." 

"My internal temperature is regulated by a liquid cooling apparatus," Viktor murmurs, after a moment. "It seems to be malfunctioning." 

His voice is smooth, as it always is, but it sounds much warmer, much quieter, when it's spoken this close to your ear. You sigh softly, and shuffle a little under him, trying to get more comfortable. 

"Ah. That sounds concerning." 

"The device will adjust itself in time," Viktor clarifies. "If it does not, repairs will take a few minutes, at most." 

Your fingertips brush over his back. They feel the thick ridges of his spine, and the thin steel shape of the Hexclaw's base. It feels cool and lifeless under your palm. "This is cold, though." 

"It is inoperational. It stopped responding, I will need to reset it individually." 

"That so?" You huff in response, laughing a little. You hold onto him tighter, and lean your head into his shoulder. "Whatever. Just don't let go of me." 

He doesn't. You exhale a long, weak breath. Your hands tremble slightly, as they uselessly grip onto the sections of cold steel that frame his shoulders. Viktor stays perfectly still, and he allows you to hold onto him as tightly as you need to. This might be the last moment you'll have together. For a while, at least. He has much to attend to, after this. Some tasks he can work on at your side, with your assistance, preferably. Some missions he must complete alone. 

The next time you speak, your voice is so fragile, he thinks he should be holding it in his palms. Or else it'll break. 

"We shouldn't- or, I guess I shouldn't have said… you know." You shudder, shaking all over before you tense. You're holding him too close to allow him to see your face, but he can picture your expression: slightly playful, to attempt to hide your uncertainty. "Gods, I'm so stupid. But I meant it. And I just-" You laugh, "I'm sorry, Viktor. Maybe you were right. I've been way too reckless." 

Viktor has no need to ponder his answer. "I know. Don't apologize. You should be resting, our conversation can continue tomorrow." 

You breathe deeply, and he quietly murmurs, his voice echoing through your ears, "I love you, milaya." 

Fake. Expected. A ghost of choked-back emotions, of all-too tender moments already slated to become forgotten memories. But something is there, something that tells you he's trying. For now, you'll take it. It's more than enough. 

You are close to falling asleep; every one of your nerves, washed over by warm, inviting waves, enveloped in his persistent heat. As though he can sense your building exhaustion, Viktor rubs your back with slow, reassuring circles — as best he can manage, considering your shapes are pinned too close together. Your breathing evens out, and you relax into his touch. Your mind feels as heavy as your weary, weak limbs. 

Your love would be soft, he considers, distracted. Gentless personified, warm like your smile, like the radiant sun shining down on one's skin. Patient and alighting. Like being pulled by the wrists, wrested out of a rocky, dark sea — finally alive, and finally able to breathe. The still-human part of him feels in measures of softness. The mechanical part is much, much different. 

Heat is running through his veins. It's racing through his system, and he knows it isn't from any sort of malfunction. It burns. The taste of it is like sharp blood on his tongue, it spins in his head like the dizzy grinding of gears, sears through him with fraying wires and sizzling static. Pain and softness, forming a mix he might certainly call love, but might also swear to remove. 

There's a certain sharpness gnawing at him. A flickering, raw bruise, brutalizing him from between his ribs, regardless of his attempts to try and ignore it. Your efforts are failing. You are feeling, and that means you have failed. Even dying embers burn out the same as raging flames. 

You've drifted off, it would seem, your breathing slow, your body limp. So Viktor holds you just a bit tighter. 

For once, for the first time since he truly decided who he wanted to be and what he wanted to accomplish, he is lost. 

In the end, he is going to have to make a decision. One that will benefit his vision. Or one that will destroy him from the inside out. He must carve out these distractions, remove the sections of his heart that are faulty, or he must learn what it would mean to embrace them. 

It scares him, truly. Viktor, the Machine Herald, genuinely scared over something meant to be so trivial. Fretting over the one person he never wanted to lose, even though he was sure he'd already lost you. He wonders what his opposition would say, what those who view him as soulless might think, if they knew the truth. And if you knew? 

Just having to tell you, forcing himself to push you away, or coming face to face once more after he's altered his brain to completely forget you — No, the thought alone might be enough to seal his fate. 

He'll make up his mind before you wake. His head will become clearer, eventually. When your voice is gone from his ears, when your phantom touches tracing his skin have finally disappeared. Besides, this moment won't last, and he wants to savor what's left of it. 

Whatever happens next, wherever he takes this, he knows you will follow — to a different path, to a better future. Or to the ends of the earth. 

[mono-dot-jpeg]

your strongest potions, shopkeeper! - blue lock

summary; in which you (the reader, not y/n) learn of the tales of rafta

genre/extra tags; scenarios?, heavily inspired by potionomics (great game), characters as potionomics characters, fluff, comedy, modern fantasy au (technically), lots of potionomics references and fantasy talk, y/n a little stupid but it's fine.

a/n; hi, i've been playing potionomics nonstop lately and it's been on my mind and I already miss my silly baptiste. he's so babygirl. and naturally, why not smush my current interests together now since I got the idea in my mind already. i wont be discussing all the characters in the game and matching them with bllk boys unfortunately as im having a hard time wondering who would be who. tbh, a lot of them could probably apply to one character KHDJDKDJ

the ingredient merchant is a teasing one. he's dry, calculating, and more than willing to add fuel to a fire during a heated conversation. but he would never do that with you. but he does live to tease you with his dry remarks and his smug grin. but he's the one who helps supply your potion ingredients, though. you don’t really know how... but you decide not to question it.

karasu tabito is a clairvoyant. he has his large all-seeing orb, which he's told you that it's how he finds all his connections to get all these ingredients. and then he's got his little chest mimic. maybe not that little.. it's bigger than a chair. and he can sit on it like a large ottoman.

he's kind of mysterious despite being one of your first friends you've made in rafta. he doesn't talk a lot of his past, and he appreciates that you don't press hard about it.

he's probably been by your side since the start, watching your growth to defeat the competition in the potion-making industry.

you fell for him first, but he totally fell harder.

"you know i've been getting a lot of visions of a person lately. from my orb." he started. "i see your...stupid face in them." he looks away from you, the large brim of his warlock hat covering the subtle blush on his cheeks. he curls in on himself slightly, resting against his floating all-seeing orb. "you.. see me? wait, does that mean i'm gonna die soon?!" you panic, flinching back at the possible implications of him seeing you in his visions. "god, you're such an idiot. i mean, yeah, we all die someday, but this.. is different. it means.. that i like you." he grumbled. "so, what are you gonna do about it?" "hm.. can i kiss you then?"

the guild master is a man of the people... despite being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. he means well. he strives to make the blue lock guild thrive! he wants to support the amazing adventurers who supply and give their recent monster loot to the potion makers who keep them alive with their adventure commissions. but it's been hard for him, really. he's been so disconnected from the normal life that he doesn't understand low class or middle-class struggles as well as most would.

mikage reo is a man who wishes to experience what most people already have. he's sick of the cushy rich life of having everything (though his mother still sends him a care package of out-of-your-budget hair care). he's a sight for sore eyes, catching plenty of attention from anyone and everyone. he's a gentleman whilst being a little.. passionate (is passionate the right word?) about his experiences and his goal to improve the guild to its rightful peak. he's also the announcer for the potion contests in rafta! he's never biased in those. i promise. (/gen)

like how he's watched you grow to be a masterwork potion maker, you've watched slowly shed free of his insecurities of the past and worrying over not being a great guild master.

he's sweet, a little eccentric, and more than an open book than he realizes. he's loyal to his goal even if the seasoned adventurers give him side eye about his past and lack of proper qualifications to handle a guild.

you fell for each other just as hard as the other.

"lately, i've been going through quite a lot as i learn how to navigate this new life. it's been stormy skies and rough seas..." he said with a sad smile, but it turns into something more softer and happier, "but you've been there for me and had so much faith in my plans." "some days i want nothing more than to go back to luxury. to relax and be free from work." he said with an annoyed frown. "luxury and riches are nice." you nodded. "but you helped me and showed me things i have never experienced." he smiled brightly. "and for that, i found myself falling for you." he pulls out a bright red rose, handing it to you. "do you want to hear the love my heart has to offer to you?" you gently take the rose with your fingertips, "i already hear it loud and clear."

the excitable new hero that was part of the guild was a fun one! he was a hero enthusiast, wanting to become a hero himself because of it. and he made it all the way to rafta! and now he helps gather new ingredients for you, ready for any dangerous adventure. he's absolutely an excited puppy. he loves doing anything as long as it was adventurous! sometimes if he was feeling really crazy, he would try the flavor of the day in the local ice cream parlor. (he cried the day he got his least favorite flavor, mozuku)

he's been kind of hung up on wanting a trophy or large weapon. so many heroes had them, so he should get one! he has to be a great hero after all! but in your eyes, he was already rather great at what he did. he's swifter than a bee and stung like one too. he seemed to have this innate talent for fighting and being adventurous. he just didn't seem to believe it when he was surrounded by hero legends or higher ranked heroes.

he's been your most supportive customer, often visited for plenty of potions or maybe a quick large order. sometimes he gives you a discount for his commissioned work out on the field.

you didn't fall for him at least, but boy, did he fall for you hard.

"it's silly, wanting to have a trophy or weapon to show off for your success." he said softly. "but i really did want one. i wanted to show that i was a great hero, you know?" he laughed sheepishly. "you might not have found one, but you really did prove yourself along the way. you're pretty high ranked, aren't you?" "yeah, it just feels weird to not have anything to show for it.." he smiled wistfully before it melts into a softer grin. "but hearing you say that i proved myself, it makes me feel so much better!" he groaned childishly, "but still! believing in yourself is hard." "well, it's easy for me to believe in you. it's probably the easiest thing i could do." he goes quiet, looking at you with adoration before blurting out, "can i kiss you?"

the succubus currently living in your literal hell of a basement is certainly a character. you had beat him in the potion-making competition and he outed himself as a demon. which wasn't much of a shocker to you, considering his less than savory scams he did with his potions. but even so, he was considerably skilled in charms and illusions more than potions. he just needed some cash.

but now that he's lost, he had found solace in your unfinished cave basement.. that had a whole river of lava running through?! you curse your uncle ego for having such an odd home that's left for you to handle. so, you unwillingly take in the damn demon before he runs amok ruining other poor souls. he's charming. you'll give him that much. he often sells you illusions and charms that would help your potions sell better. and he even gives you some pointers on how to charm the customers into letting their guard down for a great profit. he's been looking for a place to belong in a while, and your home seems to fit that bill as much as he hates to admit. he's rowdy, flirty, invasive, most things that you don't really want to have around (especially since he unsealed the magic barrier that was keeping you safe from the heat of the lava).

but overtime, you seem to find yourself liking the odd presence of him. or maybe he had unintentionally put a charm on you. you may never know.

you fell first, he fell right after.

"you know i really saw you as a threat to my business and all." he said. "it really wasn't love at first sight." he laughed. "but you're still you, even after all your big decisions to change. still the same wrecking ball that crashed into my shop and right into my basement." "i was petty about a lot of things for a long time. many many years probably. when my own home got destroyed. i was just surviving to the next day." he said, frowning slightly. "but i changed. i changed to find my way to you." "now, you're thriving." "i really am thriving. and now, whatever i decide to do with my life. i want you by my side." "i want that too." "then show me, dear."

[strangesthirdeye]

Our Star (Ineffable Hubbys x Baby fem! Reader)

Summary: A bit of a story about two husbands with their baby girls.

Warning: It's Ineffable husbands.. Who doesn't love them? Fluff, soft, love, no episode 6 allowed, miracle, baby reader is made from miracles, don't ask me how, Crowley being Crowley, Crowley like children, Aziraphale is papa bear, Cuddle, IT'S STARS MINI SERIES, Aftermath of Armageddon.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#2019#

"isn't she's cute, Crowley? look at these little toes! They're very fluffy" Aziraphale gushed over the pink bundle in his hand with an excited smile.

Crowley looked over Aziraphale's shoulder to see the pink bundle in her husband's hand. "she's remind me of Adam when I have to send him to the satanic nun. Except, she's not causing Armageddon" Crowley wriggling his fingers in front of the baby girl's face which makes the baby let out a soft moan.

Aziraphale made a face. "she's not Satan's child. She's our child.. Daughter for more details. We made her with a miracle. It's quite difficult to masked such a miracle to create this beautiful baby from both sides. She's got our DNA. Well, technically, She's got half of me and you but we don't know what will happen to her when she's old enough to walk"

Crowley tilted his head slightly. "She's not turning into a demon or Angel, Angel.. She's half demon half angel which shouldn't be but well, we don't have anything to do with both sides anymore, don't we?"

Aziraphale paused. "well, I'm pretty sure they won't know about her.. I'll make sure of it"

Crowley smiled and kissed Aziraphale's cheek. "well, what should we name her?"

Aziraphale was speechless looking at the baby girl snuggled against the bundle with a softened face. Aziraphale could feel something fluttering in his body when he saw the cute scene in his hands. Aziraphale let out a soft breath and smiled and gently kissed the baby girl's forehead.

"Y/n..Her name is Y/n"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#2019 ( a weeks old ) #

"Now I need to deliver this book in London so, Crowley dear. You need to take care of Y/n for a few hours. She needs her milk whenever she's upset or hungry. If she's still upset, pick her up and rock her back and forth until she's falling asleep. It's easy to take care of her. She's a good lady, aren't you, Sweetheart?" Aziraphale poked his index fingers on your red cheeks after explaining everything that was important to Crowley who was standing in the middle of the bookshop while holding your small body in both hands.

Crowley let out a small breath. "Don't be long, Angel.. she's.. I don't know if what I'm doing is right or not. I don't want to hurt her" Crowley whined while bouncing you in his arms slowly trying to make sure his hold for you to be perfect so that you don't fall.

Aziraphale looked at his longing husband with a softened face. He then reached his hand to Crowley's cheek and rubbed it gently. "you won't hurt her, dear. Besides, you and her can spend time together.. You know? Get to know each other.. She's need to know that you are her father too, just as she needs to know that I am her papa"

Crowley stared at his husband for a long time before nodding and letting out a strange noise from his throat. "yeah, I think I can manage that. Me and her will spend time together with lots of fun today" Crowley smiled cheekily while bouncing you in both his hands.

You let out a soft whine of joy in your beige tartan colored bundle and kicked your feet in the air excitedly. Drool started to come out of the corner of your mouth which Aziraphale wiped it with his miracle napkin.

Aziraphale glared at him. "don't take her into the Bentley. She's barely a few weeks old"

Crowley groaned in protest. "oh come on! I'm not even going fast"

"no" Aziraphale replied and kissed your forehead and Crowley's cheek before walking out of the bookshop after just saying goodbye.

A few hours later, Crowley ended up taking you into the Bentley after you were secured in the baby seat next to him and drove around Soho at normal speed which just after he returned from driving with you, Aziraphale was waiting for him in front of the bookshop with a frown. Later, he got scolded by Aziraphale and Aziraphale took you in his hand and went away from him to put you to sleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(6 months old)

It was a very late night at the bookshop and Aziraphale and Crowley still hadn't slept yet. Although they do not need sleep because they are celestial so that's mean they can stay awake every night without sleep. But then again, they both started to develop human nature little by little so they indeed need sleep.

Aziraphale already put you in your bedroom after you couldn't stop crying in Aziraphale's arms last evening. And you stopped crying right after Crowley took you from Aziraphale's arms which makes Azira a bit jealous but let it out as long as you stopped crying. You're just daddy's girl. But at the same time you are daddy's girl too if you are in a good mood.

Aziraphale unconsciously ran his fingers through Crowley's hair while reading a book. Meanwhile Crowley taking a quick nap on Aziraphale's lap that night after several attempts wrestling with you to shower. But eventually, he is also the wet one.

Aziraphale whispered some words he read from the book under his breath causing a soothing voice for Crowley to hear until he fell asleep. But, the peace didn't last long when you suddenly cried from upstairs.

Aziraphale stopped his reading and put his book to the side and looked up at the ceiling before sighing. Azira glanced at Crowley's side profile who was still sleeping soundly on his lap. He doesn't want to wake him up. He just closed his eyes. Azira decided to wake Crowley up by shaking his lap that Crowley put his head on. Crowley groaned tiredly and bewildered as he woke up from his peaceful sleep. He glanced upon Aziraphale's face with annoying engraved on his face.

"What?" he asked irritated at Aziraphale after waking him from sleep.

"Y/n is awake, I need to check her" Aziraphale said while pushing Crowley's head gently which made Crowley grunted in protest. Aziraphale then stood up before he walked up the stairs leading to your bedroom.

A few seconds later, Aziraphale shouted Crowley's name from above which makes Crowley rushing to get up and run up the stairs to your room with concern. He doesn't want anything to happen to you so he needs to go quickly.

A door burst open by Crowley, with a dangerous face he shouted your and Aziraphale's name in your room. He stopped when he saw the scene in front of him. Aziraphale beamed when he saw Crowley standing in front of the door. He smiled broadly.

"Oh, Crowley! look! she's sitting properly!" Aziraphale pointed out to you who was sitting in your crib with traces of tears on your face. Your face is red.

Crowley froze and lost his speech as he looked at you and Aziraphale with wide eyes. He slowly smiled and chuckled while shaking his head several times.

"Oh, I think something happened to her" Crowley said, approaching you and his husband. He looked at you in the crib with adoration.

"nothing happen to her, dear. She's sitting! aww, she took her first seat. Isn't it adorable?" Aziraphale kneeled beside your crib and rubbed his index finger on your red cheeks.

You whine and reach for his index finger before sucking his finger. Aziraphale giggled.

"yeah, yeah.. She's always cute.. Finally I can take her in the Bentley" Crowley kneeled beside Aziraphale and brushed his tiny hair.

Azira glared at Crowley. "No"

Crowley whined in protest. "oh come on!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(18 months old.)

It was a busy day in the bookshop and the bookshop was full of customers which Aziraphale had to assist them with the materials they needed, although he was a bit reluctant to give them to buy the book but well, it was Aziraphale. He's always like that. Crowley yawned as he sat longingly on the sofa with both hands spread on the chair. He really doesn't want to deal with customers so he decided to take you to the back room to avoid interacting with people. He's not very good at communicating with people, that's why he sits in the back room.

You who are sitting not far from Crowley play with the games provided by Crowley to entertain your time so that you don't get bored. You cooed in your little voice. Both hands actively playing and fidgeting Bentley car toys on the floor. Sometimes you move the car on the floor.

Crowley closed his eyes to take a nap.

He doesn't need to worry about your whereabouts now as you are safe in front of him, playing with toys so he just takes a quick nap to get rid of sleepiness plus to get rid of boredom. You gently pushed the Bentley toy car and giggled as you clapped your hands together. Glad the car is moving. You then crawled towards the car and reached the black toy car. You lifted and turned the car with big eyes.

You cooed happily then put the Bentley car back on the floor and pushed it with a strong force which makes the car move quickly and under the table in the corner of the room. Which is far from where you are. You whine. Not because you don't want to crawl there to get the car, but because you don't want to dirty your beautiful shirt with dust under the table.

You looked at your daddy who was sleeping soundly on the sofa with his mouth slightly opened. He looked very sleepy on the couch. Should you wake him up to get the toy car under the table? Just for you to get rid of boredom? But he looks tired and you don't want to bother him.

You huffed in frustration and stared at the bottom of the table with sharp eyes. Although you have many toys around you, but that car toy. That black Bentley toy car is your favorite. It reminded of you with your daddy's car. That's why it's your favorite. You huffed and started to do doggy style with your bottom in the air and your feet and hands on the floor. On all fours.

Not because you want to crawl, but you are trying to do something more than that, which is to stand. Yes, stand up. You've never done that before but you want to try. You started to push your hands off the floor. Both feet stay firmly on the floor and correct the position of your feet so that you can easily stand without support. You slowly raised your body. Sometimes you have to bend back to the floor because you struggle to support your body, but after a while, you stand up.

You beamed with your small voice with a smile on your face. And then without hesitation you began to carefully lift your right leg to step forward. One by one the steps were arranged by you as you happily let out a happy voice so loudly that it made Crowley wake up from his sleep. Crowley lifted his head from his seat and adjusted his black tinted glasses on the bridge of his nose. He let out a yawned and looked around. Just as his eyes looked at the spot where you should be sitting, he widened his eyes when he saw that you were missing from where you were supposed to be.

He panicked and got up from where he was sitting. His eyes flashed around the area catching a glimpse of you that he was supposed to take care of. He then brushed his hair with frustration.

'where did the little star go?' he thought with concern.

Just as he was about to move to the door to find Aziraphale, he heard a small voice from behind his sofa. He turned around and rushed to your couch hoping you were okay.

He kneeled and looked behind the sofa. There you are, standing or more details walking towards the table with both hands facing forward.

Crowley stunned, mouth slightly opened. His eyes widened behind his black tinted glasses. He watched your gestures as you staggered to the table with a smile on your face. You who are eager to go to the table don't seem to notice your daddy who freezes behind you.

The gears in Crowley's mind turned furiously. 'did she just-'

You cooed and sat under the table and happily picked up the Bentley toy car.

Fingers started fidgeting the toy car. Crowley jerked out of his reverie and let out a big laugh.

"Ahh, Star!" Crowley called you.

You turned your gaze from the toy car and looked at your daddy who was kneeling next to the sofa with his signature smirk.

You let out an amusement voice as if calling your daddy and show him your toy car. Crowley spread his hands beckoning you to come to him.

"come here, star! come to me. Come here, Star" Crowley said, cheekily waving his hands toward you to encouraged you to come to him.

"Dada!" You shouted, happily.

"yes! Daddy come here, star!" Crowley happily said. He almost wanted to cry. This is a precious moment for him.

You started making actions to stand up like before but now it's getting better. And then you start to set the pace on him with small steps. Crowley let out a loud voice of encouragement to you as he waved his hands to beckon you to come to him.

As you got closer, Crowley quickly scooped you into his arms and spun you around in the air with a laugh. The two of you laughed so loudly that Aziraphale who was settling the last customer heard the two of you laughing.

Aziraphale looked at the last customer who was on his way out with an apologetic face.

"sorry for the noises, it's just someone in the back room. Well, I think you have your materials yes? Great.. Thank you for coming" and he closed his bookshop door along with his window with a miracle.

He rushed towards the back room and opened the back room door with a beam.

"What's all that giggling about, Crowley?" he asked as he looked at the two people he loves the most who were hugging.

You nuzzled against Crowley's shoulder. Crowley glanced at his husband with a cheeky smile.

"She's taking her first walk, Angel!" he laughed.

Aziraphale widened his eyes, not believing what Crowley said. "Really?"

"yes! look" he put you on the floor. You looked at Crowley confused. "go on, Y/n. Go to Papa. Show him you can walk" he encouraged you.

You looked behind you and when your eyes glanced at your papa's figure, you beamed.

"Papa!" you started to get up and started to set your pace towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale squealed excitedly and spread his arms. "Come here, baby. Oh, you're so cute"

You immediately hugged your Papa tightly when you reached his arms. You nuzzled against his fluffy hug.

"Papa!" You squealed.

"Oh, you are walking. My baby can walk now" Aziraphale said.

Crowley approached you both with a smile. "Our star is big, now she can ride a Bentley with me"

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. "not yet"

"what?! What? She can walk, she can talk and sit well, why can't she ride a Bentley?" Crowley protested.

"With you driving.. hmph.. Just make me worry" Aziraphale replied.

"what? then when can she ride the Bentley then, Angel?" Crowley argued.

"maybe until she gets her first miracle or when she is already 2 or 3 years old" Aziraphale said with a smile.

Crowley grunted. "Argh- that was a while!"

Aziraphale giggled. "then you just have to wait and see what happens in the future"

Crowley groaned in protest and sulked. He walked to the sofa and sat not facing his husband's face.

Aziraphale just giggled and continued to hug you tightly while kissing your fragrant hair.

[shxtodxroki]

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜: 𝙼𝙷𝙰 𝙼𝚎𝚗 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚂𝚌𝚊��𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚂/𝙾

Summary: What do the MHA men think of a partner with a quirk that gives them mental manipulation powers like those of the Scarlet Witch?

Warnings: Swearing, a tiny bit of angst, VERY slight suggestiveness in Dabi’s but nothing major

Characters: Dabi (Touya Todoroki), Twice (Jin Bubaigawara), Hawks (Keigo Takami)

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: Because the request asked for the reader to possess only SOME of the Scarlet Witch’s powers, I decided to focus on giving them the ability to manipulate matter with their mind. This contains the Scarlet Witch’s power of telekinesis as well as the ability to see people’s thoughts, give them visions/alter their memories and perception AND the ability to essentially control the recipient through their mind, just to have a clear establishment of the reader’s powers before beginning the headcanons. I know that’s a lot for one quirk, but it’s what I thought fit best for the description of “Scarlet Witch powers” and TECHNICALLY it could all fit under one quirk along the lines of “mental manipulation”. 

♡ Touya Todoroki ♡

- Dabi’s definitely proud of you and your amazing quirk, both as your boyfriend and as your partner-in-crime/colleague 

He’s known about you since before the two of you started dating, and he knew he wanted to work with you from the moment he saw you. 

- That didn’t mean he necessarily trusted you right away or anything, that came with a lot of time and relationship-building (especially because he new you could manipulate him mentally using your quirk if you wanted to), but he could see right away how powerful and skilled you were, and what an asset you would be to him and the League if you worked together

- And so he brought you to the League, slowly developing feelings over time as you proved just what a valuable asset you were to the League as a whole, and what an amazing partner you’d be to him as he began to trust that you wouldn’t use your power on him for any nefarious reasons

- Once the two of you are together, he’s honestly pretty protective of you

- It’s been a long time since Touya had anything that he was actually afraid of losing, but now that he has you, someone he can truly say he loves, the thought of someone trying to take you away from him is terrifying

- He’s not dumb, he knows that if he saw your potential before ever meeting you in person, other people do too. Heroes and other villains as well most likely, and with threats of heroes trying to lock you up and other villains trying to steal you for themselves, he can’t afford not to be protective

- He knows you can handle yourself, you’re an absolute bad-ass and your quirk makes it nearly impossible to face you head-on and win. But he can’t help but worry, and when he’s gone so many years without feeling that kind of worry, it overwhelms him and he’s compelled to do everything he can to keep you safe

- He’ll agree to train with you when you ask him in order to help you improve your skills with your quirk, but again, Touya’s not stupid. You can literally control his mind, he knows he has no chance of winning against you

- But he’s happy to help you strengthen your skills anyways, and he does give it his all each battle. He’s just accepted from the start that he’ll almost certainly not beat you, so his ego doesn’t get bruised when he inevitably loses

- Plus he finds it really hot when you look at him with the glowing red eyes you have whenever you’re using your quirk, red vapor emitting from your skin as you show off your amazing power. It’s quite distracting, in all honestly, and it’s led him to pull you in for a kiss and suddenly end your training session as you get completely distracted by your needy boyfriend more than once

- He likes to subtly brag to the other members of the League, too. Whenever you capture a hero or complete a mission without so much as a scratch left on you, he’ll mutter a satisfied, slightly protective “That’s my s/o” just loud enough for the others to hear him with the biggest shit-eating grin across his face :)

♡ Jin Bubaigawara ♡

- Jin is genuinely very proud of you and your amazing powers, he thinks you’re amazing all around and he tells everyone he knows about how strong his s/o’s power is

- He’s a very enthusiastic boyfriend, you see, and he loves taking about how amazing you an your power set is to anyone who will listen. (Which is beginning to become a difficult feat, as everyone in the League is beyond sick of hearing him talk about you at this point and he doesn’t really talk to anyone else much)

- He loves the League very much and considers them his family, but you come above even them. He’d rather die than let anything happen to you, and he makes sure you know that any time you go out on a mission together and tells you that his purpose is to protect you while you get the job done with your skills :)

- As your boyfriend, he’s also more than happy to help you improve your powers and grow stronger. He’s down to spar with you whenever you want to train, and he’s more than willing to get his ass kicked battling you if it’s helping you grow in the long run

- He’s never outright made you promise not to do any mind-control or getting into his head/altering his memories or perception, as he just trusts you not to do anything like that to him. Whether you betray that trust or not is up to you, but he never feels the need to have that conversation because as his partner, he trusts you wholly and completely

- He knows that your power requires full concentration, so he tries his best to ensure that whenever you’re training your mental abilities on your own, there are no distractions. 

- He himself is pretty easily distracted, though, so unfortunately sometimes things slip through the cracks and someone/something manages to break your concentration and mess up your training

- He would do a lot of convincing to try and get you to join the League, because he thinks that you and your quirk would be an amazing asset to the League and working together would mean he would get to spend even more time with you! 

- Jin never really wants to leave you alone, so he loves the idea of getting to spend more time with you, but if you really don’t want to work with the League, then he wont push it

- If you do decide to work with the League, though, he does everything he can to get you and the others to get along and to get them to see how amazing you and your powers are, even though that’s a difficult task considering how some of the League members react to new people lol. 

- He’ll find a way, though, and soon you’ll become an absolutely essential member of and powerhouse to the League :)

♡ Keigo Takami ♡

- Keigo first saw you when you found yourself in the top 10 heroes of Japan one year, noticing quickly how you were the only person around his age in the top 10 alongside him

- He had seen you on TV before and knew the basic ideas of what your quirk could do, but when he saw you in person for the first time, he immediately knew that he wanted to get closer to you

- Something about you was just electric to him, drawing him in without even trying (and that wasn’t you using your quirk on him at all, he was just utterly infatuated with you even during your first ever meeting lol)

- The two of you talked a lot that night, Keigo even walking you home once the event was over because he wasn’t ready to stop chatting quite yet

- Despite only knowing the man for a few hours, you felt a connection and decided to confide in him, confessing that sometimes your powers were incredibly difficult to handle as a pro hero 

- Having the power to see people’s thoughts, create illusions in their head and completely control them if certain circumstances were met was a very heavy weight to bear, and there were often debates amongst the public (and even in your own head) about how to ethically use your power, and what was too far

- You were careful to only ever use your ability to see into peoples’ minds when you absolutely needed it for a mission, you’d never use it on anyone in your personal life even as a joke. But it was still a heavy burden to bear and a very tricky power to balance in your position, and Keigo was incredibly sympathetic to that struggle

- He’s heard the debates about your powers before, and after that night he becomes one of your biggest defenders as he sees you’d never use your powers for anything other than good

- Especially after you start dating, whenever you’re brought up in interviews or people ask how he’s able to trust you as his partner with a power like that. he defends you and tells them that he’s 100% certain that he and all the other people you love can trust you. He knows for certain that you’re a good person, and wouldn’t abuse your power for personal gain

- When you first started training together his pride is definitely a little wounded by how easily you’re able to beat him when you max out your power lol, making a little pouty face that you have to kiss off his lips as you smirk in victory

- But over time he accepts that he’s no match for you in direct combat, and he takes great pride in how powerful you are, always going on and on about how “My s/o’s an absolute powerhouse, it’s pretty hot. You should see them in action” to his hero friends lol 

- He does still like to tease you sometimes about how “spooky” you look when you use your power, though, saying you look like you belong in a comic book with red vapor wafting off of you in waves

- He knows that just because you’re powerful doesn’t mean that you can handle everything on your own, though, so he tries to make sure that you always have help and aren’t being forced to take on difficult missions on your own, and he always makes sure that you have a loving, cuddly boyfriend to come back home to and relax with at the end of all the days filled with difficult villains you have to face :)

Request - Anonymous said: hello!!! how are you? i saw you have your request open so i wanted to ask some hcs of hawks, dabi & twice with a reader that has some of the scarlet witch powers, not all of them bc that will be weird lmao??? if you could that would be amazing but if not that's totally okay!!! <3

A/N: I’m sorry if this request isn’t exactly what you wanted anon, I wasn’t sure which aspects of her powers you would want included in this so I tried to choose a set that would fit together/at least somewhat make sense as a single quirk and also what would be the most interesting to write! Also apologies if Twice’s isn’t the most accurate or if it isn’t as well-written, I did my best but I’ll admit I don’t know a ton about him as a character so I’m not sure how well that section turned out but hopefully it was okay, since I got to get to know his character at least a little better after finally catching up on season 6! ( Also I’ve told you guys before that I primarily write based on requests, and I’m especially inspired by/quicker to finish headcanon requests, so if you have any requests (especially for headcanons) please send them my way and I’ll happily write them for you! :)

Taglist: @trashy-bowtie​ @applepie-macaroon​ @ghostofscarley​ @lemonadae-caekie​ @babaukulele​ @rebloglikeyouneedtoo​

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

[7ndipity]

Roommates with Jin(College au)

Jin x Reader

Summary: Headcanon list and blurb about moving in/being roommates with Jin

Warnings: not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I started it as a drabble, but couldn’t decide on a single idea, so I made it a hc list instead, I hope that's alright. Also, big thanks to everyone for your patience as I slowly catch up on requests.

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Moving in together was technically his idea, after your roommate announced they were transferring and you were stressing about finding a new one

“What if I just move in?” He’d all but blurted one evening over dinner, leaving you to nearly choke on your drink before gaping at him.

You’d only been dating for about six months, so you definitely had some concerns about moving too fast, but you couldn’t deny that the idea was a lot more appealing than living with a potential stranger, so ultimately you agreed.

He was so happy when you said yes, practically skipping to buy packing supplies.

The two of you fell into habit with each other surprisingly fast, balancing out tasks and chores almost without thought.

He makes sure you wake up on time in the morning, you make his coffee. He takes the trash out, you do the vacuuming. Etc…

You’re friends joke that you’ve become the parents of the group, bc there’s always someone sleeping over on your couch or staying for dinner(and by someone, I mean usually Jungkook)

Which reminds me, he’s a really good cook(he jokes that he almost went to culinary school instead of majoring in film) He was lowkey horrified by the amount of instant ramen and takeout you’d been surviving on previously, so your diet definitely improved when he moved in.

Half of your conversations are yelled because you’re on opposite ends of the appartment and refuse to walk through the house to find each other.(yeah, the neighbors kinda hate you, but it’s just Joon and Yoongi, so it’s nbd)

Late night cram sessions, where one or both of you are almost falling asleep on the other’s shoulder, but you won’t just go on to bed because you’re trying to be supportive.

Movie nights that he claims count as studying for him(even tho you’re like 99% sure his professor didn’t assign Shrek 2 as viewing material)

Being able to find each other's things, but never your own.

Going all out for holiday decorations, but you have to agree on them before purchsing bc one time you bought one of those motion activated figures for Halloween without telling him and he almost had a heart attack and punched it in the face.

Groaning as you set down the last box, you staggered over to where Jin sat unpacking another box before sliding down to sit next to him on the floor with a soft thud.

“Is that the last of it?” He asked.

“Yep, everythings here.” You slumped against his shoulder, “Ugh, I’m so tired. I think I went up and down those stairs two hundred times.”

“Hey, look.” Jin nudged you as he looked around at the disorganized mix of furniture and boxes scattered throughout the space.

“What?”

“We did it. We’re in our apartment.” He said, grinning at you proudly.

“Yeah, we are.” You agreed, returning his smile.

”This is our living room. That’s our bedroom, our bathroom.” He pointed as he spoke.

“We have a kitchen too.” You noted.

“You wanna cook dinner together in our kitchen?” He asked, raising a brow at you.

“Maybe tomorrow, I’m too tired now.” You sighed, falling back on the floor dramatically. “Can we just go to bed?”

“Fine by me.” He chuckled, getting to his feet and turning to face you. Rather than helping you up, however, he simply grabbed hold of your ankles and began pulling you across the floor.

“What are you doing?!” You squealed.

“Taking you to bed.” He said. “I can’t carry you right now, my back hurts.”

[blues-sues]

It had been a year.

Though part of her suspected it had been longer. It felt like an eternity.

Sometimes she felt like the only peace she could truly find anymore were these night walks with her son.

He'd been born a few months before it happened. Yet he didn't understand a thing, of course. He was merely a child.

One who tugged now on her wrist, with a distressed whine as he looks over his shoulder, brows furrowed.

"Stain? What's wrong?" She turns her head to look down at him in concern. She knew her son was extremely prone to having sudden rushes of anxiety. She'd hoped the soothe bell around his neck would improve it, but it had only lessened a small amount.

"Scarf!" Once the word escaped him, Pigment had never turned as fast. Looking back on it, she's not sure why. Perhaps part of her hoped her father remained out there. But she knew the answer all too well.

It had been a year.

Fate was a despicable thing, taking her father. She'd thought maybe she'd stop having hope that he'd come back. She knew he was gone. And she knew she wouldn't see anything as she turned around.

"Stain, there's nothing there. You needn't worry." She tries to comfort him but the young Mewtwo doesn't take his eyes off the tree. Her frown depends.

She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, but he still doesn't avert his gaze, instead beginning to wave one of his arms, his legs beginning to bounce as he rocked on his feet. "There! There!" He squeaked out, scrambling to hide behind her hip. Pigment breathes out.

"I'll check, okay? Just to be sure." She offers. Stain looks up at her, his eyes wide before his chin lowers in the tiny symbol of a nod. Releasing his hand lightly, she glides herself closer to the tree, peering her head around it.

"I told you, nothing's there."

And nothing was. She wasn't sure why he'd been so panicked. He's rather skittish, but still, not enough to be startled by well..air. She decides to come to the conclusion that perhaps he saw some sort of other 'mon on its night route.

"Ma! Saw Scarf!" He's waving both hands now, his fur spiked as he looks around with nervous glances. A strange detail to keep bringing up. Her heart sinks as her own mind recalls a scarf, her hand drifting up to clasp at the bandana over her shoulders.

A swift shake of her head as she leans down and lifts Stain into her arms, tucking his head against her chest.

"It's alright. I'll protect you."

And so, a hum emerges from her. A tune that once it reaches Stain, it causes his eyelids to flutter downwards, a tiny yawn escaping him as his trembling slowly starts to cease.

Perhaps she should've checked behind the tree twice.

A shadow looms there now, his eyes narrowed as his fingers grip the fabric he wears. The blue was now much darker. His fingers now claws.

He'd changed after death, he'd noticed. So had the world, it appeared. After all, it had been a year.

How foolish of he to think it could all stay the same.

_______

End.

Woop that was a long one. I came up with this during school.

I'd had the general idea for a while after seeing some of Tc's asks about what if Scarfy died and decided to do a little something.

My backgrounds aren't top tier but the flowers in the front are Forget-me-nots.

For clarification: this isn't supposed to be bashing on these characters for not recovering in a year after Scarfy's death. It's meant to show that grief lasts a long time. And sometimes it takes time to completely settle. Pigment is still sort of coming to terms with it, part of her struggling to believe he's truly gone.

These characters belong to @xxtc-96xx !!

Also, in this, I made the choice that after a Pokemon dies, they become y'know a ghost. Or in Scarfy's case, a ghost fusion. He became a Haunter fusion since Pig technically has Gengar blood and I'm pretty sure Stains would-be fusion is a Gastly.

I might do more doodles and such about this, but here's the first! I genuinely really like this idea and may or may not have gotten some inspiration from Ghosting by Mother Mother.

[olderthannetfic]

I went scrolling through anti ao3 tags and blogs because I was bored and not doing the shit I need to do and you know for a group of people who every year twice a year throw such hissy fits you’d think they’d at least have a point, but all their arguments make no sense(except their one main one that they almost never use?--why??) Like ok, there is one argument for why people shouldn’t give money to ao3, and that is the argument that ao3 is bad website because it has bad policies and refuses to moderate. I disagree, but ultimately if someone thinks that ao3 should update the TOS and moderate what fan fiction they allow, it makes sense that that person would be against the site making money because… well they are against the sites founding principles, I’m not shocked they don’t want it to succeed.

But the rest of the arguments!? Man they make no sense at all

“They are scamming you there is no way they need that much money”, ”its immoral to give money to ao3 because they already have so much!”, “Even if ao3 was perfect, its ridicuslous to give 100K to a fan fiction site!” — like… maybe I’m the asshole here, but ao3 made about 250,000 this spring, so they make about 500,000 a year… that’s just not that much money! That could what, pay for 10-30 employees at best! And that’s not counting the actual cost of all the shit they currently spend their money on! I get that ao3 is run by unpaid volunteers so antis think that 500K is a lot, but that’s not true! That’s not a lot of money at all! It might be a lot of money for an individual but for a company that’s practically pennies. Wikipedia, which granted is a lot bigger than ao3, with 57,218,269 pages to ao3s 6 million works, makes 155 million to ao3 500,000. According to antis ao3 has over a million in reserve and well according to wikipedia they have net assets of US$240 million. One is clearly more than the other!

I saw someone say that servers should be 1K, which is so stupid and out of touch with eveything I almost died laughing. I had a project using firebase this semester, I created 2 projects within firebase one for my school project and one to dick around and figure out. I accidentally set my test database to a “pay as you go” version instead of a free version. And almost had to pay a thousand dollars for the month! I wasn’t even using that database it was just sitting there but I check my google billing to make sure I wasn’t paying anything and it turns out I was! 150 dollars actually so that sucks! (My fault though)

Also also I keep seeing that its ridiculous and evil to pay the much for a site that “doesn’t improve” but the “doesn’t improve” is referring to A) no changes in TOS, which I don’t want to happen any way so good. B) the fact that it’s still in beta, which I don’t give a fuck about and I don’t understand why I should care. I think antis are dont like that the layout hasn’t changed but I don’t want to the layout to change. Also things come out of beta because they are a commercial product to be sold(this is very simplified), which is why some things come out of beta to waaaay to early and are glitchy as all hell! Ao3 isn’t being sold to me its slowly being built and archiving things that would probably be lost, and it will probably technically be in beta forever, but it doesn't effect me and I don't care. Would it be better if it came out of beta only to continously updated like a lot other shit does. I don't really play video games but I know ppl that do so I know at least once a game came out that didn't really work and people needed to later update shit for it to function and I'd argue thats worse than a functional website just being in beta forever. C) The claim that it hasn’t changed at all, which is just not true! They added the exclude section and eventually added the blocking shit. The blocking took too long to come out, so I guess in this sea of dumb criticism theres at least 1 piece of critism that makes sense. And finally again I don’t want it to change! Every other week we are all bitching that Tumblr or YouTube or Instagram or any other app are needlessly changing the layout or adding shit we don’t want in order to keep up with latest trends, make it more marketable or try and attracted new users. Ao3 is great because its never going to change. Ao3 and Craigslist will always kinda look like ass and I’m ok with that. If it aint broke ¯_(ツ)_/¯

I could keep going but there is no point. I just think they are all so stupid.

--

The thing about beta is the funniest because AO3, like oldschool shit from the 90s, has actual criteria for coming out of beta.

It's not "we've been going for 10 years" or "we want to sell the product": it's "we've checked off all the things on this checklist".

And they still haven't done them all, so it's still in beta.

[b1ackgh0st]

Struggling to Adjust ~♡

A.K.A, Branch learning how to love in society again with the help of his girlfriend and their gang of snacks.

Branch stayed in his bunker as much as he could after the first movie

The village still overwhelmed him too much

Poppy and the Snack Pack group started to slowly coax him out more and more

At first, he was very against hug time

As soon as the bracelets went off, he ran up the nearest tree until he was in the canopy and would hide there until everyone stopped hugging

Poppy eventually took Branch to see whatever kind of Psychologist Pop Village (technically Troll Village at the time) has

Unsurprisingly he was diagnosed with autism

Branch still doesn't know what autism is

After the second movie, he's much more comfortable being in the Village

He found a way to set up some kind of 'magical' bubble thing around the Village

It's like a mirage to hide them, but when something enters the clearing they are able to see everything

Branch even starts to be part of events in Pop Village

He so helps Poppy with her schedule

If she refuses help, but he knows there is something on there she necessarily can't do, Branch will take her list

And do it for her

He babysits for Guy

After the Third movie, his brothers start to live in the bunker, or in Clay's case, in a pod close to the bunker

He spends less and less time in the bunker now

Branch rarely uses his room as well, his excuse being that Poppy begs him to stay with her a lot

It's actually the other way around but Branch's ego won't let him admit it

Pop Village starts to appreciate their safety nerd more

He makes improvements to games to make them just a little safer

Also helps make things more sanitary (ahem, glitter...)

[mousemannation]

NASDAQ-100 Open Post-Match Press with Rafael Nadal March 28, 2004

NASDAQ-100 OPEN

March 28, 2004

Rafael Nadal

MIAMI, FLORIDA

THE MODERATOR: If you have questions in English for Rafael, he'll answer in Spanish and I'll translate for him.

Q. How does it feel to beat the No. 1 seed?

RAFAEL NADAL: Yes, I'm very happy because I played one of the best matches in my life. Obviously, he didn't play his best tennis and that's the reason why I could win. I mean, if he had played his best tennis, I would have had no chance. But that's what happens in tennis. If a player like me plays at a very, very good level and a top player like Roger doesn't play his best tennis, I can win. But, sure, I'm really, really happy.

Q. (Inaudible)?

RAFAEL NADAL: Yeah, I played almost perfect tennis today because I was playing inside the court, dominating the exchanges and pressing him so he couldn't play his game. But one thing I forgot, I served extremely well today, probably I never served like this in my life. That was really the key.

Q. Everybody seems to be afraid to play Federer. You did not look like you were afraid.

RAFAEL NADAL: Yes, I mean, I was afraid that he could win 6-1, 6-1 or 6-1, 6-2 but I was really looking forward to playing this match because I was playing against the No. 1 player in the world. I went on court with a positive attitude, not with the attitude of, "Oh, let's try and win one game."

Q. How would you describe your playing style?

RAFAEL NADAL: When I play well, I'm a very aggressive player with a good forehand and I fight very hard on the court.

Q. Technically and tactically, what was the key of the match? How did you approach this match?

RAFAEL NADAL: Well, I knew that the most important point was that I couldn't let him play his own game, because if he can play his own game, he wins 6-1, 6-1, 6-1, 6-2 like it's happening this year and it's never happened in tennis before. So from the first point I knew that I had to dictate the exchange for him not to be able to play his game.

Q. How do you organize your day for practicing, for tactics of the matches if you are just on your own?

RAFAEL NADAL: No, I'm here with somebody, I'm here with Jofre Porta, who usually is with Carlos Moya, but Carlos Moya, he's here with Joan Bosch. I'm here with somebody that helps me. At the same time, before every match, I call my uncle and so we speak about the match.

Q. As you said, you served very well today. Did you change anything on your serve since last year?

RAFAEL NADAL: Yeah, it's mostly that every match I try to hit my serve harder, and, you know, every match I play, because I think that's how you can improve yourself; you have to be more aggressive and go for it. That's the key. Obviously, I know I've changed my movement a little bit, but that's the key, going for it more. Like, for instance, last week, I served at 6-5 against Calleri in the third set, and I didn't serve hard, I served like slowly, and I lost it. So that's the key really.

Q. The way you played tonight, it suggests that you're not the kind of player who's going to be afraid of playing on any surface, whether it's hard court, clay, even grass. Is that your goal, to be playing on all the surfaces well?

RAFAEL NADAL: No, I've always said that I'm the kind of player that can play well on all surfaces. I played well on grass last year. I played well on hard court outdoors. I play well on clay, obviously, because I'm used to it; I grew up on clay. And maybe I didn't play well last year indoors, but it was mostly because it was the end of the year and, you know, I was little bit tired. It was my first year, and I was a little bit tired at the end of the year. If you're not in very good shape physically and mentally, you cannot compete at this level.

Q. Last year when you lost to El Aynaoui at the US Open, you said you didn't feel you belonged to that top level of tennis and that was the reason why you had lost. What's the difference now?

RAFAEL NADAL: Definitely, this year I have much more confidence and I know that I can play at that level, that I belong to the higher level of players. Obviously, last year I was winning my matches because I was fighting very hard. This is the same this year, but I'm also winning because I raised my level and I believe I belong to the top.

Q. Do you think you could play that kind of level in a match in a Grand Slam tournament, the best-of-five sets?

RAFAEL NADAL: Well, I've only played like Wimbledon and I got to the third round, and then US Open I got to the second round and then in Australia I lost to Hewitt in three sets. So I only need to play Paris, which I haven't played before, and that's different there because it's clay courts. But I think that physically I'm not such a bad player.

Q. This is a result that's going to reverberate around the world. Do you think your mobile phone will be pretty busy with calls tonight, congratulations?

RAFAEL NADAL: No, not right now because it's 4 a.m. in Spain so everybody's sleeping. Tomorrow, the papers won't have this news. But, yeah, maybe Internet and on the teletext I will start getting some calls.

Q. You lost last year to Gonzalez, so what do you think about that match and tomorrow's match?

RAFAEL NADAL: Yeah, sure, I lost against him and it was in Stuttgart. I thought I played a good match, one of the best matches up to that point in my career. It was the first time that I played against somebody who hit the ball so hard. He was doing everything. I was just running around. I played well to win the second set, and then I lost in three sets. But I think tomorrow is going to be different because now I'm used to these kind of players.

Q. Your win today and Monaco's win over Guga yesterday were the same matches - you showed you're young players, hitting the ball very hard and dominating the other players. Is that the tennis of the future, and if your style of play doesn't work, do you have anything else to fall back on?

RAFAEL NADAL: Well, I don't think that Monaco or I discovered the world, because that's actually the way tennis players are playing right now, like Ferrero, Moya, Federer, Safin, you know, hitting the ball very hard. I'm particularly happy for Monaco because he's played well this year, especially in Buenos Aires and Brazil and here. I've known him quite well because he was training in Spain, so I've known him since the time he was playing futures in Spain.

Q. How important was it for you to play Davis Cup this year? How did it help you believe you are part of the top players?

RAFAEL NADAL: Yeah, it's true. Davis Cup was one of the best, if not the best experience so far. I was there, I lost my first two points, and then I won the last and it was just unbelievable. Obviously, now we have this match coming up in Mallorca. I would like to play again. But in Spain we have a lot of good players - Ferrero, Moya, who are ahead of me. I'm hoping to play maybe in the doubles, but the team is going to be announced on Tuesday.

End of FastScripts

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #353

I'm not entirely sure what's wrong with me at the moment. I'm trying to figure it out.

So like. I woke up like this today:

...Which, ya know, by all accounts, is a pretty great start to a day. I even went to bed on time(ish) and everything. Didn't even wake up at a particularly stupid hour.

The next thing I did was put on some pajamas. And then I put on my giant wearable blanket over them:

I am toasty and warm and covered in soft things. This is ideal.

...What is not ideal is that I am losing iron. I will likely be losing iron for the next 7-10 days or so. But like... I got a burger to replenish what my body is losing. Check it out:

...It was delicious!!

And I played Hades for a long time. The current goal is to get a victory on the very first run. But you can only do that on a fresh save file. The general consensus is that, while such a thing is technically possible, it's also a wildly impractical thing to try to attempt. It's a challenging game. And on the very first run, your character is, compared to what he becomes after all the upgrades and such, very limited in what he can do. The character is at a significant disadvantage on the very first run, in a variety of respects.

...Still. One thing we seem to have in common is a love of surpassing our own limitations. Besides... if I can snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat even at such a significant disadvantage, then can you imagine what I'll be capable of after I succeed?

I like to look at it this way: the obstacles in the world I'm navigating within the confines of this game are static. They do not grow, change, or improve. They operate with the same basic patterns. And... they are up against a force who will slowly but surely learn and improve with time. In order for them to succeed, they have to remain undefeated indefinitely, over and over and over again. Whereas I...

...I only need to succeed once. One time. That's it. The odds are astonishingly in my favor, as long as my skills continue to improve! And they will continue to improve as I practice, because that's how brains work. As long as I don't give up (or somehow end up permanently rendered unable to play), my victory is inevitable.

It's like Dead Cells that way. Do you remember how I was when I first started? Do you remember how I struggled mightily, even back when I played without any Boss Cells? And did you watch as I grew into someone who can reliably play on 5 Boss Cells?

There's a lot we can do if we refuse to give up, I think.

Anyway, today I got all the way up to the final boss of the third area; check it out!

...The Minotaur is cool. As a character, he seems very pragmatic and down-to-earth. Not a whole lot of empathy to him; he does what he does regardless of what others around him feel, though he seems mostly guided by his core values. He also doesn't go out of his way to be a jerk.

...Theseus, on the other hand... whoof... He's... definitely... not very nice. At all. And he keeps calling Zagreus “blackguard”, and treating him as though he's this wicked, lying thing, even though he clearly isn't. Very bizarre.

Anyway. So I played for a long time, and I even heeded my alarms to drink water today. So I'm fed, I'm hydrated, I'm relatively well-slept, and I tended appropriately to my body's loss of iron and protein. Yesterday, after writing the letter to you, M, J, and I went and scheduled English tests for us sometime in January. We will go to Mitsuwa afterwards. And tomorrow, I am looking forward to going to work, and I'm also looking forward to meeting with J and at least one other friend at Eggcellent.

By all accounts, today was objectively pretty great!! And tomorrow I've got some pretty fun stuff to look forward to. And in the relatively near future, I have additional things to look forward to. And then after taking a break from Hades, I even found myself in this wonderful situation:

...And yet... somehow, I still feel... vaguely empty. And I can't for the life of me figure out why.

Like. I'm warm. I'm safe. I'm fed, hydrated, and rested. I have no shortage of fun stuff to do, no shortage of people whom I love, and no shortage of people who love me back.

...And yet. I wondered what is the point of it all. I thought for a brief moment about making a permanent exit from my meat suit.

...Why...?

...No, like, seriously, what the fuck. Ya know? It's mondo fucken frustrating. Especially since, like... I know what the point of it all is; it's to create love and joy and beauty in all the ways that only we know how to do. And I live in a world of tasty snacks and soft blankets and safe houses and loving people, so like... what exactly is my brain trying to escape from??? I have no idea, and wish it would quit being a miserable fucking turdmongler!!

Like. Goddammit, I did all the things that were supposed to make the happy chemical. And still it's just... like... refusing to make the happy chemical. And it refuses to make the happy chemical despite knowing that it should, objectively, have lots and lots of reasons to make the happy chemical. I just wish I knew why it was being so uncooperative.

...Ah well. Suppose sometimes some days are just like this. I have enough experience with whatever this ridiculous state of mind is to know that it's not permanent. I'm not gonna be stuck like this forever. I know it's gonna be fine. Just... I get the feeling like I'm probably gonna hafta wait a bit until whatever's going on stops, and then maybe things will be a bit more normal all up in the electric meatball rolling around between my ears.

...Might just be the result of the chemical instructions that tell my body to dump precious resources like iron and protein once a month. But also... I think it's been a while since last I've eaten any fish. Maybe my body is running low on omega-3s or something. And here I am, asking it to learn the mechanics of a new game or whatever... Our bodies need omega-3s in order to build new neural connections. Those myelin sheaths don't just appear out of thin air, ya know!

...Maybe I'll make a steamed salmon or something. That'd probably be good. I'll try it soon and tell you how it works out, okay?

Off days happen. They happen even when everything, objectively, is going well. It's okay. It's not the end of the world. We just keep plunkin' along, as we do.

Suppose I'll do that; if I keep writing, I'm probably just gonna ramble on ya.

Hey, Sephiroth? You're doing all kinds of kooky shit over at the Edge of Creation, right? Learning all kinds of new things and whatnot? When's the last time you had any fish? Try to eat some soon, okay? Salmon is a good choice; it's low in mercury, and it's good for ya.

I'll write again tomorrow, so please stay safe, and remember that you're loved. You're loved because I love you. And lots and lots of other people do, too.

'Til soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[callsignfate]

traditional wake-up methods

Day Fifteen of Writemas/Birthday posts!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here TW: None? Let me know if I've missed any!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

It was rare that you and Kate were home at the same time in the morning and both had the day off. You finally decided to leave your perfect spot of warmth in the bed before you moved to find your wife, fully expecting her to be working even though she said she wouldn't.

After walking down the hall, you could see the bathroom door closed, with a small slice of light coming out from the bottom, making you smile as an idea popped into your head.

You slowly sneaked into the bathroom, and the loud water thankfully drowned out your arrival. Gently, you pulled off your clothes before pushing the shower curtain aside. Your wife was washing her hair, and she sighed and let out a small laugh.

Before you knew it, you felt the freezing water hit your back, making you scream and jump out of the shower.

"Why! Why is it freezing cold!" you yelled as you grabbed a towel. "Are you insane?" you added, your teeth chattering, the warmth you had from the bed completely gone.

"Cold showers are good for you," Kate said, trying not to laugh hysterically at you. She looked out of the partially open shower curtain, stifling a laugh as you scowled back at her, resembling a wet, unhappy cat.

You shook your head, water droplets flying, as you wrapped the towel around yourself with a dramatic huff. "Good for me? I was perfectly warm before someone decided to turn this into an Arctic expedition."

Kate chuckled, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Come on, it's invigorating. Builds character."

You shot her a playful glare, the mock seriousness making her laugh even harder. "Character? I've got plenty of character. What I need right now is a hot shower."

"Well, you're already wet, so half the battle is won," Kate quipped, unable to contain her amusement.

With a feigned sigh, you peeled off the damp towel and stepped back into the shower. The cold water hit you like a thousand tiny needles, and you couldn't help but yelp again.

Kate leaned against the bathroom counter, thoroughly entertained. "You know, I read somewhere that cold showers improve circulation."

"You read too much," you muttered, enduring the chill as you quickly washed off. "And I'm pretty sure warm hugs improve circulation too. Ever consider that?"

Kate smirked, an impish glint in her eyes. "Well, you got a point. Warm hugs can be quite effective."

You finished your chilly shower in record time, all the while shooting Kate mock glares. Stepping out, you grabbed another towel, wrapping it around yourself with a theatrical shiver.

"Next time, warn a person before turning the shower into the Arctic Circle," you declared, earning a laugh from Kate as she handed you a warm, fluffy towel.

"You're the one who joined my shower I remind you," she teased.

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Ah, technicalities. I thought I'd surprise you with my presence, not get a wake-up call from the Ice Age."

Kate grinned, unabashedly enjoying your antics. "Well, now you're wide awake and full of vigor. Mission accomplished."

You pretended to consider this, holding a hand to your chin in mock contemplation. "I suppose I can't argue with that. Now, can we move on to more traditional wake-up methods? Like coffee?"

Kate nodded, finally relenting. "Fair enough. I'll make the coffee if you promise not to sabotage the thermostat."

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

[surr3al1sm]

Just Dance Highscores I’m proud of

I don’t really talk about playing Just Dance on here because I play it a lot and don’t want to bother you guys with it every time but I just wanted to highlight some of the scores I’m proud of. All will be below the cut to not clog up your dash.

Disclaimer: Now I know that they probably aren’t the highest scores (or the hardest maps) you’ve ever seen BUT I still get to be proud of them (plus I have a coordination disorder so take that).

With that being said feel free to reblog and flex your scores on me. I wish to know them.

List time! Yippie!

🩷 The mega stars (aka the dances I dance to way too much) 🩷

⚡️Girlfriend - 13078 - The first song I 13k’d and still one of my favourite maps

⚡️Treasure - 12904 - I used to be really bad at Treasure compared to LooH, but they kind of flipped one day lol

While we’re on the topic

⚡️Locked out of Heaven - 12681 - The first map I actually took the time to learn the choreo for. Just need to figure out the tracking ig-

⚡️10.000 Luchtballonnen - 12810 - A dutch (Belgian technically) song. Probably the best K3 song on + and maybe even on unlimited.

⚡️Judas - 12699 - Come on, it’s Judas. Can you blame me for being proud.

⚡️Rasputin - 12699 - This is just what my (lack of) rizz has come to. Also may I refer back to the coordination disorder.

⚡️Levitating - 12566 - Si’Ha Nova my beloved 🫶

⚡️Can’t Tame Her - 12536 - LittleSiha, need I say more

⚡️Beggin’ - 12498 - I started out with consistently 3 starring this song and here we are now. Improvements people.

⚡️Disco Inferno - 12275 - I don’t care that its an easy difficulty: I have played this song exactly once. Let me be proud of my beginners luck.

🩵 The super stars (aka maps I am learning or am just mid at) 🩵

⚡️Therefore I Am - 11832 - This map takes a lot of coordination and balance that I do not have.

⚡️Physical - 11733 - As someone who was not active what so ever at the beginning of the year, being this decent at a map like this one is just pretty rewarding

⚡️Canned Heat - 11728 - It’s a Wanderlust song what can I say, we don’t mix well-

⚡️Dark Horse - 11344 - My friend had JD2015 growing up and the most I could get was 4 stars max when I used to play with her so this just heals my inner child.

⚡️Applause/Stage Version - 11307 - It’s an extreme. I am no where near properly touching extremes (like actually consistently doing them). Let me be proud.

⚡️Wannabe/Extreme Version - 11459 - Scored this while dancing against my Kpop friend. She knows the official choreo by heart.

⭐️ The 5 Stars (Songs I do every now and then and choreo’s I live laugh love without being good at them) ⭐️

⚡️Rock ‘n Roll - 10877 - I don’t know if it’s just me or if the tracking on this is just wierd but it’s the highest score I’ve gotten so far so I’m just gonna roll with it lol

⚡️Buttons - 10672 - This map is just difficult for me- idk why-

⚡️Bad Romance/official Choreo - 10521 - Slowly trying my best to learn this one. It’s hard.

⚡️Gimme More - 10421 - Agend D is probably one of my favourite coaches in the game but ngl this is one of the harder mediums imo.

⚡️Can’t Stop The Feeling/Danceverses Prince - 10051 - That I have beef with the smurfs choreo’s doesnt mean I can’t enjoy them and be proud of my scores. He’s just very fast okay-

Sorry for the long post again. It’s just a post I wanted to make for myself. Could I just have noted them down for myself? I already have. Sometimes you just wanna share stuff with the world okay? Before anyone says it 🤫 I know these aren’t the hardest maps out there. That doesn’t matter.

Again, feel free to reblog and flex your own scores. I love seeing people be proud of themselves for accomplishments!

[lovehugsandcandy]

Aerin drabble inspired by the amazing AerinxMC piece by @erixafleur here. I love this artwork so much <3

When her hand hits the cold, empty sheet, Raine groans. It’s been hours and, still, she is alone in this forest bed.

It isn’t even her bed, not technically. She has traveled often, opening realms, visiting friends, and supporting Valax in improving the Shadow Realm. But when she can, Raine stays here, rebuilding the Goblin lands in the Deadwood center. While this place may not be her home, she’s realized, in all her travels, that home is not a location, not a marking on a map, not a set of coordinates. 

It’s a person.

And right now, her person is not beside her.

Long gone are the days when she would fear his disappearance. In the beginning, every absence was concerning; where had Aerin gone? Would he be there when she returned? But slowly, carefully, piece by earnest piece, they had rebuilt that which betrayal and distance had torn asunder. Now, he was a constant presence, a steady thrum echoing in the beat of her heart, regardless of how far she traveled.

And now, with the empty expanse of mattress beside her, there is only one place he could be.

She shivers as her bare feet hit the wooden floor. The moon hangs high in the sky, flooding the room with light. Shadows dance over the careful construction of the walls as she toes on her boots and slips out the door.

The path takes her past Willow’s house, over a short boardwalk, and to the magnificent tree that forms one corner of the Community Center. The building is sturdy, two floors of sprawling space designed for the entire community to congregate, and large enough for even humans to slip inside the arched door. She wanders through the halls until pausing just outside the library; from within is a distinct noise, the soft scratch of pencil to paper, and she carefully pulls on the handle as silently as possible to not disturb the occupant within.

Once she is sure he hasn’t noticed, she takes a step forward, leaning against the doorframe to watch him work. Candlelight flickers over his face, making his eyes glow over the shadows below his cheekbones, and Aerin is engrossed in the sketchbook in front of him. The tip of his tongue pokes out between lush lips as he scribbles frantically and every so often, an impatient hand will swipe at the curls at his forehead, batting them out of the way so he can continue his single-minded focus on the page. She can’t see the image, not at this angle, but it’s either a detailed design for additional housing near the lake or a more… personal project.

A few steps further and he still doesn’t notice, so she gracelessly plops into the seat next to him.

He jumps, mouth dropping open as he blinks at her. “Raine! You startled me.” Quickly, he flips through the papers in front of him until there’s only an empty one in view. 

Ah, a personal project then.

“Well, you worried me. It’s late; come to bed.”

He glances out the window, where a few twinkling stars peek through the branches. “I didn’t realize, I was so caught up in-”

“-in your work?” His face flushes scarlet, and his skin is warm as she cups his cheek. “May I see?”

He sighs. “You know it’s of you, don’t you?”

“Please? You know I love your drawings.” she asks, dropping into the chair next to him, and his teeth dig into his plush lower lip before he responds.

“It’s not done yet.” He flips back a few pages, past an architectural sketch, a labeled diagram of a medicinal plant, until he stops, glancing at her. Peering closer, it’s undoubtedly her- she’s sitting in the woods, braids cascading down her shoulder and a pensive look on her face.

“Is this…?” She squints. “Is this today?”

The blush across his cheeks somehow deepens and spreads to his ears. “Yes. I saw you in front of the campfire and I was… inspired.”

She edges closer, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You know, your muse is right here,” Raine curls her fingers into his tunic, “and she would like to go to sleep.”

His eyes flash mischief and love as he glances down. “She would, would she?”

“She would. Aerin, I’m tired; come back to bed. Please?”

He drops a kiss on her forehead. “Certainly. But will you let me draw you tomorrow?”

“I will let you draw me any time you want. Just not now.”

“Of course.” Aerin closes his sketchbook, offering her a hand. “My muse needs rest.”

She giggles as he leads her out of the community center, her hand in his the entire way. And no matter how far she travels, when she returns to the wood, he will slide next to her in their bed, warm and sure, and she will pose for his art, smiling and laughing, and the portraits will serve as a memory of when her heart is home.

[pondslime]

[ 13 ] the garden center of a home improvement store

Lester Sinclair x reader, fluff or smut—both are good! Also, there's no pressure to fulfil this. If it strikes your fancy, great! If not, no worries. 😊 💚

tysm for the prompt crumb <33

881 words. Lester Sinclair x GN!Reader. Absolutely NO warnings, just fluffy flirtation!

send me a prompt & a character and I'll write u a lil smthn smthn 👀

The air is murky out here, sun streaming through the glass ceiling.

You make your way slowly around the tables, peering at the assortment of flowers and potted plants. Your eyes land on the mums, their petals a vibrant explosion of color in the center display. After a moment of deliberation, you pick up one of the pots.

You’ve never been one with a green thumb, but you’ll try anything once. As you go to set it in your shopping cart, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you’re met with a bright smile—courtesy of the dirtiest man you've ever seen. He almost looks like he's taken a voluntary tumble into one of the many flowerbeds, dirt smearing across his cheeks and coating his clothes.

"Reckon you're better off with that one." He points towards a nearly identical pot of flowers at the side of the display. "One you got; stems are a lil' woody. Figure these folks haven't been waterin' 'em enough."

You lift the planter in your hands up and peer at the stems. You're not exactly sure what you're looking at, but…sure. Carefully, you set the pot of mums back on the table, reaching for the planter he suggested.

"Just figured you outta know." He shrugs.

"Thanks." You shoot him a smile.

His cart is overflowing with gardening tools, the unwieldy handles of several shovels spearing into the air. Amidst the chaotic assortment of lawn gear, you spy a pale purple succulent, stacked haphazardly on an overturned utility bucket.

"She's a beauty, ain't she?" He gestures down at the plant, beaming at you like a proud parent. "Couldn't bear leavin' her behind."

"She is." You nod.

"You have a good day now!" The items in his cart clang discordantly against each other as he wheels away. You wince as a particularly loud crash fills the air.

You hope that his succulent survives the shopping trip.

A week later, you step back into the gardening center. The now-familiar blast of muggy air smacks you directly in the face as you walk through the automatic doors.

Technically, you're here for some plant food. Technically. That's a good cover up story. A good Responsible Adult Reason to be back here again so soon. It's absolutely not motivated by the fact that you felt like your pot of mums was looking lonely on your porch. Of course not. It couldn't be. Because you don't need another plant. You don't even really have solid proof that you can keep the one you have alive, yet.

You should've known.

You're a bit of a fickle thing with your interests, bouncing from one to the other depending on your mood. Right now, for whatever reason, you're stuck on gardening. Like a malevolent botanical hivemind, your brain is currently tethered directly to those godforsaken flower displays. Now that you have one, you need another. That's what people always told you about tattoos, but you're surprised to find it also ringing true for plants.

First, though, practicality must reign. You grab a basket and stride down an aisle of gardening supplies, scanning the metal shelves for a shaker bottle of plant food. Rounding a corner, you nearly bump into someone squatting next to a palate stacked with bags of lime.

"Sorry!" You exclaim.

"No problem." It's the guy from last week. He peers up at you, his eyes brightening with recognition. "How's them mums doin'?"

"They're good." You smile. "Surprised you remember me."

“Well, you’re plenty memorable.” He says, eyes darting up your frame.

He's covered in marginally less dirt this time. He's also cuter than you remembered.

"You think so?" You smile.

“If you don’t mind me sayin’.” He dips his head bashfully.

This is most definitely not what you came for...but it's certainly a bonus.

“Isn’t this what people use to get rid of bodies?” You ask playfully, gesturing down at a bag of lime. You weren't sure how true that was, but you vaguely remembered seeing it in some true crime documentary. Or maybe that was lye, not lime—

"This kind ain’t no good for that.” He replies brightly, tapping at the label. “See, uh, this—it’ll slow decomp down…to a crawl. You ain't never gettin' rid of nothin' dead with it."

"You don't say…"

“Ya’ gotta use the right stuff. Now this—" He pats another bag matter-of-factly, nodding approvingly. "—this is the stuff you need for that kinda job."

You watch as he picks up the bag and heaves it into his cart. Wiping the dust off his hands, he gives you a lopsided grin.

"But even then, ya’ know, there’s always somethin’ left over in the end.” He continues. “'S hard gettin’ rid of bodies. Harder than ya' think.”

"You get rid of a lot of bodies?" You arch a brow.

"Part'a the job." He shrugs. "Pickin' up roadkill."

“Ah, Parks and Rec-kinda stuff?”

“Guess ya' could say that.”

You slot behind him in line at the cash register, a planter full of violets in your basket.

"Do you have a pen?" You ask the cashier.

Impulsively, you lean over the conveyor belt and scrawl your number onto the side of his bag of lime.

You don't need to look up to know that he's grinning.