#repairing broken pipes

[plumbertomballtexas]

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[keferon]

TexAid - Vortex has taken First Aid as his pilot. First Aid claims Vortex as his mech.

--------------------------

There's a rumbling in the distance as First Aid crawls out the darkened hatch of Vortex's escape chute.  The hangar is a wreck of collapsed walls, twisted metal pipes, and broken wiring shooting up sparks. 

First Aid pushes himself to his feet, stands back, and uses the flashes of light to take stock of the situation. 

This is…not good. 

He counts a dozen cuts and bruises across his own aching limbs before abandoning the effort.  He is satisfied at least that he is intact, alive, and functional.  All his injuries will heal, given treatment and time. 

Time he may not have.  Because Vortex on the other hand is not so lucky – lights off, systems silent, frame crumpled on the ground.  A slow trickle of oil leaks from the mecha, swirling into one of the many pools of alien ooze scattered around Vortex's frame along with chunks of the aliens' flesh.

The battle had been fierce, Vortex's fighting the fiercest Aid had ever seen against the many enemies.  But for the first time, it hadn't been enough.  The mecha suddenly going dark – collapsing under the strain of overtaxed systems even as the last of the monster's fell.  Leaving First Aid truly alone in that cockpit of horrors for the first time.

Another rumble sounds in the distance, shaking First Aid from his reflection.

He refocuses on the present, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling towards Vortex's head.  He raps his knuckles against the glass of the visor, shouts at the mecha to wake up. 

Nothing.

Vortex has gone dark.

This is not good.  He is dead.  They are dead, if Vortex cannot wake.  Because those distant rumbles are definitely not friendly.

No human has survived fighting the aliens without a mech.  And first Aid is a medic first.  Vortex is the fighter – the killer – of their strange partnership.  First Aid doesn't know what the aliens do to the mecha and pilots that go missing from the battlefield and are never recovered.  And he doesn't intend to find out.

But he does know what the science team will do with Vortex – a billion dollar prototype gone wrong – out of control and now offline.  They will take the mecha apart, dissect him, strip him down to his basest components to find out where it all went wrong.  And when they're done, what's left will be scrap – pieces repurposed into other mecha repairs.

They might build a new prototype top-of-the-line killing machine 2.0.  But is won't be Vortex.

First Aid hates that.  Because he should hate Vortex, after all the other has put him through.  But he doesn't.  Because before all that, Vortex had saved him.  Vortex chose him – kept First Aid alive and safe, even as he's shown countless times just how easily he could destroy Aid.

And Vortex is…was…could be alive – a mecha with a consciousness all his own in a way First Aid had not believed until he experienced it first-hand.

Out of ignorance, out of fear, out of hate, or simply because of the harsh realities of war – the others will kill Vortex (if he isn't already dead; please don't be dead) and never realize what they have done, because they never recognized that he was alive to begin with.  Never saw him as anything more than a glitch, an aberration in their perfect war design.

First Aid has a duty to save lives.  He cannot – will not – let that happen.  Vortex is his.  In death as much as in life.

The rumbling grows closer, close enough First Aid can imagine he hears the slithering of tentacles along walls underneath it. 

He will not let any other – alien or human – take Vortex from him, not while he still lives.

The cables on the ground throw up another flurry of sparks – casting eerie shadows across Vortex's frame.  First Aid's eyes fixate on the light, tracing the path of the wiring from where it snakes across the floor back up to the housing on the wall.  A broken main charging cable for a mech.

Maybe…just maybe…

It's a terrible idea.  So many things could go wrong – electrocution, a gruesome death, ending up a mindless shell on life support for the rest of his days (not so different from how Vortex already is now).  Pharma or Ratchet or any other medic would tell him as much.  They would tell him that there's almost no chance of powering on a mecha once it's gone fully dark, that it isn't worth risking himself too (and particularly not for this mecha).

For anyone else that might be true, but by now First Aid is used to a little risk.  Risk of electrocution and death?  Just another average day on the job.  No different than what Vortex puts him through every time he straps into the pilot seat.  The only thing that's different now is that Aid is choosing to take the risk.

Because there is a chance.  And First Aid is going to take it.

The rubber insulation of the cable is already in his hand when he looks down, his body having carried him to it as his mid was busy shutting out the doubts every other medic would have said.

Something bangs against the collapsed wall blocking entry to the hangar, sending a shower of dust outward.

First Aid hefts the cable over his shoulder, careful to keep the sparking end far in front of him, and begins the trek across the warehouse.  His shoulder burns from the extra weight on an already stressed joint and his legs protest as he forces them to twist and jump to avoid the pools of fluid that would cause instant electrocution if they came into contact with his body and the cable.

The aches don't matter.  He is a medic.  He can carry his own weight and still have the strength to lift up others.  He can do this.  He will do this.

First Aid is gasping for breath by the time he reaches Vortex again.  His sides ache, lungs burning with each breath.  He mentally adds checking for the possibility of bruised ribs to his catalogue of injuries, then shoves the pain aside to focus fully on Vortex's frame.

First Aid eyes the power node at the back of the mecha's neck and before he can think twice, shoves the broken power cable into it.  Sparks fly around the junction and Vortex's frame jolts, lights flickering briefly, then stills.  First Aid pulls the cable away, then hits Vortex again.  And again.  And again.  Lights flicker.  Sparks fly.  Dust showers around First Aid.  Electricity jolts through Vortex's frame.

"Come on," First Aid mutters as Vortex's lights stay on a full second after he pulls the cable away before stuttering out again.

He takes a deep breath and throws the cable directly into the center of Vortex's chest, where the mecha's primary batter is housed.  Sparks fly across Vortex's frame, lights flicker, flash bright white, then stabilize to a dim red glow.

First Aid's momentary relief shatters as Vortex moves and he feels a gust of air from a cold metal blade passing just over his head.  There's a dull thunk, and then fluid is pouring down on First Aid, coating him in a thick sludge of blood from the alien that First Aid reckons was looming just behind him, judging by the bright green eyeball that falls from above to land in a spatter at his feet.

First Aid looks up at Vortex looming over him, gloving red light pouring out from the maw of the cockpit and laughs, shaking hysterically as a hand reaches down to scoop him up from the ground.

They are alive.  He is Vortex's.  Vortex is his.  They are alive.

D-dont. Don't make me even more feral about them than I already am. Don't. I was GOING TO SLEEP BUT NOW MY BRAIN WON'T STOP WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME HOW AM I GONNA PRETEND TO BE NORMAL NOW WH

Previous Next

[yazzwrites6962]

Chaos and Cure ♡ Jinx (Arcane)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Arcane Jinx x GN!Handy!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! This could be interpreted as a platonic relationship, or the buildup to something romantic. It's up to you! I do not own any characters/images!

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You are a quiet, handy, hardworking Zaunite who is used to fixing up broken tech and gadgets. Your life changes completely when, one day, the infamous Jinx storms into your shop.

Word Count: 1137

Warnings: Mild mentions of exlopsives and destruction, mentions of trauma

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The first time you met her, it was quiet. Not in the literal sense, of course. Nothing about Jinx is quiet. You were in your workshop, huddled over a broken panel from some long-abandoned tech. Suddenly, the door slammed open like a gunshot.

You didn't flinch. Not because you were brave, but because you had grown used to Zaun's chaos crashing into your life uninvited. That's just how things were. However, the girl who stormed in wasn't just disorderly. She was the embodiment of madness.

Bright blue hair, wild eyes, and a grin that sat crookedly on her face. You recognize her instantly. She's Jinx. Her reputation is infamous, but nothing prepares you for how real she feels. How alive she truly is. Your mind goes silent for a moment.

"Hey gearhead, fix this!" She chirps, dropping something metal and smoking onto your worktable. The piece clatters, nearly knocking your tools to the ground.

"What is it?" You know better than to expect any sort of formal introduction, although the nickname surprises you. You also know that Jinx is mechanically brilliant. At least, from what you hear. You wonder why she can't fix the gadget herself.

"it's supposed to be a trigger mechanism." She crosses her arms, unamused by your hesitation. "It caught slightly on fire. Don't worry. It'll probably only explode if you're really bad at this."

You blink, picking up the damaged device with careful, gloved hands. The metal is warm and warped. There is a faint smell of smoke lingering in the air. You examine it thoroughly, turning it over and over in your hands.

"You overloaded it." You mutter, glancing up at her. She tilts her head, giving you an almost offended expression, like a curious crow staring at a shiny stone.

"Overloaded?!" She scoffed. "No, I improved it! Just... too much..." You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Relax, gearhead. I'm a genius! I just need someone to keep up. That's where you come in."

"Give me an hour." You smile at her dramatics before turning back to the device. "It's not unsalvageable." She raises an eyebrow; a sharp and disapproving look on her face.

"An hour? Are you that slow? I heard you were supposed good at this." So, she had heard of you from somewhere. Her tone is a bit rude, but it doesn't seem to carry any real malice.

"Do you want it fixed, or do you want it fast?" You reply without missing a beat. Her laughter bounces off the walls of your dainty little shop.

"Alright, gearhead. An hour." She chuckles, headed for the door. "Don't blow up!" You don't dignify that with a response. You're already focused on disassembling the smoking pieces of the device.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Jinx returned an hour later, and then she never really left.

It started small. More gadgets needing repair and weapons she swore shouldn't be jamming. You wonder, at first, why someone like her would come to you. Surely, she could handle all these simple repairs herself. Yet, she keeps showing up, slamming the door like she owns the place and sprawling across your workshop like a cat who refuses to leave.

Her presence is overwhelming. She chatters while you work, her voice filling every quiet corner of your shop. Sometimes, she even sings. Once, she threw a wrench at you to see if you would have any reaction.

"You're so weird." She told you one day, hanging upside down from the pipe which ran across your ceiling. "You're not really scared of me. Most people are. They treat me like a ticking bomb that could go off at any second."

"I know." You mutter without looking up from your work. You feel so opposite to her. She's loud, vibrant, and always moving. You, on the other hand, are quiet. You own a little shop on the edge of Zaun, living out your days monotonously.

"Why?" She swings back and forth, like a pendulum, watching your gentle movements with her electric eyes. "Why are you not all freaked out about me?"

"I think..." You pause, considering how you want to word your thoughts. "I think you're smarter than most people give you credit for. You're a genius, Jinx. Just like you say. Sure, maybe you're a little reckless sometimes, but I've seen the things you bring me. The things you make. I doubt most people can dream up designs like yours."

She is silent. For the first time since you met the girl, there is a long stretch of silence between you two. You look up from your work, worried. You see something shift in her expression, like a crack in a mask you didn't know she was wearing. She looks vulnerable. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

"You like me." She smirks, pointing a finger at you as if she were accusing you of something. "You think I'm pretty and smart and you like me."

"I think you need to be more careful." You chuckle, returning to the gadget you were repairing. "Someday you may end up blowing yourself up, along with everything else."

"Maybe that's the point." She mutters under her breath, so softly that you almost don't hear it, but you do. You choose not to say anything for the meantime, turning back to your work as silence once again stretches between you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Over time, you became her calm. You don't know when it happened, or why. Jinx storms in and out of your life like a hurricane. Yet, you are fond of those rare, quiet moments when you get to see glimpses of something softer. Something she doesn't show to anyone else.

One night, she sits on the floor of your workshop, surrounded by blueprints and half-finished creations. For once, you have nothing to do but keep her company. You watch her tinker with a clockwork bomb, trusting that she won't blow you both to pieces.

"You really think I'm smart?" She asks suddenly. You take a deep breath in, leaning back in your uncomfortable wooden chair.

"I do. Of course I do. I wouldn't lie about that. I wouldn't lie to you at all, Jinx." You say calmly. She doesn't respond right away. Instead, she picks at a smear of grease on her palm. Her expression is impossible to read.

"Everyone else thinks I'm just crazy." She whispers, looking up at you. There's no teasing in her eyes. No crooked grin. She doesn't feel like an insane criminal. Just a girl who doesn't know how to take a compliment. "You're weird."

"And you're a genius. Don't forget that." You smile. She says nothing else, but you can see the soft smile on her lips. The real smile. You wish you could stay that moment, where the chaos feels a little quieter.

[st7rnioioss]

˚࿔ HANDYMAN!CHRIS x NEIGHBOR!READER introduction◞ ۶ৎ

HANDYMAN!CHRIS ... who is a bit flimsy and sleazy. sure, he’s a handyman, so his job is literally to repair and restore, so he often gets a little dirt on his hands. he has a hard shell, but once you’ve knocked through that, he’s a complete softie.

HANDYMAN!CHRIS ... who has his own little business. it’s not super huge, but he drives around town to fix broken sinks and showers, help people with broken down cars since he’s got some experience with being a mechanic, and broken pipes and loose tires. he’s a bit of an everything-man, but he knows exactly what he’s putting his hands on. he’s amazing at what he does, and that’s why the business is still up and running—plus his charming smile.

HANDYMAN!CHRIS ... who, speaking of charming, is a little skirt chaser. he currently doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he’d never turn down a hookup… though he’s not very active currently. his business has grown busy, but the town loves him, especially the older ladies down the street.

HANDYMAN!CHRIS ... who first met neighbor!reader in the laundry room in the basement of their apartment building. he had just moved in next to her and hadn’t gotten to say a proper hello—until he saw her. she quipped a small ‘hi’, and when the small talk evolved, they realized they were neighbors. and wow, was he lucky. he’s stunned, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and he gets to live next to you?

HANDYMAN!CHRIS ... who quickly adapted to the days you’d be in the laundry room. he “coincidentally” had dirty clothes the same day, which was just an excuse to talk to you while waiting for the laundry. one time, he took a snoop at the panties in your laundry basket, making sure to sneakily slip them into his old carhartt pants when you weren’t looking.

۶ৎ NEIGHBOR!READER ... who also has a hard shell. she’s not necessarily mean or rude, but it takes a little to get to know her. she’s not the type of girl to spill all her secrets after hanging out once or twice… but when she meets chris? she’s sure she wants to tell him her whole life story from the start, every single secret, every single fact about herself, her hidden talents, her birthmarks, everything.

۶ৎ NEIGHBOR!READER ... who is an absolute sweetheart to everyone once she gets to know them. example: every single tuesday, she helps the elderly woman on the second floor down to the basement with her laundry, while they chitchat about the recent gossip in the building and neighbor!readers studies. she’s so grateful and blessed to have people around her she loves, and is never too shy to offer a helping hand.

۶ৎ NEIGHBOR!READER ... who was literally giving chris heart eyes the first time she saw him. she loved the edge he had, the gruff stubble on his jaw, carpenter jeans, the keys in his belt loop. she was immediately wondering why they hadn’t seen each other before, and why she wasn’t latching onto him right now. she said a quick ‘hi’, watching him adjust the backward sitting cap, before averting her attention back to the washing machine.

۶ৎ NEIGHBOR!READER ... who actually noticed when chris snooped her underwear. she wasn’t stupid, no, not at all. she saw the lace peek out of his pocket when he turned to say goodbye, and she recounted her underwear when she got back inside her apartment. she just couldn’t wait to return the action differently.

۶ৎ NEIGHBOR!READER ... who’s got a little balcony where she’s looking over at chris, sometimes from the inside, sometimes outside. they’re facing the same road and could climb over to the other if they wanted. one night, she saw him sitting out there, marlboro pack on the tiny table he’s treated himself with, enjoying the view. she immediately climbed out there, acting all nonchalantly and as if she didn’t see him, purposely sitting so she was facing him, snooping over the book she was.. “reading”. and chris? oh, chris was enjoying the way she was too focused on him to notice the way her skimpy night shorts had ridden up her legs.

MASTERLIST

۶ৎ neighbor!reader getting back at handyman!chris after he stole her underwear 𓂃 ֹ genre,,fluff

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf

© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n: 2.3k - boothill finds you digging around in junk and then offers you a gift he hopes you won't refuse... [plsdontflopplsdontflopplsdont-]

the heavy metal clinking of boothill's foot steps clank their way to your shop's door. an all too familiar door he'd always find himself going up to whenever he was in need of repair- big or small. the swiveling security camera you keep at your entrance blinks with red-lit life and moves to start following his movements as soon as he enters it's field of vision.

who knows if you're ever actually paying attention to the camera feed or not though. you can be careless like that. sometimes you're just out- couldn't be bothered or could care less about the remote feed linked directly to your phone. other times, you're so focused on some project you neglect it entirely.

based on the sign hanging on your shop's door he was familiar with- it seemed that this time in particular you were out.

boothill didn't need to know how to write- much less read well- to take a wild gander as to where you had wondered off to. putting his spring loaded and metal jointed hands on his slim waist, his chin dips with an amused chuckle and shake of his head. the cowboy lifts the toe of his mechanical boot and twists his body fully 'round; his spurs scrapping across the ground during his lazy about-face. with one foot in front of the other and thumbs hooked through the hollow crops of his trousers, the galaxy ranger makes his way towards the junk yard.

it would never occur to the standard person to spend their free time digging around a scrap yard filled with junk thrown out for a reason- but you were anything but standard. if you weren't tinkering around in your shop or finishing up a repair or commission, you were scrounging around the grounds for material or 'hidden treasure'... which was key for just slightly more valuable junk.

a typical haul for you would be a few pieces of scrap metal you could use for wielding, the rare unstripped screw or loose gaggle of bolts, and all sorts of wire. if it saved you a few credits by finding material instead of buying them, you weren't one to argue with free trash.

passing under the wire-metal gate leading into the fenced-off territory, his thumbs still tucked into his pant legs, his ears stay sharp. listening for any sound of you digging around in some heap while his head swivels back and forth to try and catch a glimpse of you.

"ey, sugar, you around!" boothill shouts, one of his hands detaching from his hips to cup around his mouth. he wanders further in, gets more ground, before calling out the same sentence a second time. shaking his head in bewilderment on how far in you had gone digging, he goes even further still and tries calling out a third time.

"here!" you finally answer back. your voice echoes around him, bouncing off the scrap metal and spooking the rats and other critters that call the junk yard home. his head turns in the direction of your voice, the way his body leans towards it before his feet start carrying him that way never took notice in his own mind.

eventually, he makes it to you. squat down to the ground, under the rusty remains of some poor saps long eroded escape pod from whatever solar system they crashed in from. he crosses his arms, then his ankles, leaning his metal shoulder on the ruined dome you were digging under.

the ranger had no idea how long you had been out here, but judging by the half full bag you kept on your shoulder and the grease sticking to your neck and exposed skin he could guess it's been a bit. he chuckles when you dig out a rusted, broken pipe of... something, before tossing it over your shoulder with a disappointed click of your tongue and looking up at him. your cheeks had some gunk on it too, probably from you wiping the back of your gloves on it.

"fancy diggin' around in junk?"

"it's not all junk."

"the fudge it aint," he scoffs. to him, it absolutely was all junk. "this aint called the dang junk yard for nothin, sugar."

"it's a scrap yard."

"stubborn-bottom." you move to stand up, clapping your gloved hands together before taking them off so you could use your hands more freely. "good to see ya took my advice and startin' wearing some forkin' gloves around here." he eyes around at all the rust and sharp metal. "gonna get tetanus or somethin', and we can't have that."

"im liable to get tetanus from you before anything else," you joke so straight-faced it didn't feel like a joke. his crossed arms drop along with his jaw and his stance straightens as he uncrosses his ankles.

"ey', i aint as forkin' filthy as you pretend i am, and you know it." you shrug with a half smirk that was so dismissive he was tempted to keep arguing. you push the goggles you were wearing over your eyes to avoid getting anything in them and possible irritation onto your forehead. seeing the contrast between your sweaty, grease and dirt marked skin and the clean skin that was protected under the goggles had him scoff. "yer filthier than i am, by the look of things."

you roll your eyes and move to climb out of the rusty treasure trove of junk you had deemed no longer having anything of value. reaching out, boothill offers you his hand. you take it easily as he starts pulling you up and out to stand in front of him. your hand drops from his when you stand safely in his bubble, and he isn't sure if you know how close you are or not.

your nose is always so focused in tinkering around or messing with work that you can't always... read the room so to speak. its endearing, until it gets frustrating anyway.

"so, what're you here for this time? need something fixed again- i swear if you already burned through that new servo i replaced a month ago, im going to take off your arm and you won't get it back for a week."

"well, that's awful sweet of you." you knew by his dry tone and sneered lips that exposed his sharp teeth that the word sweet was definitely supposed to be a different five-letter word starting with 's'. one that his broken beacon (which you refuse to fix out of entertainment) wouldn't allow him to say.

"seems like an appropriate consequence to me, considering i don't charge you for repairs."

"i ain't here for not goose-dud repair," he hisses. "i had planned on givin' ya somethin', but based on your sweet attitude i aint so sure about it now."

"you brought me something?" he nods. "from a different solar planet?" he could see the curiosity start to ignite in your eyes. he nods again. you stuff your gloves into a pouch in your pants that he swears you've sewed another pocket into, before you're marching away from him and towards the entrance he had marched from at the beginning of this search. "well come on, let's get a moving!" you shout over your shoulder.

his synthetic voice chuckles at your back. eagerly waltzing after you.

boothill soon finds himself sitting with his knees apart and comfortably lounging with his arms on the back of your worn-down, two-cushioned couch the moment you two got back to the shop. he had taken himself to your quote- reception room, as he waited for you to unload your finds from the junkyard (meaning you just took your bag, flipped it upside and let its content spill out unceremoniously onto your worktable before you would eventually sort through it at a later time).

the tapping of his metal toes against your floor echoed dully against the rug under the sofa as you soon made your way to stand in front of him, hands on your hips and an expectant look in your eyes. flicking the brim of his hat cheekily to get a better look up at you, he lifted his chin.

"my attention is yours," you dramatically sigh, hands flaring to your sides before bouncing back against your legs.

"im flattered, sugar," he jests back. still, he shifts. the small pouch he had strung to his belt that was home to his array of extra fire rounds was soon detached from him. the string of which was used to tie it to him previously, hangs lazily from his metal fingertips. with a raised, semi-skeptical brow, you carefully take it off his hands.

"if this is some sort of prank," you warn. his hands raise in the air with his elbows still resting comfortably on the back of the cushions he was leaning against, gesturing that he meant no harm.

slowly- cautiously- you pull open the bag and remove two different items that had been nestled safely inside.

tossing the now empty bag onto the couch next to boothill's leg, you took each item into one hand and looked between them. one was a small crystal that was no larger than the center of your palm. shining a swirling color of green and blue, you could only imagine that it would look even prettier properly polished and with a light shining behind it. in the other was a small box, one that could be opened with a rusty lid. giving it a small rattle revealed something to be inside. doing so revealed a small robot that had been covered in rust, missing a robotic arm and wires spilling out from under the cracked and broken screen that would most definitely have acted as it's face.

"what's all this?" you ask softly. boothill stands from his lackadaisical lounging on your sofa to come and waltz up to your side. he pointed at the robot sitting sadly in the container he had brought him in first.

"i found this lil fella and thought you'd have a gas fixin' him right up. as for that," he points to the crystal of dual-swirling shades next, "accordin' to my scanners, that there's a pretty dadgum power source." boothill takes the small crystal from your palm and hovers it just above the robot. "it suits him, don't it?" he chuckles.

in truth, the slightly dingy looking crystal shard was too magnificent compared to the busted and rusted robot. but, with a bit of work, repair and love, perhaps the color of the crystal really would look nice against polished sheet metal.

"i figure givin' you somethin' else to tinker with would be more... enriching than just your usual forkin' machines." and it could keep you company, but he didn't say that out loud.

when you would get it working like he knew you could, maybe you'd stop and think about him while he was away chasing his reality out as a galaxy ranger. if you could just spare a single thought towards him every day because of a small robot and shiny rock? he'd be tickled pink.

"he's cute," you whisper gently and boothill wonders if you know you said it out loud at all. he chuckles, bringing his hand up to cup the designed dents atop his cowboy hat. taking it off his head, he gently drops it onto yours, gaining your attention back from the gifts he had given you.

the way you lift your eyes to look at him- filled with something akin to excitement and fondness- and gently cradle the small rusty robot with his hat now shadowing your face, he could almost hear the wires in his chest running on turbo. he'd had to cool down asap before he overheated or crashed.

taking a step back- for his own sake- he leaves his hat on your head before patting your back.

"get to it," he softly tells you. you mutely nod, an excited smile breaking out over your lips as you trot towards a different room. it was a small private work space you retreated to for personal projects. boothill was one that was usually allowed inside since this room was where he would get his tune ups most times.

with boothill following your back, he watches you trot to your work bench. you gently set the robot's box down and remove it from inside. the crystal you submerged in a bowl that you soon fill with polish to let it soak. it took all of ten minutes before you're surrounded by tools and wires and equipment made for digital repairs. all the while boothill remade his comfort in a worn-down rocker you kept in the corner, content on staying put until he was forced to leave. whether it by your or by his next bounty.

he couldn't very well leave you with his hat either, even if it looked better on you than him.

the next time boothill comes into your shop after that gift drop off, it wasn't a visit but a proper repair. running out of cooling agent for his internal hardware was just waiting for a disaster to happen. his synthetic-coded laugh burst into the room jollily as when he sat down on the stool he always planted his ass in for repairs, a small, shiny robot- with the cutest digital expressions and a small blue-green swirling crystal placed in the center of its chest- was waddling across your work bench. a vile of blue cooling agent the near size of his small metal body grasped tightly in its robotic arms.

it chirped happily with a digital reverb when you thank it for bringing the coolant over.

boothill was indeed tickled as pink could get seeing you already attached to the lil fella. he wondered what you named it.

a/n: smol robot go beep-boop (i love the idea of mechanic!reader just having a cute lil guy to follow them around like a puppy :(( [big thanks to @/birinboom and my partner for letting me pick their brain on what gifts boothill ended up giving to the reader bc i had no idea lol smooches <3]

[fyodoro]

ೃ༄ JUST AN INCH AWAY…

ft. Alhaitham, Scaramouche, and Wriothesley

… who said making out was the only way to escape such a predicament? neither of you, apparently. but if it works, it works— even if it wasn’t intentional.

gn!reader, suggestive but not rlly bordering on smut, puzzles gone wrong, forced proximity and enemies with tension type thing, lots of kissing, lots of making out, profanity, harbinger scara, akademiya/academic rival alhaitham | wc : 5.4k

a big thank you to @vxnuslogy for going over scara’s bit for me cause i’ve grown vv unfamiliar with his character over the years, so thank you vee !!

ALHAITHAM (1.7k wc)

”I swear to Archons, the second I get out of here I’m burning your thesis to ashes.”

Alhaitham’s unbothered expression didn’t falter. “Such a bold assumption. You really think you’re capable of escaping without me?” he reviled, using the split-second your mind went blank as an opportunity to shove you away to an adjacent wall.

Your brows furrowed, hand clutching your side in response to the fleeting moment of pain. “You better do something if this bruises, asshole,” you sneered.

”What sense does it make for me to do something about someone else’s problem?” he retorted, gray strands gone astray as he ran a hand through them.

This might’ve been the most stressed out you’ve ever seen him, you think. It makes plenty of sense, too. You wouldn’t be shocked if he was living out his worst nightmare right now. Two of the things he hates most— you, and a problem he can’t solve— is all he has to work with right now.

Actually, calling this his worst nightmare might be the understatement of the century.

“Two Akademiya students trapped in a cell… oh, all the possibilities. Did I mention they hate each other? That’s a key detail if I do say so myself.”

”I’m trying to focus here,” he said, tone as cold as the very peak of Dragonspine. 

You squatted down beside him, watching his skillful hands work with the broken device that got you trapped here in the first place. “You’re trying to focus, I’m bored. You don’t wanna spend your potential last minutes alive with me, and vice versa. Let’s face it, neither of us are winning here, so you might as well stop being a buzzkill for once.”

”These won’t be my last moments alive, but they might be yours if you don’t pipe down.”

You frowned without another word, surveying his working hands as they meticulously fidgeted with the dysfunctional rune. They’re… nice, you think, oddly enough. The thought alone made you wanna gag, but it wouldn’t be the first time you noticed them.

It also wouldn’t be the first time you noticed his nose scrunches whenever he’s concentrated. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but in this instance, it’s different— you’ve never seen it close up before. Every other time you just happened to catch it from across your shared classroom amidst a lesson, or the Akademiya’s library. No matter the case, there’s never been an appropriate time to tease him about it.

Does this count as an appropriate time? Probably not, but your mouth thinks otherwise.

“You’re gonna have bunny lines by the time you’re 24 if you don’t stop doing that.”

For a moment, he stops. His darkly lit nose inhaled deeply before turning to you, exasperation evident in his eyes. 

“That’s hypocritical, you do it more than me.”

You didn’t waste a second to fire back, eyes locking in on his with jest. “So you confess? You’ve been staring at me, hm?” 

“Do you hear yourself? You admitted the same thing just a moment ago,” he breathed, voice hitching in his throat from the intense irritation he was feeling. He opened his mouth hastily to speak again, but closed it just as fast, resuming his repair of the broken device. 

You scoffed, standing back up to stretch your limbs with a yawn. Just how long has it been now? Minutes? Hours? There was only so much longer you could take, and your patience was running just as thin as Alhaitham’s. 

“Surprise, surprise… you’re doing it again.”

“When we get out of here, I’m sending you to those Kshahrewar scholars. Maybe they’ll be able to install a mute button on you.” 

“I just think you’re jealous of me. Y’know, people actually like me, but I know that’s not the case for you.”

“Fortunately, I couldn't care any less about anyone’s opinion of me. Unlike you, remember?” he reminded, looking up at you from the corner of his eye. “You had a breakdown in the library because you eavesdropped on a group of Amurta students calling you a stuck-up know-it-all.”

Your teeth clenched together, brain stuttering over its thoughts. “That’s because I’m not! I didn’t even know any of them, they were just making stuff up—“

Alhaitham’s ears tuned you out, index finger clicking the last piece together on the rune, getting it to light up successfully. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead before picking himself up off the ground with a small huff.

“That’s why I was so upset, okay?” you finished, arms shrugged in a defensive manner. Your lips were pressed into a straight line, and your brows only raised at the realization— he wasn’t listening to a single word you said.

“Save your breath,” he started, gesturing to the supposedly fixed mechanism. “We’ll be out of each other’s sight soon.”

“Ohoho,” you chuckled dryly, “not soon enough.” 

You crouched down to the newly repaired rune, fidgeting with it as the symbols changed. Not a single one made the small cell’s bars budge, let alone lift. Slapping a hand to your forehead, you groaned in defeat. 

“Well my good friend, aren’t you just a genius,” you taunted.

“If you had a sliver of patience in that dense head of yours, you’d have known to wait another minute or so.”

“In my defense, you never told me to wait,” you spat. “In fact, it sounded like you wanted me to try it out just so you could call me a fool.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples immediately. “Don’t twist my words. The only one making yourself look like a fool is you.”

“Archons,” you cried out. “All of this could’ve been avoided if you weren’t such a dickhead.”

“And we could’ve had a peaceful time in here if you knew how to shut up.”

“The only way you’re getting me to shut up is if you make me. Otherwise, it’ll be a hot, sunny day in Snezhnaya when I decide to listen to you.”

That was Alhaitham’s final straw. 

“Make you?” he spoke, tall frame slowly moving down towards yours on the ground. The only source of light came from a lone torch beyond the bars that enclosed your cell, and the tiny blue light that glowed from the rune. “Just how can I ‘make you’ shut up?”

You shrugged, taking a moment to note how much closer he was compared to before. 

“Not a clue my dude, not a clue,” you said, mischief lacing your voice. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Oh, you know… unless you have a bright idea.” 

You tilted your head to the side, smirking as confliction appeared on his face. His brows have been furrowed for some time now due to your antics, though right now, they looked as if they were slanted out of focus, not fury. The lack of light made it hard to see his eyes clearly, but you swear you caught a glint of desire hidden within them.

He grabbed the back of your head with a solid grip, closing the gap between your faces as his lips took over yours. 

Your eyes shut out of instinct, though his remained half lidded for a few more seconds. He didn’t miss how speedy you were to kiss back, not to mention grab onto his gray locks. You tugged on them, hard. It was just the push he needed to pull your body closer to his, leaving no more space between you two.

Contrary to his cold attitude, his lips were warm, wait— no, he was warm. His body warmed yours, heat rushing to all parts of your body as he moved his hand down from the back of your head to your lower back, holding on tightly when you moved against him. 

Paired with the heat of the moment, the action pulled a small moan from your lips. Alhaitham’s quick thinking allowed him to slide his tongue past your lips at the opening. You didn’t give any pushback, eagerly accepting the wet muscle with a quiet whine. 

Hands flew everywhere— his hair was nothing short of a mess, and you were sure yours wasn’t so neat either. Each time you broke away for air was cut short by Alhaitham, who couldn’t bear a single second without attacking your lips. The only noises that filled the confined room were his grunts and your quiet whimpers, though an occasional moan was thrown into the mix. 

You felt his strong arms move you back, attempting to push your back against the ground for better control. However, his efforts went to waste as you yelped, breaking the kiss to turn around and fiddle with something.

“Oh shit,“ you uttered under your breath. “Look at what you pushed me into.”

He moved away from your body, taking a minute to catch his breath before averting his attention to behind you. What he saw was something be couldn’t believe he forgot about— the rune that got you both stuck in the first place.

As if on cue, it began to blink, followed by thick bars lifting into the ceiling. You laughed loudly, feverish look still apparent on your face from what happened moments prior. 

“You—“ he started, standing up from the cell’s floor in embarrassment. “You are not to speak of this, we are not to bring this up again, got that?” 

Extending a hand out to you, he helped pull you off the ground begrudgingly. You scratch the back of your head sheepishly, looking at anything that wasn’t Alhaitham.

“No promises?” 

He could only scoff at your response, exiting the cell that he so desperately wanted to escape from not so long ago with a frown. Before he could reach the stairwell that led you down here, he turned back to face you. 

“Are you coming?” 

“I— uh…” you stumbled over your words, trying to make sense of everything that just transpired. “Yes! Don’t go without me, you hear?”

He rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

If this ever happens again, you can only hope your “undying” hatred for Alhaitham won’t waver afterwards. Now you have to bicker with an asshole who just so happened to have had his tongue in your mouth… not to mention he might be the best kisser you’ve ever met.

Great.

SCARAMOUCHE (1.3k wc)

The room was tight, stuffy, and so hot. 

Well, maybe the heat you felt was your own body temperature. It’s a natural reaction, you think. Yeah, a very, very natural reaction to being in such close proximity with someone you just so happened to find attractive. 

Pushing your bubbling feelings aside, you acknowledge the situation at hand. 

“This is your fault— all your fault!” 

“My fault? Did you forget who set off the wrong mechanism?” Scaramouche barked, furious eyes narrowing in on you. “Incase you somehow forgot, allow me to refresh that poor little memory of yours— it was you,” he hissed, the faint shadow of a smirk etched across his lips added a venom drip onto his words.

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, one that could most definitely be heard from the outside of the small chamber you found yourself trapped in. Seriously, who in their right mind thought it’d be a good idea to send you and the 6th Harbinger on a mission together? No, scratch that. Who thought it’d be a good idea to send him on a mission with anyone besides his masochistic subordinates?

The Tsarsita, apparently. 

Searching for any sign of an exit, your hand brushed against Scaramouche’s. For once, he landed on the same page as you.

“What do you think you're doing?” he spat, swatting your hand away as if it were a mere little fly.

You backed yourself against the wall defensively. The old bricks only extended a few feet wide; just a mere foot away from the other side, too. Unfortunately, this is physically the closest you’ve ever been to the Inazuman, a fact that made you sick. Archons, did it have to be him? Of all people, why was he the one you were trapped with?

“I’m trying to get us out of here. Y’know, so I don’t have to stare at your wretched face any longer.”

“No one’s forcing you to stare at anything, moron.” Groaning, his head motioned back to hit the wall behind it. “Look! So much dust, so much dirt, and it’s all right in front of you!” he sneered tauntingly. “How about you count every little dust particle your eyes can see while I get us out of here?” 

You hadn’t even realized he’d been drawing closer and closer the longer he spoke. Unintentionally, probably. Still, there was hardly any space to begin with, and now he literally had you cornered. 

That part may be intentional, you think.

“I’d rather count every single split-end from that hair of yours, since the darkness wasn’t kind enough to hide them for you.”

He deadpanned at your rebuttal, “Oh, like that has to do with anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll still be counting even after we get out of here,” you tauntingly whispered, face unconsciously growing closer to his. “If you’d open your mind for a moment… I’d recommend seeing a barber when we return.”

“You little—“ his voice came to an abrupt stop, gleaming eyes sharpening in the dimly lit room as he gritted his teeth. 

“Little what? Go on, don’t cut yourself off now,” you mocked, a grin of michief creeping onto your features. “Am I a little bitch, or a little pest? Oh, maybe you had something more creative in mind? Come on now, don’t keep me wai—“

Before you could finish your sentence— hell, before he could think, his lips lunged at yours, capturing them between his own as he pinned your hands on either side of your head firmly.

Your eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated in shock as you processed what was happening. The Balladeer was kissing you. He went from taunting you… to… kissing you…? And it felt good? You didn’t think you hated it. No, you definitely didn’t hate it. 

Kissing back slowly, you gripped onto the hands that restrained yours for better support. Oddly enough, his hold loosened, opting to intertwine your fingers instead. 

He felt something. Heat, maybe? Yeah, that must be it. It was hot. Obviously his mechanical body wasn’t immune to the dangers of overheating, especially when it’s pressed up against an even warmer body. It wasn’t like anything he felt before— of course he felt himself craving more. 

He broke the kiss briefly to hoist you upwards, moving his hands down to signal you to jump. Without thinking, you wrapped your legs around his slim frame instinctively. His hands that went from yours, to beneath your knees, now kept a firm grip on the plush of your thighs as the kiss deepened.

Small snippets of air was all you needed to keep going, something Scaramouche didn’t understand. Every time you pulled away for a gasp of air, his brows furrowed in judgment. Humans, he thinks to himself. Not even lust can cloud their senses. The string of saliva was all that connected your bodies. That is— if you didn’t count your hold around his neck or his now wandering hands. 

As he dove back in to resume, you felt yourself pushed against the wall— harder, somehow. The force had you groan, now feeling just how dirty the small room was. Scaramouche couldn’t give a shit, of course. Instead, he thought now was the perfect moment to trail his lips down to your neck. 

Your head lolled back, allowing him all the access he needed. He nipped and nipped— creating a pattern between sucking, biting, and kissing. Honestly, you were too dazed to care if he left a mark at this point. You let your thighs tremble in his hold, aching from both the thrill and the need. Letting your head rest against the wall entirely, you—

Bump!

Both yours and Scaramouche’s eyes widened, only to close tightly at the sudden light. He turned away from you, squinting at the brightness that came in the other direction. “What the…”

Oh, the door lifted.

“How did it—“

The Balladeer’s hands dropped from your body, retreating to his sides. You still kept a hold on him— limbs not showing any sign of letting him move freely, but you were just as perplexed as him. 

“Let go.”

“If you drop me and I break something, you better pay for—“

He rolled his eyes, forcing your legs off of him and sliding down to escape your grip around his neck. You fell, hard. Grumbling to yourself, you stood back up on your own two feet with annoyance. 

Freedom was just a foot away, yet neither of you moved an inch. Scaramouche’s eyes darted from you, to the wall behind you, catching the key to the chamber’s doors. 

Of course.

He pressed his hand against the loose brick. “Your head was right here, correct?”

“I’m pretty sure… yeah?” you answered, turning around to examine his actions. 

He slapped his forehead in agitation, laughing to himself. You were starting to catch on now, understanding what caused your escape route. 

“I can’t believe it,” he breathed, chuckling. “You were so needy, your big head somehow pushed the brick that opened the doors.” 

For once, you ignored his insult. “Then— can we get out of here before it closes again?”

His eyes darkened, returning to his menacing aura. You gulped, feeling less cocky after the predicament you found yourself in a minute prior. He pointed his index finger at you— as if he were about to order you around like one of his subordinates.

“Only if you agree to never speak of this to anyone, you got that?”

You nodded slowly, itching to get out of here and complete this mission in another few hours. “Okay… okay.”

“Good,” he started, turning his back to you. “We can finish this later, but that’ll be it.”

That was, in fact, not the last time such an encounter occurred between you both. But hey, there’s a thin line between hate and love, right? 

Surely it wouldn’t be a problem to dance on that line a little longer…

WRIOTHESLEY (2.3k wc)

How in Teyvat does the very Duke of the Fortress of Meropide forget his keys? Better yet, how did the lock on the outside of the cell click on its own?

“This place is haunted, it’s gotta be,” you wailed, dramatically flopping yourself down on the cell’s stiff mattress. “Hey, Great ol’ Duke, I’ve got an idea for you.”

The hands that were previously fiddling with the lock on the other side of the cell came to a halt. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before darting his eyes in your direction. 

“Oh, sure. Please, tell me, what are you scheming this time?” 

“Me? Scheming? Just how little do you think of me?”

He huffed, giving his attention back to the matter at hand: getting out of this cell and far, far away from you.

“I don’t think anything of you, but I do know,” he grumbled, cursing himself for never gluing the keys to his hand. “And what I know is that you should’ve been out of here the moment your sentence ended. But instead, you thought it’d be fun to stick around and climb the ranks amongst the gardes here.”

“With ease, if you don’t mind adding that bit on.”

“I do, actually.”

“Whatever,” you whisper to yourself, staring up at the ceiling that reached so high above. By now it was a view you were sick of, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

All you wanted to do was give Wriothesley his daily dose of torment. Instead, you wound up following him into an old cell, one that he meant to clean up before the door slammed shut, effectively locking the two of you back up. Both yours and his blood ran cold at the realization: you were trapped— together.

“This might be the worst day of my life,” he said, stone-faced. 

“You and me both, Duke.”

He slid down the wall next to the cell door, legs spread out as his head hung low in defeat. “We’re gonna be here for a while before someone gets us outta here.”

“And the thinker of the year award goes to… Wriothesley! Congrats, you figured out the obvious,” you cheered, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “I’ll get you a medal sometime soon, don’t worry.”

“Aren’t you a thoughtful one,” he deadpanned, sick to his stomach from your presence alone. 

“Aren’t I?” you mused. 

He let out a deep sigh, wishing he had someone else to keep him company right now. Sigwinnie would be his top pick, with the Traveler coming as a close second. But you? Yeah, you weren’t even last on the list of people he’d pick; not a trace of your name could even be found on it.

The goal was to tidy up some old cells, maybe a few of the bathrooms too if he was feeling up to it. Unfortunately, nothing comes according to plan for Wriothesley when you're in a three mile radius. You’ve made it your life’s goal to annoy him to bits— torture him to bits, as he thinks of it. So when he saw you making your way down the same hall as him, he tried to make a beeline out of your sight.

Key word: tried.

He tried, and failed miserably.

He pats his pockets down once again, making sure he didn’t miss his keys the last four times he checked. To no avail, there was nothing. Awesome— great, he thinks. This might be the worst mistake of his life.

“You do realize…” he began, standing back up to peer outside the strong bars. “If you hadn’t followed me around like some annoying pest— which you are, by the way— there might’ve been someone on the other side of these bars to alert someone sooner.”

You laughed at the seriousness in his voice. “You must be really deluded to think that I’d ever bother helping you out in any shape, way, or form.”

“That’d be a charge,” he informed, as if he knew every little detail in Fontaine’s code of law. “Reckless endangerment, that’s what they call it.”

“Yeah, they call it reckless endangerment. I like to call it minding my own business.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms from across the room. “It’s a miracle you’ve yet to face another trial.”

“I’m wounded,” you cried out, sitting up from the hard mattress. “To believe you’d think I’d ever commit another crime… I feel my heart breaking already.” 

The poor performance you put on was entertaining, he’d give you that much. As much as he disliked you, even he couldn’t deny the intriguing aura you carried. Would he admit it out loud? Absolutely not. But thinking of a foe’s positive trait couldn’t hurt, right? 

Maybe a little…

Staring off into nothing, you missed the moment Wriothesley treaded closer to you. Snapping out of your daze, your eyes shot up at his, shifting from a gaze to a glare in a millisecond. 

“Visiting hours are closed, come back another time— but keep in mind they’ll still be closed.” 

“Not visiting, just trying to take a seat that isn’t on a filthy floor,” he corrected, gesturing to move from the middle of the bed to the end.

“You sure you don’t need a check up from Sigwinnie?” you laughed dryly, finding humor in his train of thought. “Seriously, what makes you think I’m sharing a bed with you?”

“Don’t make it sound like that—“

“Like what?” you cut off, grinning to no one but yourself. “Like we’re sharing a bed all night? Like we’re gonna snuggle up next to each other because we’re so deprived of warmth? Oh, maybe you’re thinking it’ll end up with us—“

He lets you ramble, ignoring each word that slips from your lips; allowing his brain to replace the sound of your voice with the sound of a fly that’s been buzzing in his office all day. No longer caring about close proximity, he plopped himself down on the bed with a soft grunt. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you sneered, shoving his annoyingly muscular frame away from you. 

“Laying down,” he said, letting his arms spread out across the bed— one of which landing behind you. “I might as well get comfortable for the time being.”

You glared down at him, feeling your eye twitch at his antics. “Well now I’m not comfortable thanks to you. I’m sure the floor would be far more welcoming, don’t you agree?” 

“I only agree with the voice in my head, wanna guess what he’s saying?” He stared blankly at the ceiling above as he spoke, starting to feel exhaustion cloud over his mind.

“Not really.”

“Too bad, I’m telling you anyway.” Moving the hand behind your figure, he pointed at his head. “He’s telling me you should shut up before I’m forced to do something about it.” 

You laughed meekly, “Well, isn’t he just a little comedian in the making.” 

“There you go. See, it wasn’t that hard, was it? I knew you were capable of saying something with an ounce of truth.”

“That was sarcasm, Duke.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you said it, so…” He sat up slowly, now plastered to your side as he stared daggers into you. “I don’t care.”

You shifted in your spot, goosebumps crawling up your skin at the room’s sudden change of mood. As much as you hated the man (for no apparent reason other than conflicting personalities, if you may add), it didn’t make you blind to his looks— body— his charm. 

Those factors only fuel your hatred, actually. 

Over the years, spoiling Wriothesley’s day has become a part of your daily routine. Every day you woke up with the same recurring thought: ‘What’ll piss him off today?’ and ‘How will he respond today?’ 

Whenever you don’t run into him, you can’t help but feel disappointed. "Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say to yourself at day’s end, thinking of all the ways you can get on his nerves later. 

You hated him so, so much. You only hated him more when he wasn’t a part of your day. 

“Getting a little close there, arentcha?” 

“You’ve yet to push me away, too,” he noted. 

You stared into your lap with an unreadable expression. “Don’t get the wrong idea or anything, you’re just a good— decent substitute for a heater.” 

He hummed, going silent for a minute or so. For once, it felt… peaceful between you two. If peaceful was even the right word, which you and him both doubted. 

Tense might be a better way to describe the atmosphere. 

“If you’d prefer a better heater…” he started, voice trailing off as he furrowed his brows at his thoughts. “I can improve myself, if you don’t mind.”

If you don’t mind? You were taken aback in confusion, unsure of what he was implying. “What are you talking about? How… how would that even work?”

His lips press into a thin line for a second, a second that you regretfully missed. When you do look at him, he’s no longer glaring at you— just staring. It was hard to make out the emotions written across his face. Unsure? Confident? Both, somehow?

He took a deep breath. “Like this,” he said before diving in.

Grayish-blue eyes shut tightly as his lips locked onto yours. Your lips parted farther in shock, giving his tongue access almost immediately. This isn’t an opportunity anyone can come by quite easily with Wriothesley— or you for that matter. Wanting those bragging rights more so than he himself, you indulged in his feverish kiss while you could.

But oh— he was right. It was so much warmer now, no longer feeling the chills you felt earlier. You hated when he was right, despised it, even. The strong feelings only escalated the kiss further, and Archons… not once did you think Wriothesley of all people would be able to turn you to mush so easily. 

Your lungs burned for oxygen, as did his. You both pulled away for a moment, staring into each other’s clouded eyes without a thought.

“I don’t mind,” you responded to his question from before. “Well— as long as you don’t mind.”

He opened his mouth to speak, only to get cut off by you pouncing on him. You were no longer at each other’s sides, turning at an awkward angle to indulge in one another. Now, you had him pinned down to the old, bare mattress, moving your lips against his with far more rhythm than before.

Kissing back, he managed to motion his wrists out of your grip, leaving you to stutter over your movements before settling your hands on either side of his chest, still straddling him. As for him, his hands didn’t hesitate to hold onto your hips. 

In all fairness, this is a pretty effective way to get each other to shut up. It kept your mouths busy, not to mention it was hot, something you never thought you’d hear yourself think regarding Wriothesley.

Your hands moved to his bi-colored locks, tugging on the gray and black strands to keep yourself grounded as his hands explored your body. You hate that you’re enjoying this as much as you are. It’d be a different story if this were anyone else— then you’d bask in the pleasure without complaint. But this is the man you swore you wanted dead for years…

Much to your dismay, that thought only added more thrill to the situation. 

The kiss was wet— messy. Every break for air was spent uncovering every little detail on his face. He has nice eyelashes, you think. His eyes also look really fucking pretty when they’re half-lidded like this. Going back in, you felt a soft squeeze on your ass, which was soon followed by Wriothesley breaking the kiss.

You looked down at him with a curious gaze, brow lifted in both annoyance and wonder. Before you could ask what’s wrong, he pushed you off him in one swift motion.

Yelping in surprise, you sharpened your glare. “The hell was that for? If you wanted to stop, you coulda just said that!” 

“Check your pocket.” he demanded, now standing up with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My pocket?” You stared at him in disbelief, a flurry of emotions sworming your brain. 

He didn’t reply, only staring you down harder than before. With no other option, you dug your hand into your back pocket, eyes widening the second you felt metal.

Right… that’s how you got into this mess in the first place.

Chuckling awkwardly, you revealed the ring of keys to Wriothesley, holding them up besides your face in embarrassment.

He didn’t move, only glaring at you even more now that you’ve been caught.

“So…” your voice dragged out, eyes trailing down to the floor. “I may or may not have stolen these from you when you weren’t looking. Y’know, before we got stuck in here. And… I may or may not have… uh, forgot? Yeah, I forgot I had these.”

You stood from the bed shamefully, planting the keys in his hand without a glance. He stood still for a moment, too baffled at the absurdity of the past— what was it? Hour? 30 minutes? 

He cleared his throat. “I think it goes without saying that I’m getting back at you for this. Later, that is.”

You nodded your head, mentally noting to avoid him at all costs for the remainder of the week— no matter how much it conflicts with your usual routine. The keys jingled from across the room, where Wriothesley was now finally unlocking the cell door.

“I’ll be on my way,” you chirped, attitude doing a complete 180. 

Before you could exit the run-down cell, someone gripped the back of your shirt.

“Not so fast,” he chuckled darkly. “You’re coming with me.”

You gulped, blood draining from your face at his words. “Oh, am I now?” you mocked quietly, not a bit of confidence to be heard in your voice for once.

“We need to pick up where we left off, don’t we? I can throw my pay back in, too.”

At least you and him have an… ethical… way of shutting each other up now…

© fyodoro 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🧠🪱

Happy hump day, let's unleash those brainworms!

Recent high school graduate Steve, freshly disowned, moving into his first very own apartment. The place is dark and smells funny, the wallpaper is peeling off in places, and the property management firm has a shitty reputation, but beggars can’t be choosers. Anything’s preferable to sticking his feet under his dad’s stupid mahogany table and listening to his bigoted bullshit for another day, right? 

After a long and tiresome moving day involving a broken elevator and lugging all of his boxes up three flights of stairs, Steve has just hit the shower to wash off the sweat when a pipe bursts, cutting off his hot water supply and flooding his ugly, puke-colored floor tiles. Cursing, naked and soapy-haired, Steve slips his way over to the telephone to call the landlord's office. A bored-sounding lady tells him that they’ll send someone over, then hangs up without waiting for a reply. 

Steve has barely even slipped a pair of boxers over his wet ass when the doorbell rings. He opens, only find himself face to face with a long-haired, tattooed guy about his own age. He's clad in a tank top and overalls, carrying a toolbox in one hand and holding a burning cigarette in the other. 

“Hi,” says the guy, dark eyes raking up and down Steve's bare chest. ‘I'm here about the leaky pipe?” 

“Oh,” Steve says, surprised, because damn, that's a swift response time. “Sure, come on in.” 

The guy does, shuffling into the apartment and on to the bathroom without waiting for directions. Steve is left loitering uncertainly in his own hallway. He doesn't need to loiter long, fortunately, because not five minutes later, the guy shuffles back out, drying his hands on one of Steve’s towels, cigarette now dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

“There you go,” he grins, tossing the towel at Steve. “Enjoy your shower.” 

“Thanks,” says Steve, patting his back pocket for his wallet until he remembers that, one, he's not wearing pants, and two, he spent the last of his cash on a vending machine drink earlier because he was fucking parched from carrying all those boxes. “Erm, I'd tip you, but-” 

“Nah, leave it,” says the guy, and wiggles his eyebrows. “The view is more than enough for compensation.” 

Several hours later, Steve is just on his way to bed, the door rings again. It's a grumpy older dude who says he's come to fix the shower. 

“No, it's okay,” Steve says. “Your colleague was here earlier and took care of it.” 

The man laughs. “Colleague? Ha, I wish. There's just me, why d’you think it took me so long?” 

He trudges off, grumbling something under his breath about wasted time, leaving behind a dumbstruck Steve. 

If that was the repair guy … who fixed his shower?

(His name is Eddie. He's a mechanic and lives in the apartment under Steve’s. He's well familiar with the leaky pipes, and when he saw the water running down from his own bathroom ceiling, he immediately knew what the problem was. He also now knows what Steve looks like half naked. They're off to a great start.) 

Tagging some friends to share their own:

@postmodernau @steddie-island @sparkle-fiend @sidekick-hero @slippy-slip

@xgumiho @stevesbipanic @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @pearynice @thefreakandthehair

[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: What they do in their free time

Marko

- Beach-combing

- Since low and hide tide happen often at night or early in the morning when it’s still dark he gets to comb the beach for new TriNkEts

- David always yells at him when he returns from his treasure hunting with “more crap”

- There is a TON of sea glass in his corner of the cave. It’s all kept in glass jars, but he keeps the red pieces in a separate little jar because that color is super hard to find

- He also likes to look for washed up toys, bottle necks, and shiny rocks

- HE DESPERATELY WANTS A ROCK TUMBLER

- Unfortunately they are expensive, and Dwayne says that there isn’t enough electricity flowing through the cave to power one

Paul

- Ease dropping

- This man LIVES for the DRAMA

- He doesn’t even know the people he is ease dropping on or who they are talking about, but you bet your bottom dollar he doesn’t mind his tea unfamiliar and piping hot!

- Because he is with the boys 24/7 they really don’t have any secrets between them (that Paul knows of )

- So he has to get his tea fix elsewhere

- He likes to listen in on conversations while he’s in line for rides

- at the record store

- around the food vendors

- he gets lots of tea from just hanging out on the beach and at the local drive in

- You would be surprised the amount of people who talk during movies….

- His ease dropping skills have come in handy on occasion

- Every once in awhile a vampire hunter will wander into town, and start asking the locals questions they have no business asking

- Paul usually hears of their arrival through the grapevine and is able to warn the boys

Dwayne

- Helping out Laddie’s family

- It’s kind of sick that he does this, but he honestly can’t help himself

- After Max brought Laddie to the boys, Dwayne couldn’t help checking out Laddies kin and seeing for himself what this kid’s background was like

- It wasn’t great

- They lived in a run down apartment complex, that was missing half its ruff and probably hadn’t passed an inspection in 20 years

- After some snooping around, and stalking the place a few nights Dwayne was able to determine that Laddie had an aunt (who was his guardian it seemed ) a sister a few years older then him, and a 5 year old cousin

- At first Dwayne HELLA judged the aunt, because clearly if Laddie was able to find his way to the board walk and into the arms of Max, she was not keeping an eye on him in the first place

- He witnessed her grief, her tears, her confusion, when she realized Laddie was missing

- he gave her no sympathy for what he thought were the consequences of her incompetence

- but then

- He witnessed a family dinner in their small apartment that changed his opinion

- They were all sitting down to eat dinner, when there was a knock on the door. One of the children who lived in the apartment complex stopped by to play with Laddie’s sister. The aunt was just about to tell the boy to come back later, when the boy’s stomach growled. And it wasn’t a “ I’m a little peckish” or “ gee I forgot to eat lunch” type of growl. It was an“ I haven’t eaten in a few days” growl

- Without hesitation, she gave her meal to the boy and told him to come back whenever he had no food to eat at home

- Dwayne found himself to be in a little bit of a dilemma after this

- He felt guilty, but sending Laddie back wasn’t an option anymore

- The kid was half vampire now and he belonged with his brothers

- But then he noticed the lock on the door was broken, and the least he could do would be to fix it. So he snuck in once everyone was asleep and took care of it

- And then he fixed the leaky faucet

- And the loose cabinet

- And the floor board that was coming up would only take two nails to get back into place, so he might as well fix it, right?

- Dwayne soon found himself paying the apartment a weekly visit to repair stuff here and their

- Laddies aunt just assumed that the landlord decided to do his job for once and so doesn’t suspect anything

David

- breaking into Max’s house

- He LOVES to screw with Max and he would do it on a nightly basis if he could

- But

- The boys *cough cough* Paul and Marko, would probably be a tad too destructive if they came along

- Together the boys like to find vampire related objects and leave them outside Max’s house as a joke

- They’ve left costume vampire teeth

- Cloves of garlic

- Fake blood packets

- Vampire comic books

- The bat kite we see in the movie

- Max secretly finds it endearing though!

- He’s sons are playing little pranks on him and he find’s it adorable

- But what Max doesn’t know is that David takes it a step farther

- Max doesn’t lock his door, because, you know, he’s a vampire and he has Thorn to guard the place when he’s gone

- Max some how has not figured out yet that David likes to spend time in his home when he’s not there

- I think it’s because Max spends a decent amount of time around the boys, so that their scents feels normal to have around and be on his clothes. So when it’s been a long night at the video store, and he strolls into his house and can smell David it doesn’t feel out of the ordinary

- David has slowly become cordial with Thorn. I would say friend, but Thorn would rip David to shreds if Max gave him the command. But! if David brings Thorn a nice, juicy bone, then he will let him pass

- Kind of like Cerberus

- David likes to sit on Max’s back porch, and in his recliner

- He likes to snoop around his books and in his desk drawers

- He will swipe cash here and there when he finds it

- He just really likes the idea of being in Max’s space with out Max’s permission

[daveth-isnt-dead]

To Feel Vicariously

Summary:

No matter how hard she tries to dream about him, to moan his name in the night with her hand buried between her thighs. The truth always returns like a thunderclap, the knowledge that if she were to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. “I may have a solution to this quandary.” The Herald says softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip with something more akin to scientific curiosity than any sort of affection, “If you would be willing to indulge in some experimentation.”

Contains: she/her pronouns, explicit sexual content, bittersweet ending.

Word Count: 9,072

Read on AO3

It’s early the the evening, and the light of the setting sun creeps in through the multicolored windows of the greenhouse, casting shadows in the shapes of various plants across the floor. Usually, she would be home with her mother for dinner by now, but she can be stubborn and until she finishes her work she isn’t going to be able to get any sleep. So she ignores the setting sun as best she can. Most of the commune members milling about outside don’t pay her any mind, they know not to interrupt while she is busy. 

She huffs a breath, as she continues working to repair one of the sprinklers before anyone else notices that it’s broken. She has already checked all the connections on this end of the pipe and found no issues, so all she can do is re-tighten the bolts she undid earlier and hope that she can locate the problem before sundown. It’s just as she struggles with the last turn of the wrench that she notices the Herald is standing outside. 

He’s speaking to someone, gesticulating lightly and she follows the movement of his hands with probably too much rapt attention. The light of the sun turns his hair orange and casts a vibrant light across his reflective form that leaves him awash in summer-gold brilliance. There is work she should be doing, but the Herald is less intimidating from a distance and she likes to look when she can. Suddenly, his eyes meet hers through the glass walls and she freezes, still crouched on the ground with a wrench in hand. Her throat suddenly dries with reckless anticipation. 

The Herald does start heading towards her and that makes her hands start shaking. She drops the wrench with a clang, cursing under her breath as she picks it back up and tries to calm her racing heart. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, looming in the open doorway, casting a shadow in his shape across the floor that stops just before her toes, “The irrigation hasn’t been causing you trouble, has it?”

She knows the Herald. Knows him by a name that remains just out of reach, trapped somewhere in the corners of her mind, knows him by a smile that she can barely remember, knows him by golden eyes that no longer exist. The face she thinks used to be his ripples and shifts, incomprehensible the moment she tries to grasp for it. It’s been a long time. Eight years, at least. Long enough that she shouldn't even remember as much as she does. 

It's the moments of specificity that shock her. Send her reeling. She remembers that his left canine was slightly longer than the right, so it was always the first thing she saw when he smiled. Remembers exactly the way he took his coffee, is unsure if he could even drink it now if she made him a cup. His name though, his face, all she has is figments, a memory of how it felt to pronounce each individual letter, an approximation of cheekbones and eyebrows (one mole beneath his eye, she remembers that) and nothing but a blur in-between. 

Looking at the Herald doesn’t help, no matter how much she tries. His face is just as much an approximation as the one in her mind. Thinner, sharper. The hollows of his cheeks an unfamiliar, iridescent whorl. A mole rests above his lip, but the one under his eye is gone and that’s the one she remembers. She hasn't told her mother, it would be pointless to tell her that she has a vague memory of the Herald from almost a decade ago, that she used to call him by name every morning, though the name now slips through the gaps in her teeth anytime she tries to feel the sound of it in her mouth again.

Tongue touching her bottom teeth, a sharp uptick and then a lilting, rolling sound at the end. Her brow furrows, chasing the movements, hoping to connect them back to the letters they mimic. Failing as always. 

So it doesn't matter, because she doesn't really know the Herald at all.

She blinks, feeling her palms sweat, “No, no it’s fine. Low water pressure, I think there might be a pinch in the line.”

He crosses the room to her, his bare feet don’t make a single sound on the ground beneath and the orange light of dusk is like a misty halo eclipsed by the back of his head. His movements exude divinity, even as he debases himself by dropping to a crouch at her side. She scurries back a little, knocking over a nearby watering can with a clatter. The Herald continues looking at her, much closer now that they are for once, on the same level. She swallows, hating the way her eyes betray her by dropping to the gentle arch of his lips. 

“Might I offer some assistance?” He asks quietly. 

His eyes are a shifting, opalescent rainbow and his gaze is pointed, intense. She knows from her mother, that the Herald does more than just heal with his touch, she mentions hearing his voice in her head whenever she might need him. It occurs to her that his accustomation to being inside the minds of so many commune members all at once may have affected his understanding of personal space. The Herald leans in closer again, their noses are almost touching, and she has to catch herself on her hands when she almost topples backwards. 

“Aren’t you busy?” She squeaks, trying to keep her face as far from his as she can. “Not presently.” The Herald replies, resting his hands on his knees, “Especially not, if assistance is required. You’ve made great contributions to this commune, it would not do for me to leave you to your own devices when help can be provided.”

Her brow furrows. Unsure how to respond to the Herald offering his assistance with irrigation repairs of all things, “Wouldn’t it be…I don't know, beneath you?” 

His expression shifts minutely, a minuscule tension in his jaw, a pinch in his brow. Enough that she can only assume she’s offended him.

“Sorry!” She says quickly, “I-I didn’t mean that you couldn’t do it, just that I’m sure you have much more important things to do, I’m sorry.”

“Anything that you are willing to offer the commune, I am willing to offer in equal measure.” He responds evenly, the metallic thrumming undertone of his voice sending shivers up her spine, “Evolution is not so singular that only my actions will bring forth change. Our coalescence, our joined contributions, are necessary for our pilgrimage along that fated path. So please, allow me to help.”

She swallows thickly, eyes helplessly drawn to the sharp golden tendrils climbing up either side of his throat, “Um, Sure.” She averts her eyes, staring down at the ground instead, “We have multiple lines connecting into the sprinkler system, I’m not sure which one the pinch is in so…” she braves another look at him, only to feel her cheeks flushing when she realises that he’s leaned in close again. Close enough that she notices some of his eyelashes are blonde like the mismatched strands of hair that hang around his neck, “You could check the pipes east of the commune while I check the ones to the north?”

“Consider it done, then.” The Herald says, returning to his feet without even needing to use his hands for balance. It looks like his body is all metal, at least when the light catches on it, but he moves like it weighs nothing at all, “I will meet you back here.”

“Oh, yes, no worries.” She stammers, discombobulated at the sight of him peering down at her, “See you then, I guess.” The Herald inclines his head in her direction once, and her heart stutters when she realises that it is a bow. Then he turns and leaves back out the way he came. She had stopped breathing at some point, she can't remember when and it takes her a minute to catch her breath again. Interactions with him always leave her in pieces. Something to do with the immensity of him, the way it feels like he takes up so much space in a room, sucks up all the oxygen just by being there. Though that isn’t all it is. She still can’t escape her blurred memories of him, unable to be wrenched from the depths of her subconscious no matter how hard she tries. 

She’s been living here for a few months now, and he hasn’t done anything to jog her memory. While she recalled his accent in a desperate rush when he first welcomed her and her mother to the commune, the intonation was all wrong, flat, lifeless. She remembers it being different, but different how she isn’t sure. Luckily she doesn’t see all that much of him, at least not anymore. He was very attentive the first few days after they arrived, especially to her. Probably because she was the first to decline his gift, but still ask to stay. 

Her mother had been gravely injured in one of the skirmishes between the Chem Barons and Enforcers, arm wrenched from her shoulder, lungs full of Gray. She had heard vague notions of a healer somewhere in the Undercity, near the site of the long collapsed cannery and hoisted her mother’s remaining arm over her shoulders and carried her there as best she could. 

The commune was a lot smaller than it is now, with only a few domed buildings and a small patch of flowers just beginning to grow. The Herald met them both at the gate as if he knew they were coming and she watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation as his mere touch regrew her mother’s arm and cleaned her lungs of the gas. Then, the Herald turned to her.

“N-No, thank you.” She’d replied in a panic when he inclined his hand towards her expectantly, “I’m fine, I don't, um-” He’d blinked at her slowly, rolling her words around in his head. Then, silently, his hand lowered back to his side. Though she caught a near imperceptible flex of his fingers like he was dispelling an ache. 

“I’m just here for my mother.” She’d clarified, shying away from him, “I’d like to stay with her, if that’s…” She took a glimpse around the small commune, at all the people in matching white robes, each with his fingerprints already marked on each of their foreheads, “...allowed.”

The Herald had clasped his hands together, eyes staring directly into her own for a moment, before answering, “I do not turn people away, you are no exception.”

So she moved in with her mother, earning her keep by maintaining the water filtration and irrigation systems. It took almost a month for her to cart as much of their old belongings over from the other side of the Undercity as she could, but their odd domed house has started to feel like home. Her mother is a little different, there’s a lightness to her that shouldn’t be concerning, but still is. Even at her best, her mother loved to complain, about dirty dishes, about the weather, about the kind of music she liked listening to. Now though, she is always content, unsettlingly content. 

Sighing, she pulls herself from the ground, eager to go check her side of the pipes before the sun starts setting properly. While she still feels strange walking around outside as the only non-official member of the commune, everyone else is still very polite. Offering waves and smiles whenever they see her. She tries her best to return the sentiment as she starts following the pipes north, but unlike them, she still maintains all her faults and she isn’t all that good at small talk. She used to be when it was her job. Back when she woke up before dawn to trudge her way across the bridge to Piltover and tried her hardest not to fall asleep on the trolley ride to the academy. It’s been a long time since then, and mechanical repair work never necessitated a friendly face, so one day, years ago, she hung it up at the door and didn’t put it on again.

The sun casts an orange glow across the commune, catching on the petals of yellow flowers and sending beams of coloured light across the landscape as it passes through the multicoloured glass that makes up most of the windows. There’s an eerie quiet when the commune settles in for the evening, she’s so used to the raucous sounds of the Zaun nightlife, loud drunken voices, and the occasional fistfight. The silence should be peaceful, but it only makes her feel like she’s being watched. Her feet carry her the rest of the distance, following the length of the pipes back to the nearest riverbank where the filtration tanks wheeze and groan. As far as she can tell, this set of pipes was in working order the entire way down, and while the tanks require some oiling and tightening, the water is still filtering correctly. Whatever issue the sprinkler is having must be on the other length of pipe. The Herald will be handling it, then. She briefly wonders how. 

Did he have a background in engineering? She can’t remember. Her jaw tightens as she begins following the pipes back to the greenhouse, trying to remember if that was something he told her, or something she overheard. It may also have been something she made up, her memories from that time are always slipping through her fingers and sometimes she can’t resist the urge to fill the spaces with an approximation. The year after she lost her job in Piltover was stressful, she and her mother were barely able to rub two coins together. That year must account for her lapse in memory, she was on her feet every day, trying to find work anywhere, selling everything they could part with and it didn’t make any logical sense for her to reminisce. Thoughts about that old job, that old paycheck, that old customer, were pointless. She discarded them, picked up mechanics, taught herself how to repair broken pipes, heating and cooling units. Crammed every last bit of new information in her head and abandoned whatever she deemed unnecessary. 

The cool breeze feels nice on the back of her neck where her hair is pulled up in a ponytail. She gives a polite wave to one of the commune members who is taking down some dry laundry from the washing line outside their house but otherwise continues singlemindedly on her trip back down the length of pipes. Thinking too much about the Herald is always dangerous, she ends up tangled in fragmented memories and complex emotions. She huffs, blowing some hair out of her face as the greenhouse comes into view in the distance. 

Another of the things she remembers about the Herald, one of the things she remembers most vividly. Is that she was in love with him. Only a little bit, just enough that her heart would race when that face she can no longer remember came through the door. Enough that she would spend nights staring up at the ceiling and imagining what it would feel like if she had been bold enough to kiss him. How he would sound if her name escaped his lips in something teetering towards a moan. It’s the root cause of her discontent, the growth behind her ribs that she cannot untangle. The Herald’s face is unfamiliar, his voice is all wrong, but something in her heart remembers better than her mind does. Because the love has transferred. 

Nights she used to spend desperately trying to recall the face she’s lost, are instead spent thinking about the one she has found in its place. Sometimes she doesn’t even bother moving her lips in the shape of familiar, but misplaced syllables, because it is easier to moan Herald instead. But, no matter how hard she tries to dream about him, to moan his name in the night with her hand buried between her thighs. The truth always returns like a thunderclap, the knowledge that if she were to touch him, to kiss him, to fuck him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. Some nights the reality is so disquieting that she can’t even bear to finish, but others, she squeezes her eyes shut, grits her teeth and pushes through anyway with tears beading in her eyes. The shame sinks in after.

The sun has almost made its way down behind the horizon when she makes it back to the greenhouse, the vivid orange glints off the glass and directly into her eyes. She has to shield her face with the back of her arm as she walks in through the open door and freezes in the middle of the room at the sight of the Herald crouched on the ground, holding her wrench and tightening one of the bolts on the sprinkler system. 

He doesn’t look up when she comes in, just says, “The pinch was on my end of the pipes, which I am sure you have already surmised.” “I uh-” she swallows, trying to draw her eyes away from his tight grip on the wrench, “Yes, I figured that was the case.” “You've done great work maintaining the irrigation thus far.” He replies, giving the bolt one last turn that has the criss-cross of imitation tendons in his arms shifting just a little, “you caught that issue very early.” He stands from the floor, once again the picture of elegance and grace. Just being around him makes her feel like she is all knees and elbows, imperfect, fragile, “I'm thankful that you decided to remain in the commune, we gain a lot from your perspective.”

“Thank you, uh-” he steps in towards her, close enough now that she has to peer up to meet his eyes, “It's no problem, really.”

The Herald hums, eyes narrowing the slightest bit as he leans in even closer. His eyes are turquoise now and then very quickly pink, dancing towards orange when his lips part and he breathed, “I am concerned about you.” 

Her heart races, her palms begin to sweat, “What…why? Have I done something wrong?”

“Wrong is not the word I would use. You have seemed restless, preoccupied. I was wondering if there was something I could do.” The thoughts re-enter her mind, unbidden. Her lips tracing the length of his collarbone, leaning up to kiss the mark above his lips, hand digging tightly into his hair as her other hand slides up under his robe to find what lays beneath. Then the next thought follows, as always, his face expressionless, her touching and kissing and pleading, but him never taking any pleasure from the action. 

“No, there isn’t.” She says, picking at her cuticles. 

“But there is something you want, is there not?” He intuits, easier than she would have liked. 

“I-” She sighs, peering up at his achingly familiar face, trying to find any inclination towards an expression on any of his features. The ache only grows deeper when his countenance remains completely neutral. She swallows dryly, “Do you, remember me, Herald?”

He hums quietly, though his expression remains unchanged, “I did think you seemed familiar.” his head cocks to the side in what she has taken to interpreting as curiosity, “Have we crossed paths before?” His brows pinch the slightest bit, in thought, she assumes, “Did you study at the academy, perhaps?” “No, I didn’t, I couldn’t, I’m from Zaun, I-” she bites her lower lip, trying to calm herself down and just get to the point, “I worked there for a few years, in the-” “The campus cafe.” The herald finishes before she can. Her heart stammers in her chest, a warmth like sunlight dancing out from her chest all the way to the tips of her fingers. Her next breath is shaky, thick with disbelief. For some time it feels like she might not even be able to speak, but she eventually manages a simple: “Yes.” 

“You disappeared one day.” He elaborates, brows tugging together enough that she notices it, “I asked where you went, but the new barista said they didn’t know.” “I-I was let go. That explosion, the apartment. All the Zaunite employees at the Academy lost their jobs that day. Effective immediately.” All the words are coming out in a desperate rush, and her breath is hiccuping with every aching gulp, “I thought about coming back, to say goodbye. To leave a note or something, but if they caught me on campus I would have been arrested. I-” she laughs breathlessly, aware that it sounds more like a sob, “You were my favourite, you know? Not that it matters now, none of it matters now, not really I just-” she looks down at the ground and shrugs a shoulder, “I think I wanted you to know anyway.”

She hopes for something she can't have. For him to admit that he missed her as much as she missed him back then, that maybe he never stopped missing her. The Herald isn’t the person he once was, though and for a long time, all he does is stare at her, unsettlingly still. She can hear the sound of the soft breeze outside the greenhouse, see the light of the sun shifting from a bright orange to a dusky purple as it slowly dips below the horizon. In the deafening silence, she realises that the Herald’s body makes a sound, a quiet thrumming, a gentle lull beneath his skin. How has she never noticed before?

“Herald?” she stammers, desperate to break the silence.

“Yes?” He replies, once again leaning in close enough that she can count his eyelashes. This time she doesn’t feel the urge to move away from him.

“What’s your name? I don’t- I can’t-”

His brow tightens, and his head tilts to the side the tiniest bit. Her breath catches in her lungs, worried that this was a question she should never have asked. Then, he exhales a steady breath and answers, “It’s Viktor.”

Viktor. 

That name, those two syllables collide with her like a punch to the gut. She is suddenly awash in memories of all the times she called out to him, the way his head would spin around, a smile, a perfect smile. Despite them never sharing more than a few words each morning, he still took care to remember her name, never rushed her, and smiled when he came to collect his cup from the counter. She knew he was the dean’s assistant, knew he took far too much sugar in his coffee and heard through the ever-churning rumour mill that he was from the Undercity like she was. He had honey-gold eyes that shone whenever they caught the sun and his name was- “Viktor.” She repeats quietly, languishing in the feeling of his name dancing across her tongue. 

The Herald nods, still leaning in close, peering down at her with his expressionless, opalescent eyes. She wonders, then, how much of her old memories are even applicable anymore. How much of the Herald is Viktor and vice versa? If she lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek, would it be warm as she’d always imagined? Would the side of his throat still taste like sweat if she dragged her tongue against it?

“That was not all you wanted, was it?” The Herald asks softly, sending her plummeting back to painful reality.

“No it’s-” She turns from him, ashamed to even look him in the eye, “It’s not something you would be able to give.” she starts making to leave, muttering a quick, “I’m sorry.” as she heads to the door. 

“Wait.” The Herald says, halting her at the precipice of the doorway. She clenches and unclenches her hands, awash in vibrating, nervous energy. It feels as if she will shatter into a million pieces the moment it reaches the right frequency.

“We do not have a direct connection, as I do with the rest of the commune, but I can still sense the ache tugging at you.” She can hear him draw closer, the shift of fabric around his ankles, “Allow me to help.” and then, softer, “please.”

It’s the please that does her in, that has her turning back around despite her decision to leave. She must be imagining it, but his voice sounds as if it wavered on that last word, that the metallic undertone vibrated a nervous discordance. He holds out his hand to her and she so craves the feeling of his palm against her own that she doesn’t think about what she is offering until her skin makes contact, stammering out a desperate, “N-No, wait don’t!” It’s too late. He knows. He knows instantly. 

The Herald’s brows lift slightly, his mouth pinched in a straight line. She thinks he might be assessing her, silently and it makes her heart start to race. He releases her hand the moment she tugs it away, gently flexing his own fingers. As if to remember the feeling.

“I-I’m so sorry. I can leave, if you need me to, please, just-” she exclaims, clutching her hand to her chest like it will someone force the feelings he had taken back where they belong, “Just let my mother stay, please.” His next expression seems almost bewildered, though at this point she is beginning to believe that she has taken to ascribing whatever emotion best pleases her to the minute shifts of his eyes and mouth, “You think I would exile you from the commune?” He asks slowly, brows pulling together the slightest bit, “Over this?”

“You would have every right to.” She replies quickly, taking a step backward, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” “Have what?” He asks evenly, slowly, “Have been human?” he takes a careful step back towards her, wary of her desire to flee, “Had human thoughts?” his hand reaches out to press against her cheek without even an inclination of shyness or trepidation, “Did you think that I would deny you your humanity?” He whispers.

Now that he's touched her once, she can't resist letting him do it again and again, practically melting into the thrumming metal of his palm against her cheek. It isn't quite warm or cold, there's a fluctuation, a pulse, unfamiliar but far from unpleasant. She should stop him, her body is already growing so warm from just a chaste touch of his hand. He can certainly tell and she doesn't want him to do something just because he knows she wants it. Even though she does want it, immensely. 

“No.” She breathes, “You have been kind, very kind, I just- I don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.” her breath catches as she says this, leaning into him further despite her words claiming she doesn’t want to do so.

“I may have a solution to this quandary.” The Herald says softly, his thumb tracing her lower lip with something more akin to scientific curiosity than any sort of affection, “If you would be willing to indulge in some experimentation.” “Experimentation?” She replies breathlessly. Her hands won't stop shaking, her body awash in a complex tangle of both nerves and excitement. 

“Yes.” He responds evenly, “It is not something I have tried before, I haven’t had the need to.” his head tilts in closer to hers, the colour of his eyes swirling and shifting faster than usual, “Has this piqued your curiosity?” he asks and she must be imagining it but his tone sounds almost mischievous. 

She swallows thickly, wringing her hands together, “It has.” a shaky breath, “Very much so.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, mouth settling into a shape that she interprets as satisfaction, “Would you follow me, then?”

She does. Nearly mindlessly. He leads her out the door of the greenhouse and up the sloped pathway to the central building where he usually resides. She has been inside once or twice, on the few occasions that she has needed something from him and not already found him outside. It’s not homey the way the space she shares with her mother is. Glass circles on the high walls of the domed ceiling do let in a good deal of light and she can only imagine the view of the stars through them under the cover of night, but it’s devoid of furniture or belongings and it makes her feel instantly guilty, even though he doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of comforts. 

As she follows the Herald in through the round opening and into the central chamber, she idly wonders how difficult it might be to locate a large circular rug for the space. Wonders further if he would even still feel the soft fibres between his toes if he walked across it. She files the notion away for later, regardless. It would be nice to get him a gift, something tangible for once, something more than acts of service. 

He waits silently for her in the middle of the chamber, standing beneath a shaft of pale purple light that reaches in through one of the windows. It catches on his edges delicately, like a caress and he looks like the picture of divinity bathed in it. She suddenly feels her throat turn dry, remembering why exactly, she is here with him right now. 

“You will have to come closer.” He says, holding a hand out to her. 

She sucks an anxious breath in through her nose and takes several shaky steps towards him. His hand fits wonderfully in her own and it is nice to let him touch her without the fear of him pushing her away. The Herald continues staring at her in his usual fashion, likely sifting through her mind so long as they maintain skin-to-skin contact. She bites her lower lip and turns away from him, “W-Well, I’m here now…so…” The Herald steps in closer, leaning his face down towards hers, “Like this, the connection will be most potent.” He says quietly, forehead pressed firmly against hers, “Though if either one of us feels possessed to move,” he leans back and takes her hand, resting it on the top of his head, the meat of her palm pressed against his brow, and her fingers in his hair, “This will suffice.”

“O-Okay…” She swallows thickly, “What, um, what exactly will we be doing?” She thinks that he is smiling, though it is little more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth, “What you feel, the arcane will allow me to feel through you. Complete synchronicity, acute and exact.”

“Then…you will also enjoy it?” She ventures.

“So long as you do, yes.”

A rush surges through her veins at that, coalescing into a devious warmth between her thighs. Suddenly filled with images of his mouth hanging half open in a cry of ecstasy, his spine curling into a perfect exhilarating arch. 

“Yes.” The Herald clarifies, “Like that.”

She feels her cheeks flush and she pulls back from him in a panic, “I-I’m sorry, I forgot that you could see-”

“There is no need to dissimulate.” He says, before she can begin to spiral. His hand takes hers once again, this time pressing it against his cheek, “You will have to let me inside you.” (another bolt of arousal at his choice of wording) “Or it will not work.” Her next breath exits her lungs in a delicate shiver, her voice feels thick in her throat, but she manages to whisper, “Okay.” then, with her eyes closed, “Go ahead.”

His forehead presses to hers again, and suddenly the metallic rush of the arcane fills her mouth and trickles down the back of her throat, for a moment it feels like she is drowning, that she will be unable to breathe. There's a flash of swirling nebula behind her eyes, an otherwise inky blackness continuing on for all infinity and it’s like she is rising, rising, rising. The Herald clutches to her, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the feeling of his breath on her face is what pulls her back down, allowing her to sink back into the comforting weight of her body. 

The connection is established, and the Herald lets out a breathless moan immediately. 

He laughs, (laughs!) and then whispers, “You are so aroused, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

How cavalier his acknowledgement is only makes her more aroused, but she instinctively rushes to deny it anyway, “No I-”

“There is little point in arguing.” He interrupts, “I can feel it.” “O-Oh…” she replies, relishing in the delectable zip that runs down her spine at the way his voice wraps lazily around his words. Their positioning is a little strange, she can’t quite see him with their foreheads pressed together, but she can feel his breath is more laboured than usual. Curiosity gets the better of her, “You still need to breathe?” she asks quickly. He hums, “Not in the same way you do. I can survive without oxygen, but the air circulation prevents me from overheating.” “You-You’re breathing quite quickly now.” “I am.” Her stomach is in knots, her heart has worked its way up to the base of her throat, “Does that mean that you’re…um…” “Hot?” He finishes for her, “It does.” Tentatively, she reaches a hand out, sliding up the length of his bare arm and sucking in a shaky breath at the feeling of pulsating warmth beneath his metallic exterior. The closer her hand moves to his chest, the hotter it becomes and when she grows bold enough to slip her hand under his robe and press her palm against where his heart would be, she can feel the incessant fluctuating thrum beneath her hand. It’s only when the Herald lets out another shaky moan that she realises how intensely she feels this intimacy between her thighs. 

He follows her lead, the arm he had wound around her shoulders shifts as he slides his hand across her shoulder blades and up the side of her neck. She whimpers softly when his thumb runs up the length of her trachea, exerting enough pressure that her breath catches with the motion. A shaky exhale escapes the Herald’s mouth as he brings that hand down, dipping just beneath the low collar of her shirt to trace the line of her collarbone and that breath becomes a whine when his second hand joins the first and begins undoing her buttons. He must feel the enormity, the shivering desperation as he slowly pushes her unbuttoned shirt from her shoulders, slipping down until it catches in the crook of her elbows. 

His hands are large and pulsing with incredible warmth as they reach out to wrap around the base of her ribcage, trapping her between them. Her breath stutters in her throat, her second hand jumping up to tangle in the hair on the back of his head, locking his forehead against hers. One of his hands slides up and over her brassiere and both their mouths open in a shaky moan at the feeling of him squeezing. 

“You are very sensitive.” The Herald whispers, his thumb reaching up to rub a single circle around her nipple through the fabric. His following moan breaks halfway through, catching somewhere in the back of his throat. Her own moan is more shivery, breathless. Chest arching out towards him, desperate for more. The Herald slips his hand up under her brassiere and the feeling of his metal fingers pressing firmly into her soft flesh has her gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. A whine escapes the Herald’s throat, “It is…overwhelming.”

“What can I say? You overwhelm me.” She murmurs, breath catching as his second hand joins his first, dancing tantalising circles around both her nipples. The Herald doesn't respond, almost like he can’t. He pinches her nipples hard enough that she lets out a yelp and she feels his hips stutter forward when the sensation reverberates through him. It’s a curious and very human reaction. She’s addicted to it. Her hand slides down, fingers tucking under the array of straps at his side and gripping tightly to his thin waist, thumb rubbing along one of the raised, golden lines decorating his skin. 

“Can you feel that?” She asks quietly. He gulps a breath and she feels him shake his head, “I cannot.” a whimper escapes from behind his teeth and he clarifies, “But I can feel how it feels for you when you touch me and that feels…very good.” 

Her hand shakes when she lifts it up to grab one of his own, sliding it down from her chest to her stomach, “More, please.” she begs, her hand returning to its place on his waist. 

He lets out a shivery sort of moan as the tips of his fingers trace just above the waistband of her pants, his breath hitches just as hers does, right when his digits disappear beneath the fabric. Her hand on his waist clings tightly and the one on the back of his head fists into his hair. Her knees feel weak like she might lose balance any minute as his fingers descend into her underwear. His next moan is guttural, all in the back of his throat when the pads of his finger bump against her clit. She lets out a punched-out sort of sound, hips stuttering out of her control at the feeling. It’s been a very long time since someone else has touched her, she’s so unbelievably wet and sensitive that another small circle of his fingers has her wanting to double over in ecstasy. 

The Herald mutters something under his breath, all sharp constants, in a language she doesn't understand. His fingers continue tracing small, gentle circles around her swollen clit, his entire body shuddering with each featherlight touch and she isn’t faring much better. Her hands fumble in an attempt to get the straps at his waist undone, cursing out loud as her hands fall short of the task. 

Understanding what she wants, the Herald removes his second hand from her breast, hissing out a moan as the flat of his palm brushes her nipple on the way down. The hand between her legs continues its ministrations as the other moves to the elaborate set of buckles at his waist and starts quickly unfastening them. She’s quickly distracted by one of his fingers sliding down between her folds and lightly brushing her entrance. She grits a moan out from between her teeth and the Herald makes a choked sort of sound that is quickly followed by the satisfying rustle of his robe coming undone. 

Her hand slides down to his hip, momentarily shocked at the alien curve of it, its sharp protrusion from the rest of his narrow body. Her curious fingers quickly find that there is a dip underneath, an inch or two of empty space before her fingertips meet the joint where his leg connects. It should likely be more disquieting than it is, but the only realisation that comes to mind is how easy it will be to hook her fingers under his hip and grab. 

So she does, grabbing tightly with both hands, in a grip so tight it might be painful if he could actually feel it. The Herald stutters a moan, more of those unfamiliar constants leaving his mouth in a rush as the tip of his finger finally presses inside of her. The sound she makes is nearly a sob, gripping white-knuckled to the unyielding solidity of his hips. Her cunt accepts his finger more than willingly when it slips the rest of the way in, curling up in a way that nearly has her seeing stars behind her eyes, that has the Herald whining and quivering under her grip. 

“W-Wait, please.” She manages to stammer, resisting the urge to grind down on his finger. The Herald stills, though she still hears the frantic inhale of his breath. One of her hands moves from his hips and up to his face. At first, cupping his cheek and then slowly sliding up to the position he taught her. Fingers on the top of his head, base of her palm against his brow. The Herald slowly leans his head back, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in a while. The swirling rainbow of his irises has quietly settled somewhere in the direction of orange, but with his next blink, the colours begin shifting again. His lips are beautifully well-bitten, and while there is no flush on his high cheekbones, the lax expression on his face makes him look utterly wrecked. Her lip curls just a little, at the thought of her own human feelings so thoroughly debasing him, forcing him back into the imperfect box of humanity for just a moment. 

It’s tentative, nervous, when she tilts her head up in his direction. Despite his hand down her pants and one of his fingers still buried in her cunt, this, a kiss. It feels too far, too fragile and dangerous at the same time. The Herald doesn’t move, but he must feel her own racing heart because his breath quickens again as she slowly leans in, feeling that desperate breath across her lips. He doesn’t kiss back at first, her lips meet his just once, testing the waters. When she pulls back his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. 

She’s shaking, gulps down a nervous breath that does nothing to calm her nerves, “Herald?” “Yes?” 

“Can- Can I call you-” His free hand reaches up and cups her cheek, he leans in close, in that way that used to unsettle her and whispers, gently, “You may.” 

“Viktor,” A weight lifts from her, something inadvisable settling syrupy and warm within her veins. Her lips meet his again, though this time he kisses back and against the softness of his lips she breathes, “Please keep touching me.” The finger inside her curls up once again, sliding in and out of her at a tortuous pace that has the both of them gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths. She spreads her legs a little, to make it easier for him, mouth opening beneath his and keening loudly at the feeling of his tongue meeting hers. It must be strange for him to match her movements when he doesn’t feel his own end of the exchange, so when his tongue traces her upper row of teeth and licks at her own just the way she likes it, she can only assume that it’s muscle memory. A second finger joins the first inside her and the Herald exclaims her name in a broken moan, which has a bolt of arousal zipping down between her thighs that he then also feels. It’s a feedback loop, a circuitous tangle, his pleasure is her pleasure and vice versa. She can tell that he is having some trouble maneuvering his hand from within her pants, the crook of his fingers is still utterly delectable, but his movements are stiff. Being careful to keep her hand pressed firm against his brow, lest their connection sever, she brings her other hand down to the buttons on her pants, struggling to get them undone. 

The Herald pushes her hand out of the way, “Permit me.” He breathes into her open mouth. 

She lets out a whine of disappointment when the fingers inside her retreat for just a moment, joining his other hand on the front of her pants, undoing her buttons and slowly inching the fabric down her thighs. The Herald presses a wet kiss to the side of her throat and then surprises her by dropping to his knees to help tug both her pants and underwear the rest of the way down her legs. She feels an odd sense of satisfaction, seeing him knelt beneath her with her hand atop the crown of his head. It’s as if she is curing him of an ailment he didn’t know he could possess anymore, something of the body, something wet and writhing and so imperfectly human. 

“Viktor…” She whispers, just to feel the taste of those letters on her tongue again. 

He hums beneath her, swirling, half-lidded eyes peering up from between her legs. One of his hands slides up from her knee to her hip and his mouth drops open in a whine at the resounding shiver that sends up her spine. Then, the moment she imagines that mouth of his on her cunt, he leans forward to do exactly that. The hand she has on his head tightens, yanking hard at his hair when the warm curl of his tongue meets her oversensitive clit. Her whole body shudders and she feels his hand on her hip grip tight, him moaning desperately against her, shaking just as much as she is. 

His second hand lifts, gliding up the inside of her opposite thigh and she watches in utter bewitchment as the disheveled fabric of his robe slips off his shoulder and pools around his kneeling form. He’s a vision in the pale light, an intricate interlace of purple and gold that shines under her delicate observation. With his face still buried in her thighs, she can see the full length of his spine, the sharp jut of his shoulders and the mess her grasping fingers have turned his hair into. She feels, more than she hears, him moan against her again and her cheeks warm when she realises the way she feels even observing him, is enough to make him moan.  

The next brush of his tongue has her hips stuttering out towards him, her breath catching in her throat. Her other hand joins the first on his head, gripping tightly to the base of his skull for purchase. His mouth opens in a guttural moan, fingers continuing their journey up and gently brushing against her entrance, teasing her with the promise of resumed penetration. She feels him shiver beneath her when two fingers easily slip in, though only to the first knuckle, and again when his tongue brushes around her clit in a light circle. The sounds he is making beneath her are evangelical, the combined vibration of his human tone and the mechanical rumbling underneath. Her breath comes fast, hips gyrating, desperate for more of his tongue, his fingers, his noises. 

“More, please.” She stammers out, sweat beading on the back of her neck, jaw tensed as her body inches closer and closer to its peak, “Please, Viktor.” He grunts against her, mouth still working against her clit, licking and sucking as he finally slips both of those long long fingers all the way inside her. Their moans intermingle when those fingers crook up, she tosses her head backward and he buries his head somehow deeper between her thighs. The hand he has gripped to her hip holds her so tight that she can imagine there will be bruises and even that thought has them both moaning again. She’s getting close, her knees are struggling to hold her weight and she can feel the amalgam of his saliva and her own slick coating her inner thighs. Her head lolls forward, body too loose and shaky to keep it upright anymore, whimpering and panting as his tongue continues circling circling. 

“Wait.” She croaks, throat aching from all the moaning she has been doing. 

The Herald stops, pulling back from between her thighs and peering up at her, the opalescent swirl of his irises has been completely swallowed by his pupils, eyes blown wide. His mouth drops open in a quiet moan, the response to her own arousal at seeing him so utterly debauched beneath her. 

She swallows, forcing her shaky legs to obey as she brings herself down to the floor, sitting up on her knees so she doesn't obstruct his hand where it still rests between her legs. Her breath comes quickly, her mouth dry and she leans in towards him, “I want you to feel it completely.” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his again, hands sliding down from his head and gripping his bare shoulders, “Please.” A shaky breath leaves him, hitching when his fingers move within her the smallest bit, “Do not concern yourself with that.” he breathes, “I feel everything. Every quiver, every shake.” his fingers crook upward and she cries out, his moan is more subdued and he continues, “I feel that vividly, a pleasure so precise that it nearly aches.” his thumb moves upwards, circling her clit, the both of them release a drawn out whine, “This is different, twitching, frantic. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. Addictive and maddening.” “Please, Viktor, please.” He lets out a grunt, fingers returning to their previous pace, a rhythmic in and out, curling up exactly where she needs it, “And when you say my name, I feel that too. A more complex feeling, incomparable.” 

She hates to ponder what feeling that is, but she feels it too. A growing warmth, a softness. She ignores it for now, losing herself in the raising pleasure between her thighs, the tightening, aching build. The Herald’s free hand grabs the back of her head and she mirrors him, locking their foreheads together, her hips writhing and grinding into his fingers, but desperate not to lose their connection. She needs it, for him to finish with her, whatever that might mean for him. Now though, with her eyes squeezed shut and nothing but the sound of their mingling moans, she can’t help but imagine his eyes are gold. 

“M’close.” She whines, gritting her teeth, crying out as she feels the intrusion of a third finger. He can feel what she does and knows what she needs before she asks for it. The moment she needs him to speed up he already has, when she is about to ask for more focus on her clit, he is already doing it. Every single one of her moans is followed by one of his, she can feel him shaking, and hear his rapid breath. The tension grows nearly painful, she’s desperate, hungry and then suddenly, all at once, the tension snaps, she sees white behind her eyes and then she sees black. 

She tumbles for a moment, her body weightless, spinning and twirling in a sea of darkness. It’s like she’s been winded, no matter how much she breathes it just doesn’t take and then for just a moment she can see him. A face she had forgotten, a smile she had tried so hard to recall in her dreams, crooked teeth, a mole on his upper cheek. 

“Viktor?” She has time to whisper, reaching out to him, scrambling to find purchase somewhere in the void. 

He whispers her name back and his voice holds so much emotion that she nearly wants to start crying. 

His eyes are so beautiful, so golden and-

Her breath returns. Her knees ache on the hard floor and she winces as the feeling of three fingers sliding out of her. There are tears stinging in her eyes and the Herald’s hand lifts gently to wipe them away. She peers up at him, despite the tangled mess of his hair and his heavy breath, she still can’t make any true sense of his expression. The sun has completely set outside now, the only light is the pale shine of the moon casting a beam in through the ceiling. It’s cold. She feels cold.

“Are you alright?” He asks evenly, head tilted to the side the way it so often is. 

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes to stop the tears, “Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t-” she laughs weakly, removing her hands, “Did you um-” “Yes.” He’s giving her one of those almost smiles again, and it’s better than nothing, “When you did.” It’s a little uncouth, but she can't resist peering down between his legs. 

“I do not have genitalia, if that is what you are looking for.” He clarifies, hardly scandalized by her leering,  “I experienced your orgasm as you did, even if my body could not fully react to it.”

She lowers from her knees and tucks her legs under herself. Just as she starts feeling self-conscious, the Herald drapes his robe around her shoulders and she lets out a tired little laugh, “Thank you.” she wraps the fabric around herself to keep warm, and the Herald sits crosslegged in front of her. She chews her lower lip, “It felt…good, for you, right?” “Very.” He replies nonchalantly. Sitting up completely straight with his usual poise and grace, “Thank you for permitting my experimentation.”

“No um, thank you for indulging me. I suppose.” She turns from him, looking down at where her fingers toy with the fabric of his robe, “Herald, um I-” her breath shakes, she wishes it didn’t, “I saw something, when I…” “The arcane, a byproduct of our connection, I believe.” “You were there.” She says weakly. “I always am.” The Herald confirms, “I exist both here and within the arcane in all instances, it is not so much a severance as it is a confluence. My perception is doubled, not halved.”

It’s strange to have an answer. To know that Viktor’s golden eyes are always watching her from behind the Herald’s opalescent ones. She isn't certain whether that knowledge makes her feel better or worse about the everpresent ache in her chest. It’s late now, though and her body slumps with post-orgasm lethargy, she needs rest. 

“I will accompany you home.” The Herald says, the moment she decides to leave. 

“Thank you.” She replies, rising up on her knees, “But before I go I-” she reaches her hand out, resting her palm against his brow, “I want you to feel this.” she whispers, and then presses her lips to his, clutching to him tightly, hoping that somewhere trapped in the endless expanse of the arcane, Viktor is watching. 

The Herald wraps his arms around her shoulders, and when his breath catches, it sounds suspiciously like a sob. 

[dragonstailbutch]

Help Two Stuggling Disabled Butch and Femme Trans Women

So our quite frankly awful ill-parted ex gave us two weeks notice in march that she was moving and then attempted to steal from and insulted my partner, and didnt even tell us she was going to turn off the water let alone when it would happen. A few days ago, the landlord served a eviction notice to us, which means we need to be out and SOON

So right now were waiting for the power and wifi to just turn off at the same time as we're trying to move to a place thats super isolated in a very conservative area in U.S.A South. We will be a 15 minute drive to a ridiculously small town and a 40 minute drive to a Walmart. The house itself is from the 1930s/40s and falling apart.

On TOP of this, the several hundred gallon water pump that was at the house not three days ago was stolen and then we were told lies to our faces about how its been gone for a while. To add insult to injury, it was replaced with a smaller, crappier and broken pump. Which, WHY? our life is a bad YouTube comedy movie, especially because we had at the same time finally gotten the water pipes in the house fixed

we currently have 140$ in our combined bank accounts right now, which doesnt cover two weeks of groceries, let alone also the gas required to move to the house

please help us with whatever you can, we need as much assistance as we can get for groceries, repairs, clothes, even bills, theres no easily gotten employment opportunities for a trans woman in that area so we really need it

venmo- @crow-forgemaster or my patners @Prince_Nova

cashapp- $dragonforgedbutch or my partners $StrayNova

kofi- dragonbutch

currently people have donated:

418/2000$

[squidcalamarium]

FINAL UPDATE

The goal has been reached! THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!!!

PLEASE HELP MY FAMILY

My parents well has, despite everyone's best efforts, has broken completely. There is a leak in the pipes that can only be accessed with heavy machinery cutting through the woods and into the ground, with an estimated cost between 2k and 3k.

My black disabled dad, mom, brother, and their four dogs all live together on my dad's fixed income, which he gets through his disability. between the general cost of living and the disability savings cap, gofundme is the only possible way they can make enough to get this fixed.

With Georgia's current hot spring, and even hotter summer fast approaching, the need for ANY water is increasing. Because the house is so far isolated, there are no neighbors to rely on, no stores to even attempt to walk to, nothing within 20 minutes by car. we are doing everything we can to make sure, for the time being, that they all can shower and fill jugs of water to flush toilets and cook. this is not a permanent solution. Please help us

UPDATE

After weeks of struggle, a plumber that's actually good at his job came out and did a more thorough check.

Turns out the problem was largely ELECTRICAL!! We have water again! All they had to do was replace the burnt out wiring and protective boxes and buy ANOTHER pump!

Because of this, the goal has been changed to just $1,500 to cover the cost of repairs and replacements!

THANK YOU EVERYONE!!

[astray-anomaly]

The first Chapter of Sea Level!!

TW: Hurt, character injury, violence, mention of death and experimentation

Here is the Ao3 link, if you rather not read it on Ao3 the chapter is below the cut!

Chapter 1: A Promise

12-5-25

13:42

For two days the whole Hadel Blacksite was drowned in complete darkness ever since the crystal was taken and with that all power was gone from the site, even the backup power was now offline. Meaning that small computer couldn’t work anymore, the same computer Sebastian was now wrapping up in a waterproof crate he had found in one of the storage units. Putting all of the extra wires and pieces in place along with a few classified documents he had left. He then covered them up with extra layers so they wouldn’t shuffle around as much to avoid any damage. Afterwards he shut and sealed the crate.

He swapped out the Scrambler on his back in favor of the crate, it was a bit heavier with all the extra equipment inside but he could carry it relatively easily. He quickly checked the radio he had on him, still no signal. He groaned and shoved it back in his jacket. He needed to get it, he did make a promise to get them out of here, he didn’t want to break it. True he had no intention of keeping it in the first place but damn it, he just had to get attached to this stupid old computer in only the two months they’ve known each other. Even if he still had doubts this was possible, he had to try to complete his promise, this was the one good thing he could do now with nothing else left.

It was worth a shot to get out of this forsaken hellhole then wait to get gunned down or probably die of starvation. He knew Urbanshade would soon send down groups of their guards again to clear out the place and start to repair it despite the multiple devastating damages to the site. Urbanshade would never just abandon this place, they would eventually get this place fully functioning again so he didn’t want to be there when they arrived. It was between the chance of seeing the sun again or death. Even if he was gonna die, he wanted to do it looking at the sky one last time.

He was hoping they would be able to reach Innovation Inc. once at the surface. It was one of the rival companies of Urbanshade he had been able to contact before all the radios were cut off, none of the others responded. Maybe he could finally get them both the help they needed if he had found that company, but he has to get out of the Hadel Blacksite first.

The only guide they had now was the dimly lit esca on Sebastian’s head and his poor night vision as he started his journey through the twisted and broken hallways of the facility. More and more water had begun to leak in as the outer pile system started to implode on themselves from the outside pressure. Even though the pressure here was the same as it would be just at the surface, the facility could only take so much after the power was gone and the pipe system was the first to collapse. So the whole facility will be flooded with water, leaving everything left to rust. But he knew Urbanshade wouldn’t let that happen so he had to get out quickly.

At least now there were more places to swim than having to slither through the cold hallways decorated in broken furniture, shattered glass, and sharp scraps. Sebastian had already caught his tail on a few pieces, even though most of them didn’t cut through the hard scales a few small parts managed to catch themselves in his flesh, making him bite back a painful hiss. Still he kept going forward.

All of the docks were blocked off by now so the plan was to find Z-317’s old containment cell and follow the passageway out to the ocean. The one that Sebastian had originally opened before when releasing Z-317 during the lockdown.

If only he could get there faster but his injured tail had to drag him down, yet it was better to be slow to not alarm the other creatures still roaming the facility. Even after releasing them they were still animals, they had to hunt, no doubt they would attack him on sight if they ended up spotting him. Even if he could fend for himself, that computer on his back was not as strong as he was, one slip up and it could possibly be over. He wouldn’t let that happen.

He had already been roaming around the dark facility for what felt like hours, at this point he was convinced he was going in circles, right, left, right- crash

Sebastian froze at hearing a loud noise behind him, screaming starting to echo through the halls. He’d been here for just long enough to recognize which entity was which just by their screeching alone and out of every single creature it just had to be this one.

Sebastian darted his way to find a side room or some sort of tunnel as quickly as possible as Pandemonium’s screaming drew nearer and nearer. When he couldn’t he just punched in one of the broken doors and pulled his way through, at least the mantis shrimp DNA was useful for something. He quickly curled into one of the corners as the room started to shake.

He held his breath as the creature’s roaring passed, it was silent for moments afterwards and Sebastian started to uncurl his tail from around himself and pull himself out the corner only for the screeching to start up again. Sebastian panicked, moving down the hallway as fast as he could. There was so much rubble scattered everywhere that he had to slither around, no wonder this hall was blocked off.

Sebastian growled in pain again as something else dug into his tail, he kept his shrimp claw holding onto the crate on his back as Pandemonium got nearer. He eventually spotted what looked like a way out, at least he hoped but he couldn’t escape that easily. Pandemonium was just behind him.

“That's it you ugly bastard!” He snarled angrily, swinging his tail back to hit the creature and basically ripping his shotgun out of the hostler. Shooting repeatedly at the mutated beast's face, managing to get the two main eyes, making the creature shriek in pain. Sebastian then took his chance to run for it, even with the two main eyes gone there were still many more staring at him.

At least the shock and pain from the creature gave him enough time to make his escape into the underwater tunnels, he didn’t stop to look back, not for one second.

Eventually everything was quiet again and Sebastian could relax a bit. However when the adrenaline died down he was hit with the agonizing pain in his tail from a big metal scrap impaled in his side,painting the water red. He bit his tongue as he held back tears. The salt water just made everything sting more, still he continued his way down the tunnel, trying his best despite the excruciating pain.

He finally got to the exit, dragging himself out of the water and crawled up the ramp. He laid down on the cold concrete floor, catching his breath and coughing up some blood. He had to sit up, pulling the crate off his back and pushing it to the side as he examined his tail that was dripping in blood. He still had a medkit left even if it wouldn’t help much, it was something.

He quickly scavenged through the small kit and pulled out the antibiotic ointment and bandages. He then looked back at his tail and saw just how badly the metal had stabbed itself in there, still it had to be taken out.

He bit down more on his tongue to the point of making it bleed as he gripped onto the metal tightly. Closing his eyes as he pulled, wailing as it was removed but was able to cover most of the noise. He couldn’t alarm any more monsters down here.

He threw the piece of metal back into the water, leaning back and holding his tail while also holding back tears. He reached for the antibiotics and started to apply them to the gaping wound, not even reacting to the cold sting anymore. He took whatever was left in the bottle and applied it to the more minor injuries, he didn’t want to waste bandages trying to wrap them up since they weren’t as severe. Once the bandages were applied to the large wound he laid down on the ground, catching his breath and closing his eyes. “..Fucking hell..” He groaned, knowing he had to get back up, after a bit he strapped the crate onto his back again and continued on his way.

Unfortunately now he was even more lost, not exactly sure where they ended up after having to make a quick escape from Pandemonium in a panic. So they could have been farther or closer to their destination, Sebastian prayed they were closer as he navigated through the dark corridors.

After an hour of mindlessly dragging himself around he noticed a familiar pair of large heavy doors, this was where the controls to the containment cells were, they were closer now.

He used the keycard he still kept from killing that one elite guardsman to unlock the door again. The door didn’t seem to open much with the mechanism damaged so he was forced to squeeze through. The inside was a complete mess, even the control console was torn apart by one of the creatures.

Sebastian continued his way through the labs and containment rooms. Keeping his gaze down on the floor so he didn’t have to see anything that could possibly trigger his memories. The smell here already made him feel nauseous.

He counted the doors until he finally saw the one that read Z-317. The room was taken up mostly by a large aquarium where the Eyefestian would originally be kept in. Now the glass was cracked and the tank was mostly drained with water spilling on the lab floor.

He debated on what to do for a moment, instead of picking carefully at the glass he decided to punch it in. Wasn’t the best choice but it was the quickest. He shook his hand off, his ears perked up when he heard the wailing sounds of another creature nearby, Frogger.

Sebastian carefully pulled himself through the glass and dropped into the water. Swimming down before the creature could bounce back to see him. Once at the bottom he let himself relax as the cold water completely engulfed him, releasing the tension in his body. He was no longer being chased, he could finally relax for a second. They were so close to the end now. He found the doors which lead the way out of here, they would finally get out to the ocean.

He slithered through the door and continued into the dark tunnel. What felt like an endless void with only his own esca to guide him which was getting dimmer with each passing minute, showing just as much energy he had left in him.

He swam through the tunnel for minutes with barely any light. His injured tail trying to push him along as much as possible. Until he finally saw a glimpse of light up ahead followed by the sound of rumbling footsteps. He had forgotten that the Trench Bleeders were still mobile because their power was separate from that of the Hadel Blacksite, they were still being controlled from somewhere else.

Sebastian darted to the light, swimming with all his strength until he heard the wretched sound of metal bending. “Shit-“ He cursed, noticing that the tunnel was closing in on itself. He swam faster even if it hurt to push himself, the water still stung. Hearing the creaking of the metal getting louder until finally-

He shot his way up through the exit and soon fell back onto the ocean floor as the tunnel crushed in on itself. Yet he wasn’t out of his troubles yet, he had to move, he had to get up. The Trench Bleeder was right over him, the lights from underneath the giant mechanism's foot blinded his already poor seeing eyes, he was about to be crushed if he didn’t move now.

He forced himself to get up, pushing his way through the water as the Bleeder’s foot came crashing down, shaking the whole place and making Sebastian’s entire head ring. After that everything went pitch black.

12-6-25

4:18

Everything was aching when Sebastian had opened his eyes again, he suddenly became aware of every part of his body that hurt, he could barely move to lift his head. His esca flickered on as he looked around to figure out his surroundings, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He found himself in some small cave in the ground, he took a breather and rested his head back down on the smooth rock, he was still so, so tired.

He had to remember why he was here, he had to get out of here or both him and p.AI.nter would die, or worse, p.AI.nter would be forced back to roblux mining. He couldn’t let that happen, he had to make it to the surface, he had to make it to Innovation Inc. he couldn’t just give up now. There was no time to rest, no matter how tired he was, he already got the rest he needed. The hardest part of the journey was already over.

Sebastian forced his body to move, wincing at the pain in his tail and spine. The crate was weighing him down a bit from his body being weaker. He swam out of the cave into the open water, everything was dark, the Trench Bleeder looked to be long gone by now, how long had he been asleep?

He didn’t stop to think about it, starting to swim upwards.

“Where are you going?”

Sebastian suddenly paused at the familiar voice that echoed in his head. He turned around to be met with the bright green glow of multiple eyes staring right at him. He used his hand to shield his eyes from the shining light before slowly lowering it back down and looking back at the curious radioactive shark before him.

“Well?”

“I thought you had left a long time ago, there is no prey for you here, not anymore.” Sebastian replied, staring down the creature, meeting her gaze.

“Where else would there be for me to go?” The shark circled curiously around Sebastian, moving closer.

“The surface.” Sebastian answered. “That’s where we are going, to get help.” He paused. “To go back to my home.”

“The surface isn’t where I belong, that is where you come from. I have no home to return to.” The Eyefestian responded blankly.

“Do you not remember anything?” Sebastian looked curious.

“No. If there is a home for me I doubt it would be very welcoming now. These depths are now my home.”

“You know you could come with us, you don’t have to stay in this place, with all the bad memories.” Sebastian reached out his hand, offering.

“I know you want me to, but I know you’ll do just as fine without me. Plus I’ve made some good memories down here too.” Eyefestian gently pushed her snout into Sebastian’s hand. “Go see them again..”

Sebastian just nodded, gently petting Eyefestian. He had so much to thank her for, she was there ever since the start of his experiments. She was the only creature to know what he truly looked like before and he was the first one to be able to appreciate her beauty without dying.

No further words were exchanged before Sebastian watched Eyefestian disappear back down into the dark depths again.

He wiped his eyes before focusing back on his mission, firstly making sure the crate was still fully secured before continuing up. Swimming for minutes on end as his tail guided him through the water until he felt the sudden crushing feeling of the pressure shifting, feeling like his whole body just collapsed in on itself within a second. Trying to catch his breath as his throat was squeezing and his body froze.

He was no longer in the Let-Vand Zone, he was in the deep sea now.

It took him a moment to get used to the extreme pressure change until his body slowly began to relax and he could breathe at a stable pace again. He checked the crate on his back, nothing looked crushed. The crates were very reinforced but that didn’t mean they could last long, he had to get to a lesser pressure level quickly.

It was harder to tread through the dense water, but he forced his tail to push himself through with as much force and speed as possible. Even if he could breathe normally everything still felt suffocating, making him feel lightheaded. He wasn’t even sure how fast he was moving with the water crushing his whole body.

Everything was completely black, not even his vision helped, he wasn’t sure if he was even moving upwards anymore, he could have been moving in any direction and he wouldn’t know unless he ended up hitting something or managed to breach the surface. It made him paranoid of anything jumping out at him, it was too dark, anything could come from any direction.

All he could do was hope he would run into nothing, he had to keep pushing. He was determined to get to the surface, his determination being more powerful than his own exhaustion. The more he swam, the more the pressure seemed to lift off of his body and he could finally move faster. It felt so freeing to be able to stretch out and move around without having any more worries, he wasn’t entirely free yet but he was getting close.

He swam for another hour, his tail barely dragging him along, until finally he saw an actual light reflecting from off the ocean’s surface. Dashing up to it in his excitement and breaking through the water. The smell of fresh air filling his nose, the gentle wind blowing through his wet hair, sounds of seagulls flying overhead and the gentle waves moving. He made it, he actually did it.

Sebastian smiled happily as tears poured down his cheeks. He used his hand to shade his tired eyes as he looked in the distance at the rising sun that had come up to welcome him back to the surface.

[transformers-spike]

More sparkling nonsense but autobot edition??? Back at it with giving everyone a daughter lmao

Wheeljack with a daughter who is a chip off the old block and just like him maybe even too much like him. He probably learns to be a little bit more careful (barely) because his kid is always right over his shoulder. She's always trying to sneak along on missions or doing something that could get her in trouble. She's also very much like Wheeljack in that she likes to tinker and build things. God forbid you need to do home repairs or diy work, she's right there trying to help. If she's sees something is broken she doesn't just try can fix it but also improve it. Your home has built in sprinklers and fire extinguishers in every room.

"Honey, did you do something to the toaster 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯?"

Your daughter sheepishly avoids your eyes.

"What did it do?"

She looks so guilty you almost don't have the heart to tell her it shot out a flaming piece of toast right next to your face.

Ultra magnus's sparkling is surprisingly naughty. She repeats swear words at first not really knowing what they mean and everyone has to try not to laugh because kids innocently cussing is funny. The problem arises when she realizes the adults are trying not to laugh and she run yelling frag and calling people fraggers, growing up around military personnel she probably ends up learning some creative swears. She 'Borrows' and moves things from Mag's office while not taking any of the blame. His wife and daughter are his blind spots so good luck trying to pin anything on them.

"She called her homework-"

He paused and made air quote "- a mother fucka"

You almost snort your tea out your nose as he looks at you dubiously.

"Probably learned it from Jackie or Bulk they've been using human swears."

Ultra magnus nods solemnly, seeming to have bought your lie.

Prowl's daughter is very rule oriented and has specific ways she likes to play. She likes to line up her toys by color, height and sometimes frame. Generally gets along with the other sparklings as long as they play the "correct" way and they don't tell her secrets. She comes off as shy but it's only because she tends to be wary when meeting people for the first time. She has no hesitation to snitch. Doesn't matter if it's you, Prowl, Optimus, or even the decepticons. Likes adhering to strict schedule/routine. Everyone gets a kick out of a pint sized Prowl trying to bots more than half her size around.

"Daaaaad, Mom just went 15 miles per hour over in a school zone!"

"I didn't notice it was a school zone!"

Ratchet ends up with a son just as stubborn as him. Ratchet worries constantly when he's a baby and even more when he's a teen. His kid is basically forced to learn about medicine because Ratchet worries what would happen if he or another medic isn't there, you are also forced to learn how to weld. He loves to push Ratchet's buttons. As he gets older him and Ratchet gang up on you to take care of your health.

"You need to do your stretches if want to stay flexible."

"I know, Ratch."

"And take your vitamins." Your son pipes up.

You deadpan at both of them.

goddd - i always love this stuff. Wheeljack's daughter is a little rascal and bro doesn't see anything wrong with teaching her how to shoot cons and build bombs. Horrible influence on her, but oh well, you fucked up and kept his child. These are your consequences to bear. Also I'm half tempted to say he doesn't bring her along on missions usually just because her mom says no - but if she "secretly" follows them and sneaks aboard the ship he'll pretend not to notice Ultra Magnus's child is a gremlin but he doesn't believe you if you say she did anything wrong. She is perfect in his eyes because to him she's the sweetest thing ever. Idk if you mean like a TFP version of Prowl or G1/IDW or any of that - but him having such a serious, extremely organized child is a great touch. Ratchet can only blame himself in all honesty. At first he's the one stressing both you and his son out - but now they joined forces to remind you to stay hydrated and yell at you for being up at 1AM. I think he'll have a complicated relationship with his child, but he's doing his best (even if his best isn't enough)

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - Nine

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary at Miller & Sons Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (Well... sorry this took so long. Safe to say, life has been a bit mental lately. Lando is currently cutting two teeth at once so yeah... bit grizzly. We've also put our flat up for sale so yeah. Lots going on. Hope this was worth the wait 🥹)

Series Masterlist - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven, Eight

Your hands were shaking so violently that you weren't really sure how you made it to the hospital. You parked and ran into the ER like your life depended on it. Soon finding a particularly shaken Simon with his head in his hands, along with Joel's parents and younger brother. 

"Pip, sweetheart." Joel's mother said sweetly as she swept you into her arms hugging you tightly "I'm so glad you're here." 

"Any news?" You asked as your eyes flitted between her and Joel's father who was cradling a sleeping Sarah in his arms.

"Nothin' yet." Replied Simon, pulling your attention away from the older Millers "They had him all strapped up in a body brace 'n everythin'... He wouldn't wake up no matter what they tried..." Simon trailed off as he again threw his head into his hands. 

You were quick to drop to Simon's side, pulling into a sideways hug as you tried to comfort the distraught man. 

"This ain't your fault son." Replied Cole Miller as he took a few sure steps towards you and the younger man "It was an accident, plain n' simple." 

"But I didn't even see it happen... If I'd just-"

"No one saw what happened, son." Cole interrupted "You cannot blame yourself for this. This stuff happens. Unfortunately, it comes with the job." 

Simon nodded in reply but, you knew that he wasn't convinced by Cole's argument. You knew that until he knew that Joel was going to be okay... He would never stop blaming himself for this. 

"Miller family?" Called out an unfamiliar voice and you all perked up as you turned to find its owner. 

"That's us." Piped up an uncharacteristically quiet Tommy and a moment of guilt washed over you for not speaking to him when you arrived. 

"Is he okay?" Asked Lucia as she hooked her arm with her husbands and you looped your own with Simon's.

"He's a very lucky young man." The doctor replied and you all breathed a collective sigh of relief "He's shattered his left arm and broken his femur. He will require surgery to repair both so he is going to be off his feet for a while. He's also got a pretty nasty concussion so we will want to keep him in for observation for that also. All things considered, he's lucky to be alive." 

The doctor's words hung over you all as you took them in. 

Lucky to be alive. 

Joel could have died.

And you have been giving him the silent treatment over a kiss that you weren't entirely sure was really a kiss at all. You could have lost him today, without ever really having the chance to see where this thing between you could go. 

You had wasted so much time. 

"When can we see him?" Asked Cole, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts. 

"We are going to be taking him into surgery shortly so it's going to be a little while yet." The doctor answered honestly"My advice would be to go home, get some rest and come back in the morning. The surgery is going to be extensive andthen he'll likely be in recovery for a few hours." 

"But what if-" 

"We will call you if anything changes but you need to get that baby home and you're all going to be no good to Mr Miller if you're all dead on your feet." 

The doctor had a point and you all knew it. Yet the idea of leaving the hospital and Joel didn't sit well with you. 

"I'll stay. Keep you all updated." You said and Cole and Lucia gave you a small nod before gathering up Sarah's things. 

"We'll see you in a few hours Pip." Said Lucia as she gave you a peck on the cheek. 

"See you soon." You said softly "Go get Sarah into a proper bed." 

They left then, Tommy trailing behind them both and not sparing anyone a glance. 

"Can I stay with you?" Asked Simon softly and you turned to see him standing across from you, his hands wringing together as he waited nervously for you to answer.

"Of course." 

...

"Dadadadada..."

You were woken by babbling. Your neck was sore from resting it on Simon's shoulder whilst you waited on news of Joel. Cracking your eyes open, you were greeted by Lucia stood across from you with Sarah in her arms. Your sitting up abruptly grabbed the baby's attention and she squealed and reached for you, her small hands grabbing at you. You didn't hesitate, you were on your feet in a heartbeat and pulling her into your arms.

"Oh, baby girl." You sobbed as you placed a kiss on the top of her and breathed her in "So good to see you." You breathed as you held her tight.

"Any news?" Asked Lucia and you shook your head. 

"Where's Cole?" You asked as you noted her husband wasn't with her. 

"He stayed home with Tommy." The older woman replied, "Kid's a little beside himself so we felt it would be better for Joel to have a less stressful environment to wake up to." 

You nodded in understanding. Tommy's a pretty hot-headed young man and struggles to keep a level head. As much as you knew the kid would want to be with his brother and no doubt Cole wanted to be there for his son, it was best to keep away till they knew what condition Joel would be in.

"Miller family?" Called out an unfamiliar voice and you all turned to look at the owner.

"Yes." You replied in unison and the nurse smiled "He's out of recovery and responding well." They stated "If you follow me, I will take you to him."

The three of you followed eagerly, desperate to see Joel after what felt like weeks of waiting. You were taken into a ward and then led to a small room just off from the main area. A bed sat in the centre of the room, equipment, cabinets and a few chairs lined the walls. Joel's leg was elevated by what looked like a bit like Sarah's door bouncer. He was sleeping. A dark bruise painted the left side of his face, a nasty gash along his hairline, neatly stitched but red and angry. 

"He's been coming around for a little while." The nurse stated as she finished off her checks "Might still be a little while before he's coherent so be patient with him.

"He's been through quite an ordeal." 

You all nodded then grabbed some chairs and placed them strategically around his bed. You sat with Sarah in your arms, smiling at her little snores beside your ear and with your free hand you took Joel's uninjured one, needing to touch him in some way to reassure you he was here.

He was going to be okay. 

. 

You almost missed it. 

The slight pressure on your hand. Your attention set on a bird hopping around on the branch of a tree just outside the window. Lucia had taken Sarah home for a little while, the baby having grown restless from hours of sitting and waiting for her daddy to wake up. Simon had gone in search of Coffee and sustenance. The fact that neither of you had eaten in quite some time made itself known when your stomachs started to growl loudly. 

Joel hummed as consciousness started to trickle through a little more. You were sat bolt upright in your chair. Watched as his brain almost visibly booted up and his eyes cracked open.

"Joel?" You uttered, leaning closer so you were in his eye line "Can you hear me?"

He nodded weakly, his eyes fluttering closed again and you deflated a little but soon perked up when they reopened a little wider.

"Hey." He croaked out and you sobbed, smiling brightly at him. 

"Hey yourself." 

"Where am I?..." He asked, trialling off as his eyes took stock of his surroundings. 

"You had an accident on site." You replied, voice wobbling a bit as you spoke "You fell from the scaffolding. You shattered your arm and broke your femur. They had to operate to repair the damage but you're going to be okay. Got a nasty concussion too... Doctor said you're a lucky man considering what happened." 

"Where's mum?" He asked, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath as he processed what you'd told him.

He was lucky to be alive. That's basically what you had said in so many words. 

"She took Sarah home. She was getting a little restless." You replied and Joel nodded "Oh! I should call her. She'll want to come see you now you're awake."

"Why are you here Pip?" 

Joel's question took you by surprise. Your brows pulled together as you looked at him in confusion. 

"What do you mean, why am I here?" 

"Well, we've not exactly been close lately." 

"Joel-" 

"If you're here because my parents asked you to be then you can go now."

"That's not..." You trailed off, shaking your head as tears started to pool in your tired eyes "I'm here because the man I love nearly died." 

Joel's eyes widened at your statement and his lips parted as if to speak but no words were uttered. So you continued.

"When Simon had called and told me that you'd had an accident... Everything just flashed in front of my eyes." You choked "All the time we have wasted not just being together." 

"Pip-" 

"I thought about that day with Anna... When I saw you kissing and the more I analysed it the more I realised that you looked as stiff as a corpse." 

"Oh, thanks." Joel snorted and you playfully punched his uninjured arm. "Gentle... I'm injured remember? Injuring me physically as well as emotionally." 

"You know I didn't mean it that way." You groaned "I just meant... It was clear that it wasn't something you wanted but at the time I just saw red and I..."

"I know Pip." Joel said softly as he took your hand in his "But, the reason you came to that conclusion is also because you don't trust me and if we're going to do this... that's something you need to work on." 

"I do trust you Joel it's just..." You trail off as you think about what to say.

You let out a long sigh as you bring his hand to your lips and place a soft kiss on his grazed knuckles.

"We didn't have a good start you and I." You chuffed "After the incident with Sarah's mum I... Well, my confidence was knocked and I struggled to believe that you ever liked me.

"Then everything happened with Sarah coming along and you telling me you did have feelings for me but then I got pregnant and lost it and I-" 

"Pip, sweetheart... You're ramblin' darlin." 

"Sorry." You said breathily, rubbing the palm of your hand not holding Joel's on your jeans "My confidence has taken a real knock Joel and I just needed time to re-centre myself but not I realise that I just wasted precious time we could have had together."

You look at Joel then, eyes locking with his as you drive him what the point you really want to make with him.

"Joel... I love you... I'm in love with you and I don't want to waste another damn minute not being with you." Joel's lip quirks at your statement and you smile at him as you say "So if I'm not too late Joel Miller... Can we quit fucking around and just be together?" 

Joel didn't say anything for a short while. His eyes searched yours for something but you weren't sure what. So you sat there on bated breath and waited for him to either reject you or accept you. 

"If we're doing this... I need you to know that I'm all in." He states plainly and your brows draw together as you await his explanation "Not saying it needs to happen next year or even three years from now but... I want to marry you. I want to have kids with you. Raise Sarah with you." He continues and your heart swells "So I need to know that you're all in too. Because I can't get into something with you, only for Sarah to become even more attached than she already is and then you leave us." 

"I won't." You practically squeak and Joel's smile spreads "I want all those things too." You state "I already love Sarah like she's my own and one... I want to have kids with you too. But perhaps give it a few years, eh?" You finish with a wink and Joel grins at you. 

"Then what are you waiting for?" 

"Hmm?" You hum, looking at him with a bemused expression. 

"Well it's not like I can get over to you so... ya'll better come over here and kiss me." 

You grin before standing up slightly so you can lean in and brush your lips against his. 

"Love you, Miller." You whisper between pecks on his soft lips.

"Love you too Pip." 

...

Three weeks later...

"There we go daddy." You said as you finished cutting up his food for him then placed the bowl within reaching distanceof him as he partially sat and partially lay on his couch. Leg and atm both propped up on pillows.

"Thanks, baby." He replied sweetly, puckering his lips for a kiss which you happily gave him. 

"Dadadadada." Sarah babbled from her spot on the floor, stuffed pooh bear in hand. 

"Come on then angel." You said as you scooped Sarah up and planted a kiss on the apple of her cheek "Time for your dinner too!"

You had easily fallen into domestic bliss with Joel. The man had been rendered utterly useless with his broken arm and leg but didn't stop letting you know how much he appreciated everything you were doing for him. Simon brought over care packages to keep Joel going when you were at the office, his mum taking care of him and the baby and during the day whilst you were at work. 

Once dinner was done, you put Sarah down and puttered around getting a few chores done before joining him in the lounge.

"How's your pain?" You asked and Joel nodded.

"A lot better." He answered and you smiled "fancy coming over here for a cuddle?"

"Joel Miller's a... If you'd asked me a month ago I would have said no way... Who knew." 

"Careful or I'll take the offer back darlin'" 

"No!" You pouted before slipping onto the couch beside him with practised ease. 

This is how you'd spent most evenings, cuddling beside him and making out a little before things started to get a little hot and heavy. The two of you having to cool it after that. 

And that's exactly how things progressed this evening. Your leg draped over his hip as you try to get closer to him. Only this evening, his working arm wraps around your back and his hand, resting on your backside, urges you to rub your core against his thigh. Your core aches at the perfect pressure this gives your aching core.

"Take what you need baby." He whispers against your lips "You deserve it, baby." 

"Joel." You whine, feeling your core tighten as your peak nears "Joel, fuck." 

He hums against your lips, his hand urging your hips to thrust a little faster and you comply, feeling your orgasm racing towards you. 

"Cum for me beautiful." He mumbles as he kisses you sweetly "Cum Pip." 

You do. Kissing him hard, you moan into his mouth as your core pulses with your release and your legs shake this theintensity of it. 

"Good girl." 

"Want me to finish you?" 

"No." He whispers softly "That was just for you. A treat for helping me."

"Joel-" 

"We'll get our moment baby girl." He interrupts, kissing you long and languidly "But for tonight... It's just about you." he finishes. 

Kissing you hard again, he urges your hips to move again and you can't find it in you to disobey. So you dry hump his thigh till you're boneless. Three more orgasms later your underwear and leggings are a mess. Then once you regain the use of your legs you help Joel to bed. Slipping in next yo him again and relishing how perfect all this felt. 

You just hoped that there weren't going to be any more surprises along the way. 

Next

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[deadlysoupy]

tfe starbee but starscream has been having chronic nightmares and is purposely avoiding sleep

HI HELLO i didn't know you back when you sent me this and its so nice to answer this now that i do hehehe so here you go!!!! hug attack from behind

(again, unclear timeline, this one actually jumps between some time when star was imprisoned and some happy not-so-distant future. again, don't worry about it <3)

(Read here on AO3)

The gun attached to his frame burns. Starscream's plating heats with it as it powers up, setting up the shot. Starscream's optics follow it's trajectory, and he sees yellow and purple colours, all mushed together in a cacophony of chaos.

The weapon fires all on itself. He didn't order it to attack, he never wanted to hurt them.

One devastating shot after another, the colours are greyed out. Unmoving.

Pulsating white lights obscure his vision. To silence them, Starscream fires again, until he's sure nothing is blinding him anymore.

Only when he makes his way to the throne does it outline so clearly, behind the now dull colours. Starscream never has to look back to know the cold bodies belong to his Seekers.

His family. Skywarp and Nova Storm. Their spark extinguished by his own hand.

The frame he's trapped in doesn't hesitate for a second. It sits itself on the Decepticon throne.

When he casts his gaze outward, he sees countless frames, all bowing to him. If he wanted to glance around, he knew there'd be no one else beyond the throne. He'd be alone, surrounded by bots pledging their loyalty to him. It's everything he's ever wanted, and nothing at all at the same time. 

His body shudders and jolts his optics open.

He clenches his servos hard, with intention, to know if it hurts. His claws dig into the planting. A quick warning of energon leak is ignored — but his pain receptors know pain.

It was a dream. Starscream accidentally fell into recharge.

He doesn't know if it's a good idea to be online in a cell like this, but it's better than going back to a dream like that one.

Not that it's anything new. Which was precisely the reason he didn't recharge as much. Perhaps it's the space he's forced to reside in, or it's his own processor fighting him, he doesn't know. The… nightmares, humans call them, have been frequent, and less than pleasant.

Starscream sets himself up to sit on the cold, hard floor of his singular occupied cell, prompting to lean on the wall instead of laying.

He keeps prodding his planting. Pain is a good stimuli for not falling into recharge. He finds it… comforting, after experiencing it so often.

His optics don't shut for a nanoklik. He won't allow himself a recharge that might cost him.

So he waits.

~~

Megatron looms over him. Red, devastating optics follow his every move. The canon on his servo always loaded, and ready to make Starscream remember what failure feels like.

He doesn't know how he got here, but his frame is broken beyond repair. The raw energon leaking out of him smells of rot and mistakes.

His spark is exposed. Frame beyond recognition, cockpit destroyed, laid bare in front of the person he thought was supposed to support him. Was supposed to make things better.

Megatron made it all worse, instead.

His spark aches, so very fragile a single touch would surely shatter it, and he would cease to exist. Life easily snuffed out.

The canon's fizzle gets stronger. Starscream doesn't feel the impact, but he knows his servo is disconnected. Its' joints, wires and pipes disintegrated.

It's not long before he gets to his spark, as well.

He can only helplessly follow Megatron's weapon as it destroys everything Starscream is.

Piercing, hateful optics land on his life. Megatron doesn't use his weapons for this.

He simply raises his pede and smashes it on Starscream's spark.

"Starscream!"

He comes online with a flinch. Who—

"Star", the voice echoes, sounding familiar, but not close enough. He shouldn't be here, this is his own mind, or he'll be hurt too—

"Stop thinking so loudly and just look at me, you aft."

Starscream blinks. Once, twice. It's dark, the room submerged in shadows, except for a yellow frame above him. And light, blue optics.

His body keeps Starscream trapped, but not in a way he finds intimidating. Bee's servos lean on either side of his shoulders, soft, yet firm contact grounding Starscream to reality. He feels Bumblebee's lower body descended on him, sitting on his midriff, pedes on the sides of his frame.

Bumblebee is staring at him, expression a mix of puzzled, worried, on the edge of sadness and anger. Optic ridges knotted together, mouth in a frown. Doorwings so stressed they're out of view.

Starscream takes a deep vent. Bumblebee does, too. Whether for his own sake or for Starscream's, he can't tell.

Bee's helm falls down on Starscream's cockpit. "You scared me. You were fidgeting so much in your recharge it woke me up."

Starscream is having trouble finding his voice, so he lets the silence linger for a moment. "It was nothing. You should go back to recharge."

"No way. You're telling me what that nightmare was about or I'm not leaving your side for a week," Bumblebee looks at him, now so sure of himself and full of commitment and confidence, as if he wasn't shaking from worry just kliks ago.

Starscream easily smirks. "Is that supposed to be a fitting punishment?"

Bee returns the smile. "You know I can be annoying. Do you really want to listen to me plan the Maltos training or do you actually like me?"

"It depends," he shrugs.

Bumblebee furrows his ridges again. "No, seriously, was it bad? You don't have to talk about it, but you know it's better if you do."

They did have a talk about that last cycle. Starscream isn't sure how they ended up having to discuss it, but Bumblebee found out about his "unhealthy" recharge patterns and sat him down for a heated conversation.

Since they were both having trouble falling into recharge, Bumblebee made a deal to go to one berth together. If it worked, they'd make it a habit to recharge at the same time.

It set things into motion for a time. Starscream had hoped the nightmares wouldn't come back with Bumblebee's frame — and spark — being so close, and yet…

After a klik, Starscream shakes his helm. "Nothing you don't already know."

"It's still good to talk about. I'm not going to judge. You thrashed a lot in there."

He does want to talk about it. Always does. The hypocrite in him screams to bottle it down, but it doesn't do either of them good.

So Starscream relents. He scooches a little to allow Bee room, and the bot ends up fully hugging his servo, while Starscream faces him.

"Megatron extinguished my spark. He tore into me with purpose, and eventually I didn't have anything but my core. In the end, he simply… put me out of my misery. And that's when your shouting woke me up."

Bumblebee's optics are pleading. This is why Starscream doesn't often wish to talk about his dreams — he gets pity, like he needs to be ridiculed.

Bee sighs. "Not one of your top five dreams ever, huh?"

"No."

"I'm sorry," he nuzzles into Starscream's servo even more, curling in on himself. "I know it's hard to deal with those, but they are just dreams, in the end."

Starscream's vents whirr. "They're a constant reminder of what could have happened. They're as close to reality as anything else. Your optimism is unrealistic, I'm afraid."

"Still, Megatron isn't like that anymore."

"You never know."

Silence stretches for some time, before Bumblebee raises himself up on his servo and stares into Starscream's optics, conviction burning through him.

"If it helps, I'm doing to defend you no matter what. If Megatron even tries to touch you, or sabotage you, I'll be here to make him stop. You aren't getting me out of the picture, no matter how much you want me to stay out. You have me now, in every possible way."

And, for the better or worse, Starscream believes him. He's a fool, but if the yellow Autobot can be a fool, so can he. For just a moment.

Despite it all, he lets what warmth there could be engulf his spark.

Starscream smiles. "Of course you will. There's no stopping you once you get that look in your optics."

"Hey, I don't have a look. My face is always like that."

"Sure it is, little Bee."

The rest of their recharge goes smoothly, without interruptions. Except for a call Bumblebee gets near the end of their session from the Maltos, but that could hardly count.

He isn't sure his nightmares will ever end, but Bumblebee's presence helps. Bumblebee will make sure Starscream remembers he's not alone.

[l0relaii]

Roleplaying with Josh sounds amazing (he’s taking it so seriously too)

Like he’s the building handyman and you have a broken pipe to fix and you answer the door wearing a thin silk robe

trying to distract him while he’s fixing the pipe and after he’s done with it taking an hour longer than it should you offer him a generous tip (the tip is sex)

Him finally leaving after an hour or two later with his hair looking disheveled

💐

jesus josh is soo into role-playing😵‍💫😵‍💫

you've agreed on the whole handyman thing before he showed up at your door with a tool box he burrowed from his father

and you can see the growing bulge through his jeans as he greets you glaring at you with his big green eyes

you lean against the door frame giving him a clear look at your cleavage and he admires the way the silk covers your body trying to stop himself from touching you

"good evening miss..you called me about a pipe leaking in your kitchen?"

"ohh yes, please come in and i'll show you"

he trails behind you like a lost puppy with the tools jiggling in the box. you show him the pipe under your sink that doesn't actually need any repairing and he gets down to business

and by business i mean he lays down with a flashlight while looking at your kitchen pipes telling you what tool to give him

"could you grab that screwdriver for me darling?"

"ohh yeah, sure, which one d'you need? you have like 3 in here"

"the red one"

you straddle him with the screwdriver in hand taking the flashlight from his fingers into your free hand

his hands shoot straight to your hips digging in the cold silk that covered your skin

your dress, now bunched up your hips reveals your wet cunt, no panties

"mmsuch a dirty girl.. waiting for the handyman with no underwear?"

"oh i'm sorry sir.. d'you not like it?"

his fingers rub up and down your folds collecting your slick before licking his fingers clean

"oh i like it.. a lot.."

"maybe you could fix my little problem before fixing the sink.."

"hmm? and what would that problem be missy?"

"i have this ache... down here.. and it leaks more than the sink.. see how wet i am?"

you lean back on his thighs shining the flashlight straight to your pussy, your wetness glistening from it

"fuck, you're right.. maybe i should fix you right up.."

he unbuttons his jeans sliding them down to his knees along with his underwear

"why don't you put that screwdriver down, huh?"

you do as you're told, gripping his twitching length instead

"just like that baby.. come on, lemme help ya.."