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The workshop stank of solder, sweat, and the crust of half-eaten fried chicken. Dell hardly noticed the mess anymore. His jumpsuit strained a little tighter across his stomach every week, and he'd started keeping a towel over his chair in case someone wandered in and got ideas about the oil stains being... anything else.
He was hunched over a dismantled sentry, grease on his fingertips, when the shouting started.
“TEXAS!”
Dell didn’t flinch. Just closed his eyes, counted to two.
Soldier marched into the room like a tank through drywall, gravel crunching under boots he wore indoors on purpose. "I’ve been conducting a perimeter sweep of the BLU base,” he barked, “and I realized something important.”
Dell didn’t look up. “That so.”
“Yes!” Soldier declared. “I realized the enemy has gotten smaller. More agile. More cowardly.”
“Well thats good isnt i-”
“Meanwhile, you—” he stomped closer interrupting, voice rising with theatrical horror, “—have become an easy target! An expanding one!”
Dell let out a long, tight breath through his nose.
Soldier leaned down, jabbing a finger toward his belly. “You got more insulation than a bunker full o’ commie rats. What’s the plan, son? Absorb bullets like a man-shaped sandbag?”
Dell muttered, “Trying to work here.”
“Workin’? Looks more like grazin’!”
That got a flinch. Soldier saw it. Smelled it. Pounced.
He circled the bench like a vulture, boots echoing on the concrete. “You used to be a lean, mean machine-spittin’, uh, well, MACHINE! What happened, huh? That gut slowing down your wrench arm?”
“I said—”
“What, the RED Scout lap ya one too many times and now you’re stress-eatin’? Tell me, is it tactical bloat? Battle preparation for famine conditions?”
Dell stood. Hard. Chair legs screeched. He turned slowly, face red—half fury, half shame. “I said, knock it off.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It throbbed.
Soldier tilted his head. He wasn’t grinning. Not really. “Why? Hit a nerve?”
“You got no goddamn idea what I’m dealin’ with.”
“Oh, I’ve got eyes, Texas.” Soldier’s voice dropped, suddenly quieter. “I see what’s spillin’ over your belt every mornin’. You think you’re still fast enough to run from a bomb? To dodge a bullet? Or are you just hopin’ the rest of us won’t say it out loud?”
Dell’s hands clenched. Not into fists. Just… tight.
And for a second—just a second—he looked like he was gonna explode.
Soldier straightened up, caught off-guard, turned on his heel and marched out muttering about ration portions.
The door hadn’t even stopped swinging before someone else slipped inside.
Lighter steps. Rubber soles. A puff of warm, syrupy air—burnt sugar and charcoal. Dell didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Hey there, Pyro.”
She said nothing. Just walked in slowly, head tilted like a curious dog, mask hissing softly with each breath. Her fingers twitched at her sides.
Dell sat back down hard, dragging the chair toward him with a grunt. “Just ignore that nonsense. He gets in his moods.”
Still no words. Just soft shuffling, the tap-tap of her glove against the metal bench. Then her hand reached out. Stopped. Hovered near his arm like a question.
Dell blinked. “You want somethin’, sugar?”
She pointed to his middle. Not accusatory. More like… reverent.
His face went hot. “Oh, hell. You too?”
She shook her head. Slow. Emphatic.
Then, wordlessly, she gave him a thumbs-up. Exaggerated. Beaming behind the glass.
“…Huh?”
She gave another, patting her stomach in a proud little gesture. Then she mimed holding a spoon, stirring, scooping, offering.
“You—” Dell laughed, incredulous. “You uh, you like food? You tryna feed me now or somthing huh?” ... "You like it when I eat?"
She bounced on her heels like a kid caught playing chef. Another nod. Another slow long glance to his belly.
Dell stared. It wasn’t mocking. Not mean. If anything, she looked… delighted.
“Darlin’, I don’t know what you’re seein’, but it ain’t good. It’s nothin’ but grease and shame down there.”
Pyro tilted her head again. Then she reached out and—very gently—pressed her palm flat against the softest part of his stomach. Her glove was warm. Her eyes, visible only as faint glints behind the lenses, were soft.
Dell didn’t breathe for a second.
She gave the tiniest pat. Then drew a little heart in the air. Pressed her fingers to her chest. Back to his belly. Heart. Him.
His throat tightened. “You’re serious.”
A nod.
Dell leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck, confused as hell. “I don’t get it. Don’t feel good lookin’. Sure as hell don’t feel like myself these days. But…”
She made a low cooing sound through the filter. Sat beside him. Didn’t talk. Just let her head rest against his shoulder, arms gently wrapped around his elbow, clearly trying to convey something.
And he let her.
CHAPTER 2
A few days had passed since the incident, occasionally engineer's mind visited the memory, he cringed and winced, frustrated and hopeless. To cope, he kept himself busy, that's what he always did.
Dell was hunched over a sentry, shirt off, wiping sweat from his brow. The workshop was warm with heating from the overhead vents and quiet… until Pyro slipped in.
Her eyes flicked to him. Then she lifted a gloved hand and gave a quick little flap — a playful, almost teasing gesture. Hot.
Dell blinked. “Yeah, yeah… I removed it ‘cause it’s hot in here,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, stretching out his back before quickly recoiling in fear of flaunting his soft middle.
Pyro’s head tilted sharply, and she covered her ventilator with a gloved hand, letting out a soft, muffled giggle — like a schoolgirl caught in mischief. Then, very deliberately, she corrected him with a slow nod and a little wave toward him, as if to say: No, I mean you’re hot.
Dell’s stomach did a little flip. “Oh… uh…”
She padded closer, holding a stack of blueprints. Dropping them onto the bench with a soft thud, she let her hip bump lightly into his as she swiveled her shoulders with a playful, almost choreographed roll. Eyes sparkling behind the visor, her grin, covered but somehow clearly there and completely infectious.
Dell froze. Red flooded his cheeks. His heart thumped in a rhythm all its own.
Pyro stepped back slightly, hands clasped in front of her, tilting her head in satisfaction. She gave another little giggle, quiet this time, before heading toward the door, leaving him blinking, heart racing… and very aware that she just told him, very clearly, that she liked what she saw.
A slow smile spread across his face. For the first time, Soldier’s barks and insults felt miles away.
Pyro had spoken—without a single word—and it was louder than anything anyone else could say.
He stood there for a moment, breathing, contemplating, sweating. Flushed, blood rushed down there, and a strong Pang of shame and shock smacked him in the throat. Dell ran a hand over his chest, muttering to himself. “…Hot, huh? She really thinks I’m… hot?”
“Lord, oh Lord oh God” “uhh mm okay that's, hah” What a devastatingly pleasant, nauseatingly embarrassing feeling. Engineer thought to himself before running his hands over the blueprints. A small rustle of wax-dipped paper. A Wrapper? … Cinnamon rolls???
That was the first gift of many.
It started small.
A pastry on the workbench. A bottle of sweet tea left beside the blueprints.
No note, but Dell didn’t need one. Only Pyro brought him things like that.
He’d find her later, standing nearby with that tilt of her head, hands clasped like she’d been caught doing something mischievous. He’d thank her. She’d clap her hands once, happy, and then wander off again like it was nothing.
The others noticed.
So did Soldier.
“Texas!” he barked one afternoon. “You gettin’ secret supply drops from the enemy?!”
Before Dell could answer, Pyro was already there — stepping between them. She gave a muffled growl through the mask that made even Soldier hesitate.
“Good lord,” Dell muttered, half-laughing. “She’s guardin’ me now.” He thinks to himself.
Soldier narrowed his eyes. “That arsonist of yours is up to something, boy.”
“Yeah,” Dell said, smiling down at the little wrapped cream bun in his hand. “She’s bein’ kind.”
Later, when the noise of the base settled and everyone drifted off, Dell caught Pyro lingering in the doorway of the workshop.
“You don’t gotta keep feedin’ me,” he said gently. “I know what you’re tryin’ to say.”
She tilted her head again. Then, with both gloved hands, she made a small heart in the air and pointed to him.
He laughed softly. “All right. You win.”
Pyro’s shoulders eased, and she gave him a shy wave before vanishing back down the hall, leaving behind another small box — and that same strange warmth that stayed long after she was gone.
CHAPTER 3
Dell was starting to get used to the little gifts Pyro left for him: a sweet bun on the bench, a small bottle of tea, the occasional wrapped pastry. He knew she was trying to make him smile… but today felt different.
She slipped into the workshop silently, eyes glinting behind the visor, fingers twitching like she had a secret.
Dell was bent over some Teleporter prototype, Shirt buttons straining ever so slightly, sugly hugging his muffin top, sleeves rolled up.
Without a word, Pyro padded closer. Then, with a quick, playful tilt of her hand, she sneaked up behind Dell. Leaning over, she brushed a soft layer of powdered sugar off the top of his stomach — a teasing, cheeky gesture that made Dell flinch slightly.
“Oh—uh…” he started, caught off guard.
Pyro just giggled, a soft, breathy sound that made his chest tighten. She leaned closer, careful, confident. Her gloved hand traced lightly over his Ample stomach, caressing it, teasing yet gentle, careful not to push too far.
She cooed and swooned quietly, little soft noises that made Dell’s face flush hotter than the southern sun back home.
Then, with a mischievous tilt of her head, she leaned in and gently pressed her nozzle against his cheek, muffling a tiny “chu” sound.
A kiss.
Dell froze. His hands went rigid, his ears heating. “…Oh…”
Pyro pulled back just enough to giggle, tilted her head again, eyes sparkling with triumph, letting him catch the meaning clearly:
She liked him. She really liked him.
Dell’s grin spread slowly, heat still rising in his ears. He didn’t need words to understand.
And for the first time in weeks, there wasn't any sting of guilt or shame.
Pyro began to sway around him, gloved hands floating through the air like she was choreographing a private, playful ritual. Soft coos and little swooning noises escaped her, the kind of sound someone might make while admiring a newborn.
Dell’s chest tightened. His stomach, which had felt like a source of shame for years, now felt like the center of someone’s admiration. Every curve, every inch she brushed her eyes over, was a testament to delight rather than criticism.
Electricity pulsed through him. He hadn’t felt like this in maybe a decade and a half: desired, admired, seen for things he had long considered flaws. And she lavished in it.
Her hands hovered near his shoulders and sides, tracing invisible lines in the air. She leaned close, sniffing faintly, tilting her head, making little cooing noises as if she were completely captivated. Every small movement felt intentional, confident, yet careful — teasing, playful, affectionate, respectful, all at once.
Dell’s hands twitched at his sides, gripping nothing, unsure whether to move, freeze, or laugh. His pulse raced; warmth spread from his ears down through his chest. He felt… alive.
Pyro finally reached out, fingertips brushing the top of his stomach where powdered sugar from the pastry earlier still lingered. She traced it slowly, deliberately, then giggled softly, muffled by her ventilator.
“I… wow… uh…” Dell froze, heat blossoming in every part of him, but a slow, astonished smile spread across his face. His chest felt light, his heart full. He had been desired, admired, seen — and it was… intoxicating.
Pyro pulled back slightly, giggling again, satisfied with her silent declaration. She dropped a small stack of blueprints on the bench with a soft thud, hips brushing his side in a confident, teasing gesture.
Dell stood there for a beat, cheeks red, heart racing, thinking: I haven’t felt this alive in years… and it’s because of her.
Just as quick as she entered, she left, softly shuffling, swiftly squeaking away, leaving the poor tubby Texan bricked up, alone, head buzzing with thoughts.
CHAPTER 4
He felt lighter — not in weight, but in mood. He worked with less tension in his shoulders. And whenever Soldier barked too loudly, there was always Pyro.
She appeared from nowhere, like a shadow guardian. Mask hissing softly, she’d stand beside Dell, arms crossed, head tilted, staring Soldier down with that quiet, unwavering intensity. Soldier would grumble, stomp a foot, and eventually retreat. Dell never had to ask for it. She just… knew.
Sometimes she brought a small meal. Sometimes just a cup of tea. Sometimes a muffin. Each time, she’d sit beside him, fingers brushing lightly against his hand, leaning her head against his shoulder if he let her. And each time, Dell felt something unfamiliar yet pleasant: cared for, liked, safe.
The change was subtle. A smile stayed a little longer. He started humming while he worked on sentries. He told small jokes back at Soldier, even if only in a mumbled, “I don’t care” sort of way. The teasing no longer cut him. It barely registered.
Pyro’s affection was constant, quiet, and patient. And slowly, without a word, Dell realized:
He was happy.
Really happy.
He could finally ignore Soldier. Could finally laugh. Could finally be himself.
And besides, according to the data collected from all the battles so far this season, Engineer had more kills, Dominations, and Captures than Soldier. What was he even worried about? Appearances?
Results, resolve, success, statistics, that is what matters in war, in a team, in the Blu base! The realization… it was soothing.
And every time Pyro perched nearby — quietly proud, gently attentive, silently protective — he couldn’t help but grin. She didn’t need to explain. Dell didn’t need to understand. He just… felt it.
He really had to pay her back. To show her what it meant to him, to express gratitude. An what better way to show love to the foodie, than to bring her food.
Dell lingered in the doorway, tin of peach cobbler in hand. The boiler room had been transformed into Pyro’s quarters—soft blankets tucked into corners, little trinkets scattered like someone had quietly claimed it as their own. Her old room, now a generous storage space for the rest of the team.
He cleared his throat, voice low and unsure. “Uh… hey… sugar.”
Pyro’s head tilted, curious. No coos, no gestures at first—just a stillness that made Dell swallow hard. Her eyes, glinting behind her visor, fixed on him, studying. There was something unreadable in the way she watched, like she was measuring his courage.
He shifted from foot to foot. “I… uh… brought somethin’ for you. Just… as a… thank you.”
He held out the small tin of peach cobbler. His hands trembled slightly.
Pyro didn’t move. Didn’t coo. Didn’t take it. Just… waited.
Dell’s chest tightened. Heat rushed to his ears. “…You’re doin’… wonders for my confidence here, sugar,” he added, the words spilling out awkwardly. “Not so much for… my figure, though… I don’t think you’ll mind that too much, huh?”
For a long beat, she simply tilted her head, still silent.
Then, very slowly, she raised a gloved hand, brushing it across her chest and back toward him.
No words. Just meaning.
Dell took a small, cautious step forward. Pyro mirrored him with a tilt of her shoulders, a tiny sway, almost imperceptible.
He froze. Her eyes, warm and bright, seemed to draw him in.
He raised the tin slightly, unsure if he should place it down, or set it aside.
Then, tentatively, she lifted her mask just enough to reveal her lower face—olive-toned, faintly scarred, flushed. Her lips curved into the softest, smallest smile.
Dell’s stomach dropped. He stepped closer, heart hammering, and she leaned—not forward, not back—but just enough that the distance between them shrank, until the air itself felt charged.
Neither moved. Neither spoke. The tin of peach cobbler rested forgotten at his side.
A flutter of nerves, a jolt of electricity, passed between them. Dell’s hands twitched.
Pyro’s fingers hovered at her sides, almost nervous, almost daring.
Then, slowly, she cooed. A tiny, breathy sound. Dell swallowed. “I… uh…” He let the words die. Instead, he closed the distance a fraction more. Pyro responded with a slight lean, careful, deliberate, tilting her head toward his. The tension held for what felt like an eternity. Two people standing so close yet not touching, hearts racing, breaths shallow. Almost a stand-off, almost fragile as spun glass.
Then, slowly, he placed the tin down. Fingers hovering near hers, hesitating. And finally—finally— the dam broke.
They leaned in, Lips pressing together into each other and overlapping. She gasped, surprised, then melted into his hold, heart racing as hips subtly grinded and collided against each other. Their breaths came in ragged bursts, lips barely leaving each other before diving back together, wet and desperate.
He gasped, she cooed, hands tracing, gripping, holding. Time spun, and nothing else existed but heat and closeness.
Pyro leaned closer, hands teasing over his sides, lightly pressing his stomach against her, swooning, playful, and bold all at once. She lifted her mask a little more, lips brushing his cheek, making a muffled “chu” sound—a kiss that made his knees go weak.
Dell’s arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. Pyro’s hands slid over his back, over his sides, grabbing his love handles and sliding down, pinching and palming his muffin top, confident now, playful, strong, adoring.
They melted into each other, bodies pressed close, foreheads touching, breathing in rhythm.
Dell’s heart thundered. Feeling the warmth, the weight, the softness of the curves she adored. His hands slid lower, resting on her waist, and for the first time, he let himself completely surrender to this chaotic, electrifying pull between them.
She cooed softly, nestling her head against his chest, hands still lightly worshipping his stomach, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And in that tiny, repurposed boiler room, with blankets, faint smoke, and the quiet hum of machines, they finally let themselves exist together.
Engineer could feel it all now. No shame, no hesitation, just the long-suppressed joy of being fully seen by someone who adored every part of him.