summary: when an intruder breaks into your house, dishy turns into his final boss form to protect you.
content / warnings: lighthearted (written in a lighthearted way), breaking and entering (by someone else), dishy nearly kills a person
word count: 518
a/n: okay so i confess i wasn't sure exactly how to write dishy, much less him in his final form, so this may be a little more ooc (𖦹﹏𖦹;) nonetheless, i still tried to give it a go, even if it's short / lightheartedly written! to the person who requested this, i hope it's okay and that you enjoy reading it!!
It happens so suddenly — and so impossibly — that you almost don’t register it.
Someone had broken into your house. Jolted awake by the shattering of glass downstairs, you race to the kitchen to find that an intruder had made their way in — though your mind screams at you to move, run, reason, anything, you find yourself frozen to the spot, as they make their way towards you with a clear intent to harm.
A white-gloved hand shoots out to protect you, and suddenly Dishy — who was once sitting demurely underneath your countertop — is a veritable, rectangular God of stainless steel and plastic, metal coils snaking down his legs and bubbles trailing from him; an angel wreathed in streaking jets of water (perfectly pressurized, of course) and holy weapons of gleaming cutlery armed at his sides. You half expect Chance to show up and narrate the conflict again.
The intruder’s eyes go wide, their jaw slack, as they struggle to process this. They drop their weapon, the poor thing. That won’t help them now.
Fffft! A hot jet of water, trailing steam, shoots out and hits the intruder square in the arm, and they scream.
‘Jesus fuck—‘
There’s a ringing in your ears as Dishy wrings the tablecloth and suddenly whips it at the intruder, sending them scrambling backwards, clutching their likely burned arm and face rapidly draining of color. Dishy laughs coldly, the voice of a dishwasher ridded of all empathy for human suffering.
‘Pitiful. Sad. Embarrassing.’
He readies to strike with his fork, prongs aimed at the intruder’s heart, and you have a feeling it’ll deliver a lethal blow this time —
‘Dishy, stop!’ you cry, clinging to his legs, and he turns to you with blank white eyes, so unlike the round black ones that captured your heart and soul (and dishes). ‘This isn’t you. Don’t put murder on your conscience.’
A pause, as Dishy contemplates this, and then the cutlery recedes as he sheathes them back within his compartment. The intruder, sensing that this is their best (and only) chance to get away, runs to high heaven, leaving nothing behind but the sound of wind whistling through the broken glass.
‘My hero,’ you gush, planting a kiss to the side of his face. Though it remains as cartoonishly inscrutable as ever, the increased whirring within tells you he very much likes it.
‘Be safe, my love,’ he rumbles down at you, (and yes, he’s still floating somehow, suspended mid-air in a cloud of foaming, rose-scented bubbles. You register in the back of your mind that this’ll wreak havoc on your monthly water bill.)
It isn’t long before sleepiness gets the better of you again and you make your way upstairs, the adrenaline of the night’s excitement torn away in a flash. You rarely see the side of him that overtook him tonight, but you feel all the safer for it — and tonight, you will sleep with a blissful smile on your face and the steady churning and beeping of your most loved dishwasher where you need him the most.
a/n: dishy's theme song (the main one) does kind of slap too
