#Tank Level Indicator

[nikeson01]

Reliable Water Level Indicator for Your Tank: Float & Board System

Seeking an easy and trouble-free method of monitoring your tank water levels? The Nikeson Float & Board Level Indicator is the convenient solution! Suitable for overhead and ground tanks, this mechanical indicator uses a float, pulley, and gauge board to deliver precise readings. Without electricity, it's ideal for offshore areas or industrial environments. Simple to install and durable, this water level indicator for water tank prevents overflow or dry run conditions. Take a look at the reliable LiquiLevel FBS model for a cheap and effective solution.

[watertanklevelindicators]

Top Features to Look for in Rainwater Tank Gauges

Selecting the right Rainwater Tank Gauges for your system is essential for accurate monitoring and efficient water management. Here, we’ll explore the key features that should influence your choice of tank gauge.

Key Features of Rainwater Tank Gauges

When evaluating Rainwater Tank Gauges, consider the following features to get the best performance:

Accuracy: The gauge should provide reliable and accurate readings of your water level.

Durability: Choose a gauge that is weather-resistant and capable of withstanding the elements.

Ease of Installation: Ensure that the gauge is easy to install and compatible with your existing rainwater system.

Remote Monitoring: Some advanced gauges offer remote monitoring capabilities via mobile apps or websites.

Why These Features Matter

Having a reliable and accurate Rainwater Tank Level Indicator ensures that you can optimize your water usage. Whether you have a small residential system or a large commercial setup, the features mentioned above will help you manage water more efficiently.

Conclusion

Choosing the right Water tank level indicator will provide you with accurate, real-time data that is essential for managing your water usage and ensuring sustainability.

[usertala]

it's sooo hot

synopsis: you move away from them in your sleep because you feel hot

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Zayne

He had his arm wrapped around you with his other arm under your head, legs tangled under the sheet. You woke up feeling like a burrito who’s just been in a microwave. The way Zayne was wrapped around you was comfortable, and if it had been an ordinary night, you would’ve loved it.

But it’s not an ordinary night. It was summer, and it had just been such a hot day that even with the AC on, you were sweating, and with Zayne hugging you and the fluffy blanket thrown on the both of you, it just felt too much.

Still groggy from sleep, you slowly move his arms away and remove the blanket. You feel like every movement is causing you to sweat more. Zayne wakes up from his sleep just to see you wiggling like a slug away from him. He grabs your arm.

“Where are you going?”

You shake his arm off, “’s too hot, love.”

He sighs. Standing up, he heads to the AC and turns it up higher, heads back to bed, and places the blanket on the edge of the bed.

He lays back down on the bed, “Better?”

You return back to him, using his arm as a pillow.

“Mhm,” you hum, already falling back to sleep. He places his hand on your stomach, giving you space while watching your chest rise and fall, lulling him to sleep once more.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Caleb

He wakes up from the feeling of being pushed. He opens his eyes and sees you; eyes closed, brows furrowed, and lips tugging downward. He pulls you in closer,

“Hey, pipsqueak? Nightmare?”

You tsked, “Get off, too hot,” still pushing him away.

He stands up to open the window. A cool breeze flows in, and you heave a sigh of relief. Rubbing his eyes, he checks the clock.

3:02 AM

Heading to the kitchen, he grabs a glass of cold water, making sure not to bump into anything as sleep is quickly catching up to him. He nudges you awake,

“Pipsqueak, drink some water.”

He slowly guides you to sit up and brings the glass to your lips. You grab the glass to drink.

After drinking, you push the glass to his lips, indicating him to drink too. He does. He lays down on the bed, faces you, and grabs your hand, going back to sleep.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Sylus

You wake up due to extreme heat. Your head is on Sylus’ chest with his arm wrapped around your waist. You groan, trying to get away from him. The weather was already hot, and being next to him feels like sleeping beside a furnace.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetie?”

You turn to see Sylus looking at you. You finally remove his arm from you. You tell him that it’s hot. He raises his brow and rakes a stare down your body—you’re wearing a tank top with shorts and you still feel hot?

He goes to the AC, turns it up to the highest (lowest?) level, and goes back to bed.

He sighs, “Better?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond and just grabs your hand, wrapping his arms around you, more securely this time.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Rafayel

He’s staying over at your place for the night because you invited him to dinner. You were already fast asleep, but he kept pacing back and forth. It was just so hot in your room. His place was by the sea, so it was never hot.

‘It’s just one night, you’re gonna be fine,’ he thought as he slips beside you on the bed.

The moment he touched your skin, you were already pulling away, discarding your blanket.

“What the—heyyy, why are you pulling away? I thought you wanted to sleep with me?”

He grabs your blanket and wraps it around you. You start to wake up.

“Rafayel, get this blanket off me. It’s so hot, I can’t breathe.”

You manage to break away from the blanket and lay on your stomach. He grabs the blanket and starts lightly smacking you with it.

“If you knew it was gonna be this hot, why did we even eat here? We could’ve eaten at my place. If you wanted to cook, you could’ve there.”

He guides you to stand up and drags you outside your apartment to his car and heads to his place.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Xavier

You had stayed at Xavier’s apartment for the night ’cause you got caught up with reading his new books. When you finally closed the book, the sky was already pitch black. You walk to his room and see him reading on his bed. Yawning, you lay down beside him and lay your head on his upper thigh, wrapping your hands around his waist and drifting off.

Xavier smiles as he strokes your head, humming to help you fall asleep. After a few moments, you roll over to your side of the bed, leaving him cold and wondering why you pulled away.

He closes his book and places it on the nightstand.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

He removes your hair from your face and places a kiss on your cheek.

You smile, “Too hot, Xavi.”

He softly laughs, caressing your cheek before standing up to close the window and turning on the AC.

He kisses your forehead, “Is this better?”

You hum, wrapping your hands around his neck, pulling him to bed with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[vishalnimbalkar1325]

Asha Enterprises | Ammonia valves, Ammonia refrigeration compressors, Ammonia solenoid valves, Ammonia weldable valves Pune, India

Asha Enterprises is best Ammonia valves, Ammonia refrigeration compressors, Ammonia solenoid valves, Ammonia weldable valves, Ammonia level control with indicator, Ice plant equipment, Ice cans, Refrigeration compressor spare parts, Ammonia compressor spare parts, Ammonia IBT Coil, Ammonia condensers, Ammonia receiver storage tanks supplier, Manufacturer Company in Pune, Mumbai, Thane, Navi Mumbai, Kolhapur, Ratnagiri, Raigad, Nashik, Solapur, Latur, Aurangabad, Sindhudurg, Sangli, Solapur, Ahmednagar, Satara and Maharashtra.

[dokidokitsuna]

Welcome to Cryogenic Hopetown!

-The theme of this area is ‘hospital’. The sick and injured of Alterna came to this place for medical care-- in the worst cases, their bodies were frozen, in the hope that they might be revived in the future. A future that, ultimately, never came…

-There are lots of medical tools lying around: you can give Smallfry a checkup if you like. ^^ You don’t know much about Salmonid physiology, but he seems to be in good health.

-The outpatient garden is a great place to relax. It seems other animals have started living in Alterna too~

-In the hospital itself, you can find a biometric monitor to put on, and through it gain access to your ‘Wellness File’: a physiological/emotional observation record maintained by O.R.C.A. It will allow you to view Agent 3’s reactions to certain events and features of the environment– explore and interact with as much of Alterna as you can to fill the file~.

-In a lower collapsed floor of the hospital, you can still find some occupied cryogenic tanks. According to O.R.C.A., these people cannot be revived– energy imbalances as Alterna was destroyed disrupted their storage conditions, and at this point they have essentially been mummified. Still, the idea of waking them up and talking to them is interesting to think about.

-Wellness File ###: Elevated heart rate, elevated adrenaline levels detected Neurological signals indicate recognition and attention. Patient ‘Agent 3’ may be excited, surprised, or mildly disturbed.

-The hospital lobby contains a ‘crystal mirror�� that shows you your desires: happy scenes with trusted friends, playing on repeat. It’s a little embarrassing to watch, so you try not to hang around it.

-Wellness File ###: Muscle tension detected Neurological signals indicate evaluation and memory access. Patient ‘Agent 3’ may be ashamed, conflicted, or yearning.

[holybibly]

The summer heat seems to be getting unbearable by the day. And there is nothing better than indulging in unholy thoughts during these times. 

And here are your unholy thoughts for the day: Your roommate San fucks you in the shower when the tension between you two gets too hot for you to handle.

San was a great roommate—you might even say perfect—if it weren't for one thing: he was so damn sexy. The boy just smouldered with hotness, and on top of that, you had a hard time dealing with his intensity and straightforwardness.

You never thought you'd share an apartment with someone like Choi San; it was like you two were from different universes; he was a famous fighter in the underground arena, and you worked in a fantasy flower shop. You rarely saw him without cuts and bruises and wearing anything more than an inappropriately tight tank top and sweatpants that hung so low on his hips that you could easily see the tattoo on his Apollo belt. San was quite the homeboy too, though; he loved to spend time with you, watching films or having dinner together, which was pure torture for you.

San had absolutely no filter; he could easily comment on how he liked your panties when your skirt was riding up too high or how your nipples were hard from the cold in the house. So, you often blushed in his presence, and as embarrassed as you were to admit it, your pussy was always unseemly wet for him. You were literally dripping.

Things had only gotten worse since he'd started letting you help him with his cuts and bruises from fights. He literally couldn't take his eyes off you, looking at you as if he wanted to eat you alive or fuck you right then and there. San was on the verge of grabbing you and fucking your brains out, and you knew he might, if the four broken beds he'd replaced were any indication.

But lately he hadn't brought any girls home, and something about his presence had changed. It felt like he was really hunting you down, circling you like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

He became rougher with you, harsher—you would even say possessive—as if you were his. The tension between the two of you was like the thick air before a storm. You could feel how stifling and electric San's presence in your life had become.

And if it was possible, he became even more shameless. Words, actions, touches—the level of sexuality and vulgarity increased day by day. It got to the point that one evening, while you were cooking dinner, he pressed himself against you from behind, all sweaty and dirty from another workout, wearing only sweatpants, and rubbed his erection against your buttocks.

His hands gripped the counter on either side of you so hard that his knuckles were white, and he breathed into your neck like a dog in heat��wet, hot, and hoarse as he thrust his hips into you. You were so shocked by what was happening that you didn't even know how to react; you just stood there and let him rub against you.

After that incident, you avoided him like the plague, and he didn't like that at all. You still remember the time you stayed late at work and came home after midnight to find San sitting in the middle of your living room in total darkness, staring at you with his feline, predatory gaze.

San had you cornered that night, pinning you between the wall and his body, giving you no chance to escape. He was so damn mean, scolding you until one moment his hand was around your throat and his forehead was pressed against yours. You literally gasped as you felt his other hand slide between your thighs and touch your pussy. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and the last thing you saw was San's smug grin as the door to his bedroom closed.

His games with you continued for weeks, literally driving you mad and depriving you of sleep. Hot images of him fucking you into the mattress or bending you over and fucking you so hard you couldn't walk for days filled your mind. And San stimulated it even more, as he seemed to have decided to give up t-shirts and vests altogether, walking around the house half naked all the time, and it seemed that his underwear had also been thrown out, as you could always see the outline of his semi-hard cock under the soft fabric of his jogging bottoms.

And maybe it would have stayed that way for a while if you hadn't left the bathroom door unlocked while you were taking a shower. You didn't think you'd see San until tomorrow morning; he's had another fight tonight, and as you knew, that usually lasted until dawn, so you didn't even think about locking the door.

The hot water scalded your body, thick steam filled the cramped shower cubicle, fogging the glass, and you were so lost in it all that you didn't even hear the front door close. Your hands slid over your body, smearing the fluffy, fragrant foam of your shower gel until your fingers were on your clit, slowly rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You were so sexually frustrated by all of San's actions, and you really hadn't had sex for a while, so you just couldn't resist playing with yourself a little. If only you had noticed the dark figure behind the misty shower wall.

Just as you had inserted a finger into yourself, throwing your head back against the tiled wall and rolling your eyes in pleasure, the shower door swung open with a vengeance, revealing none other than Choi San. You didn't even have time to react because he was instantly beside you in the cramped, wet space of the shower with you. He hadn't even taken his clothes off, his crisp white t-shirt immediately clinging to his body, showing off every muscle of his perfect frame.

You gasped as his palm slapped the tile next to your head, his other hand tugging roughly at your arm, pulling your fingers out of your wet hole with a loud squelching sound. He slowly brought your slimy fingers to his mouth, staring into your eyes before he stuck out his tongue and licked up all your slime.

He moaned softly, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you, his tongue swirling around your fingers, carefully lapping up every drop of your juices.

"Mmm, you're sweet, just the way I like it." San whispered to you, letting go of your hand and grabbing your throat instead, pulling you into a hot, hungry kiss. He fucked your mouth with his tongue instead of kissing you and continued choking you. Your hands gripped his back, feeling all the tense muscles under his thin, wet t-shirt. You moaned into his lips as San emptied your mouth.

When he let you go, your knees buckled, but his arm around your waist held you in place.

"That's it, angel, I've got you, and I'm going to fuck you so good you'll never want to get off my cock again."

[cvldbones]

do you take fanfic requests? cuz im eating your glorious kingdon content up and i'd love some ANGST! maybe mel crosses paths with an angry patient and frank goes insane protective mode??

love fic requests !! (if u like angst... this WIP is gonna be for you...)

When Mel thinks about it, there are three reasons she's wound up in this situation.

The first: the heat in her apartment is broken. She's called the landlord four times since the ancient unit sputtered and died last Tuesday, but he has been giving her vague, useless platitudes. Winter in Pittsburgh is not much different than it was back home in Kansas, but at least the HVAC worked in her mother's old house. She spent all night tossing and turning as she added more layers of clothes, scrounged for blankets, and desperately tried to contain her body heat by turning herself into a tiny ball. She thinks she might have managed three hours of sleep, but even that was fitful. (Becca, thankfully, has been at the center until Mel can resolve the situation. She struggles with temperature regulation on a good day. Plus, Mel really needed to steal her bedding.)

The second: it's flu season. It has been a busy shift even without being down three people: a shuttle bus carrying thirty drug and disorderly lawyers on the way back from a holiday party crashed into a concrete median, a man fell off his roof trying to hang last-minute Christmas lights and fractured most of the right side of his body, an unhoused man came in with severe frostbite and advanced pneumonia. But the fact that Heather and Cassie and Dana are all out have just made things much, much worse, especially since there is no one around to temper Robby's anxiety or calmly deal with the increasingly agitated patients in chairs. (Together, Cassie and Dana have successfully mitigated at least three fights out there in the last few weeks while maintaining enough composure to not tank patient satisfaction scores. A miracle, by all accounts.) Mel hasn't sat down in at least four hours, and the waiting room is overflowing, with people crowding onto the floor and even lingering in the open doors, so every time she goes to grab a patient, she's hit with a wave of cold air and the flurries from the encroaching snowstorm.

The third, and perhaps most important, reason: Mel is too nice for her own good.

She leaves Central 8 with a sigh. Her patient is attempting to sign discharge paperwork with heavily-bandaged hands - she singed her fingers pretty badly when trying to move a piece of firewood without a poker, which was so many levels of stupid that Mel struggled to lecture her with a straight face - so she hunts for an open computer to finally, finally try and input the backlog of notes from the day. She glances at the clock as she peels off her gloves and sanitizes her hands, grimacing a little when she realizes there's still three hours left in this shift.

But her fingers have barely grazed the back of the rolling chair when Perlah strides up to her, a harried expression on her face. "Mel, thank God," she says on a breath. "Football guy in South 15. Needs a re-up on his meds in the next five minutes or else he'll go berserk. Please tell me you can take him."

Mel's gaze slides to the room in question. "Football guy" was named as such because he came in wearing nothing but boxers and an oversized Steelers jersey, and he was in such a state of psychiatric distress that he couldn't tell anyone his name. They don't think he's unhoused; he had dirty, bare feet but was otherwise clean, and his body wasn't cold enough to indicate exposure to the elements for very long. He was also wearing a wedding ring, which was sign enough that someone was waiting for him. He responded to Haldol upon admission, so they're guessing he forgot to take his medication and left home in the middle of the night during an episode. Police haven't turned up any missing persons reports yet, but it's still early enough that his spouse might not be home to notice him gone.

She clenches her eyes shut for a second and steels herself. "Yes, of course," she tells Perlah, and the nurse's eyes go slack with relief.

"Thank you thank you thank you," she intones, gripping Mel's wrist before spinning off to tackle some other crisis. Mel is glad she doesn't flinch.

She allows herself a single moment to breathe in and out on a four count before she makes her way to the Pyxis and inputs the proper medication. She hears raised voices in Trauma 1 - Langdon and Santos working on the MVC patients they'd been warned about earlier - but doesn't pause to assess the situation. When she enters Football Guy's room, he's still prone on the bed, though he's twitching a little bit. Mel goes through the motions to ready the syringe: sanitize hands, re-glove, unpack the syringe from the cart, fill the needle to 1.5 mg.

And it really is a series of unfortunate events, she thinks. Because if she had gotten more sleep last night, her reflexes would have been stronger. If the shift hadn't been quite as nonstop, she might not have zoned out while preparing the medication. And if Mel was not just a little bit too nice, she would not have been in the room at all, and could have been sitting at her computer shoveling a granola bar in her mouth while she typed the stupid notes that she was still going to need to complete later.

Of course, that is not what happens.

What does happen is Mel spins, syringe in hand, and is greeted by a very much alert, awake, and agitated patient. With a scalpel in his hand.

"Oh," she says stupidly, almost dropping the needle in her panic. "Oh, uh - "

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks, voice low and scratchy, like he's been screaming. "What have you done to me?"

Mel raises her hands in surrender, the syringe still tucked between her fingers. "Um. I'm Dr. King. You're at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. You were found - "

"What have you done to me?" the man yells, and Mel tries to take a tentative step back. He follows her.

"Sir," she says slowly and calmly. "We're here to help. You, uh - you were found by the side of the Allegheny, and we believe you might have forgotten to take some medication today. Does that sound - "

"I don't know who you are," he snarls, stepping forward. The scalpel is in his right hand, fist clenching around the handle in a defensive posture. Mel swallows and takes another step back. She can't take him out of this room, that would be a different kind of danger. But if she can just reach the panic button on the wall, then security will know to come get her. If they can just restrain him, she can adminster the drugs and he'll settle down and it'll all be -

"I'm Dr. King," she tries again. "I'm here to help."

"You're just gonna - you're just like the rest of them," he seethes. "You're gonna try and get in my brain, is that it?"

"No, sir, I - "

He moves before Mel can even process what's happening, a strong arm clamping around her waist and pulling her against his back, the hand with the scalpel coming to rest along her throat. Mel holds tight to the needle and clenches her eyes shut, trying to breathe without touching the cool metal of the blade. "Okay," she says quietly, "okay, sir, we can - "

"Walk."

Mel doesn't nod - knife, throat, etc. - but she follows his instructions, putting one foot in front of the other carefully. At his command, she pushes open the door to go back out to the floor, hoping things are still busy enough that most people will be in patient rooms. It takes them seven steps before Donnie notices her, doing a double-take and cursing under his breath when he realizes what's happening.

"Mel," he calls, and she puts a hand up to stop him.

"Donnie, can you please go find Ahmad?" she asks in the most relaxed voice she can manage.

"But, Mel - "

"Now, please," she adds more urgently, and he pauses for a second before nodding and darting off. Princess is clutching her tablet to her chest, and Kim and Jesse are frozen near a patient in a wheelchair, gauze and bandages loose in their hands.

"You can't take me," the man says, and Mel feels the vibration of his anger. He jostles the scalpel a little bit when he presses forward, and Mel forces herself not to react.

"We're not trying to take you," she tries. "We're just - "

"Jesus fucking - Mel, you okay?"

Robby is barreling around the corner with Ahmad, Donnie hot on their heels. All three of them stop at the sight before them.

"Yes," she manages. "Yes, he's just a little - "

"I'm not gonna be one of your test subjects!" he yells out, shaking with the force of it, and Mel hisses between her teeth as the scalpel juts against her windpipe. "I'm not gonna - "

There's the sound of a door slamming open, the shock of the noise forcing the patient to grip Mel tighter. She winces a little. She hopes he doesn't leave bruises.

She knows who it's going to be before he speaks, but she's both grateful and terrified when Langdon barks, "What the fuck is going on?"

"I'm okay," she starts. The patient doesn't have her facing Langdon - she's pointed towards the charge desk - so she can only glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm okay. The patient is - "

"Don't call me that!"

Mel flinches at the volume, and Langdon curses again, his footsteps hurried as he tries to approach. She goes to tell him to stop, but Robby grabs his arm, halting him in his path. They're muttering to each other so quietly that Mel can't hear, but then Langdon bursts out, "What the fuck else am I supposed to do?" as he gestures her way.

"Frank," she says, firm, and he turns his head to look at her. She never calls him that here - they get enough teasing comments and knowing looks as it is - but she can see his entire body is taut with tension, his hands fisted at his waist. She can still barely see his face, but she knows he's glaring. Distantly, she wonders when he had time to discard his gown and gloves. "I'm okay."

She is still holding the syringe in her right hand, though she's kept it lowered this whole time so it's out of the patient's eye line. She flicks her gaze down to it and waits for Langdon to track the movement, knowing creasing in his features as she repeats, "I'm okay."

Langdon lifts his hands in the air and takes a tentative step forward, slightly to her right. "Can you tell us your name, sir?"

"Fuck no," he spits. As Langdon moves again, the patient angles both he and Mel in that direction. "You're trying to take me."

"Where do you think we're trying to take you?" Langdon asks.

One step forward. One to the side.

"To the lab. You're gonna try and work on me. I'm not letting you do that shit."

"Okay," Langdon says. They shift again, like they're performing a bizarre dance, twenty feet apart. She can finally see his face, and his jaw is clenched tight. His eyes are hard and worried, and she can tell it is taking a great deal of effort for him to keep his gaze trained on the patient. Strangely, she feels calm for the first time in this entire ordeal. "That does sound scary. But we're not trying to do that, sir. I promise."

"Your promise doesn't mean shit, man. You're just - hey!"

The grip on her releases as Ahmad yanks his arms behind his back. The movement jostles the scalpel slightly, but she ignores the sting at her neck and spins so she can administer the shot in the man's upper thigh, narrowly avoiding his frantic kick. She stumbles back a little in her attempt to get away, but she immediately feels a new pair of familiar arms wrap around her waist. "I got you," Frank says softly, relief evident in his voice. "I got you."

Ahmad and Robby dip away to deal with the patient, and the rest of the floor seems to release a collective breath as soon as the doors to South 15 click shut. Perlah is shouting at people - get back to fucking work - and Mel is dimly aware of the whispers of the other nurses - wait till the union hears about this - but she isn't paying it much mind. Frank gently turns her in his arms, his hands clutching at her shoulders as he studies her entire body, looking for evidence of harm. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she tries to smile at him, though she thinks it comes across more like a wince.

"Yeah," she promises. "Yeah, I'm okay."

With careful fingers, he tilts her neck slightly so he can get a better look at the cut on her neck, one large palm cradling her face. His thumb swipes her cheekbone. "Let's get this cleaned up," he says softly, and she nods.

She doesn't argue as he leads her into one of the open rooms on the South corridor, and she waits for him to pull the curtain shut before she lets out a whimper, reaching for him with desperate hands. He crushes her against his chest, one hand on the back of her head as the other grips her waist. She fists the bottom of his scrub shirt between her fingers and keeps her forehead pressed against his sternum, letting out ragged breaths as his uneven heart rate begins to slow down. "It's okay, baby," he murmurs into her hair. It sounds kind of like he's trying to convince himself. She releases a stuttered sigh. "I'm right here."

"I'm so embarassed," she says, the sound muffled in his shirt. Frank laughs in surprise, squeezing her one more time before moving back so he can look at her. He crouches a little so he can make eye contact, and his gaze is fond and worried and exasperated, all at once.

"Why the fuck would you be embarrassed? You stayed calm with a scalpel at your neck, Mel."

"I shouldn't have been in that situation," she protests. "It was - it was stupid, and I - "

"Mel," he chides, feathering a kiss to her forehead before sitting in the stool between her knees, his hands on her thighs. "It would've happened to any of us. Seriously." He huffs. "Granted, it would be better for my blood pressure if it hadn't been you, but that's not your fault, either."

She laughs a little, and the sound seems to ease some of the lingering tension in his face. She drops her forehead to his, nuzzling the side of his face until he presses an almost chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Robby is totally gonna make us fill out paperwork now," he grumbles against her, and she smiles. She feels so tired, suddenly.

"I told you we should've just done it weeks ago."

"Yeah, yeah, you're always right," he mutters. Her grin widens. With another sigh, he asks, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she promises. She means it, this time.

"Okay," he breathes. He lifts one hand to her jaw so he can kiss her fully, and she relaxes into it, humming a little before he pulls away. "Abby agreed to pick the kids up today, by the way. So you're not sleeping in that fucking ice box again tonight. Also, I'm not even sure why you're so worried about her reaction to you staying over," he adds. "She likes you better than me."

Mel rolls her eyes. "Can you yell at me after you've fixed my neck?"

"Not even yelling," he mutters half-heartedly, though he does as she asks. He's good that way.

[rav1377]

Call the Fire Department!

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

pt. 2 of But Sir!

pt. 3 Not There!

pt. 4 Oh Please!

tw:uh more smut? Sorry guys-smut smut smut. Johnny being evil, conspiracy, fear of elevators, poly 141, piv, blowie, recorded,etc.

it’s been a week from your encounter with John, and no one’s said anything. nothings gotten out that’s ruined your career. John had said things, mainly of dirty content about you, but hadn’t touched you since. you were beginning to get looks from the other men of the 141. hungry looks.

you continued your work, trying to ignore them, filling out reports and running errands. Kyle had asked you to run up to the second level of the base to grab a form he needed you to fill out, and you were more than happy to oblige him. heels clicking with each step you took to the elevator. as you approach the hall, you see Ghost turn a corner as well, and he stares at you beneath his balaclava. he grunts out your name and hits the button on for the up button on the elevator with his knuckle. your eyes linger on his hand a little too long, but you step into the elevator with him stepping behind you. you hit the up button and look back at him “you going up too?” you say softly. he nods, and you lean away from the door, resting on a wall. the ascent begins and Ghost crosses his arms. but then, something rumbles all around you, and the elevator screeches to a halt.

you brace your hand on the rail and gasp. “are you kidding me…” you murmur, eyes widening. you look around frantically, and look at the panel, a button blinking red, indicating it’s broken. you also wouldn’t ever admit this out loud, but you’re a tiny bit afraid of elevators. maybe more so of being stuck in them. you let out a low whine and say “no no no no-are we stuck? i got things to do, we can’t be stuck oh god-“ Ghost is still staring at you while you panic. “wot, you scared, luv?” he says, moving off the wall. “no! i just don’t wan to be stuck!” you cry, searching for the button to call for help, groaning when you can’t find it. “do you have your phone? call the fire department!” you whip around and face Ghost, only to find his chest level with your eyes. “don’t fret, already messaged John about wot happened, they should be on the way.” (he didn’t text anyone.) a breath of relief leaves you, and you think John must be working to get you two out. (he isn’t.) you lean against a side of the elevator wall, tilting your head back, eyes shut. nausea from anxiety was plaguing you and you were overthinking every bad thing that could happen. you stand back up and begin to pace the small area in the elevator, Ghost trailing you with his eyes.

“what if something happens, the elevator could fall, if i get hurt i can’t fix it, we can’t control the elevator from here, what if the fire department messed it up more, what if-mpmh!” your rant is cut off with a heavy hand as your pressed against a wall. “you are scared, aren’t you swee’eart.” his dark eyes inspect your own, and drift down to your chest, restricted by a silk tank top. “it’ll be olright. you just need something to distract you, right?” his hand comes off your mouth and cradles the right side of your face. his right hand comes and lifts up his mask so his lips are exposed and you’re frozen. his chapped lips press against your plump soft ones. you sigh, and your arms hang limply as his hands cup your cheeks. you feel his knee coming up in between the legs of your trousers, pushing upward until they apply pressure where you need it. you hands lift up and you press them to his neck, tucking them under his ears, fingers dipping under the mask. he flinches at that, pulling away briefly, like he wasn’t expecting you to touch him. your eyes search his, pleading for something to happen. god, you know you shouldn’t want anything to happen, but you do.

his brown eyes soften, and growls out lowly, “oh to hell with it.” before ripping off his mask, shoving it down in between your breasts. flinching back, you stare down at it, sitting there, before looking back up at him. but you don’t get long to inspect the rough plains of his face before his mouth is on yours again, desperate. his hands undo the zipper of your trousers before yanking them down with your knickers just enough. lifting you up and pinning you against the wall, your head tilting back. he kneads your ass in his much larger hands and your legs wrap around his waist. “you’re such a minx, y’know that, luv?” you moan when his hand makes contact with you cunt, screwing your eyes shut. beginning to move against your most sensitive spot. his teeth peck at your neck, and little gasps leave you. your hands find his cropped hair that you now know is blond, tugging on it. he groans loudly and you turn red. out of all the men of the 141, you thought he’d be the least vocal.

“christ, dear, gonna kill me, huh?” his lips curl into a smile, and you jaw goes slack, staring at him with glazed over eyes as he rubs your clit furiously, bringing you over the edge. you keen, hiding your nose behind his ear. he smells so good, like musk, gunpowder, cigarettes, and something minty. you continue to whine as you ride out your high. his hands leave you to undo his own cargos before fishing out his member before pressing it against you. you feel him twitch against you and something like a shiver runs down your back. he’s looking up at you slyly, grin still on his face. rubbing your hand over his forehead, pushing hair back from his temple, you can see a sheen on his pale skin, sure that it matches you own, it’s warm in the cramped elevator.

you didn’t know this, but you’re the first person to see his face (besides Price) this close. you admire him silently, all the scars and flaws. he’s not handsome by any normal means, but to you he’s beautiful. all the boys are. they’re always so brave, going out to save the world a little bit at a time, always returning to you. you also didn’t know that you were what they fought for. you were what they rubbed themselves to late at night, your name is what they whispered against each others lips when their callused hands weren’t enough. and for Ghost, you were the only pretty thing in his life, and he took care of the nice things given to him. given to him you were, practically plopped in his lap, pretty clothes and all.

you kiss his nose and whisper “please, Ghost. want it so bad. will you give it to me?” he almost melts, but make sure you stay firmly against the wall. “‘m not Ghost luv, not to you. not anymore. call me Simon…please.” he gazes right into your throat, not wanting to look you in the eyes. you nod, murmuring okays into the crown of his head. something softened in him. he wanted to come and do this all tough, command you in so many different ways, but that needs to wait. “you sure about this swee’eart?” he says, hand reaching down to line himself up. your head bobs, and you mumble out, “want it Si, please.” with that he starts to push in and you mewl. he’s bigger than John, a lot longer. you try to push off of him but he keeps you firm. “it’s okay, i got you. just take it, darling.” he murmurs, pushing in until he’s fully snug against you. you both groan when he bottoms out and you feel so full. you slump against his shoulder. “mgh-feels good, Si. you feel good, doin’ so good, cmon please, need more.” he groans and begins to move. you grip him like a vice, clenching with each thrust. he moves faster, more desperate. you changed something in him, altered something in that head of his. he might as well never look at a woman again, you’re the only one he’ll think about from now on.

he pushes and bullies you against the wall, but you’re not complaining. each thrust pushes you closer and closer until you’re spasming around him, completely pushed over the edge. his head gets buried in your neck as he squeezes your waist and moans into the skin, spilling inside you finally. you whine right along with him, the sensation fills weird when you’re already stuffed. “too good f’me luvie.” his words are muffled by your skin but you smile, kissing his temple. “thank you Si.” you repeat over and over again until he presses his lips against yours. “stop. should be thanking you..”he trails off, running his hand down under your ass, lifting you off of him before placing you on your feet. once he’s sure you won’t fall, he buttons your trousers up nice and neat before doing up his own. you feel his seed pooling in your knickers, and you reach down to coat your fingers in the mix, his eyes baring into your soul as he watches you lift them to your mouth, sucking them intently. he chubs up right again, groaning. you smile, blissed out, before reaching down your shirt to pull out his mask. he leans down, and you slip it over his head before pressing a kiss to his clothed cheek. he presses one right back over your mouth. he holds you in his arms after that, and you stand quietly. “such a good secretary f’us. do so much.” he says, petting your hair.

a bang sounds on the door, and you hear a muffled voice say, “oi, just figured out the issue, fixing it right back up now, get you moving in a bit!” you quickly remember the situation you’re both in, and giggle at the predicament, looking up at his eyes. you see them crinkle together in a smile before he calls out, “hurry up with it yeah, got things to do!” a laugh is heard on the other side before heavy steps walk away. not even two minutes later, the elevator resumes, and they open to the second floor. “thank y’ dove, I’ll see you ‘round, yeah? or just come see me in my office, you know where it is, right?” he chuckles before sending you on your way with a firm pat on your ass. you gasp and blush, walking on sore legs to get Kyle’s form.

little did you know, Kyle didn’t really need that form. just like you didn’t know Johnny had messed up and fixed the wiring so you and Simon would get stuck in there on purpose while Kyle watched the whole thing from the camera in the elevator, making sure to cut off anyone else on base watching it. of course he sent the video to John before making the feed return to normal once you and Simon were out. Johnny had been rock hard while watching it all, whining about how he wanted a turn. Kyle simply laughed at him, patting his head as he unbuttoned his own cargos to give access to Johnny to put his mouth to use, tutting as Johnny spilt into his own hand, before allowing his mouth to be filled by Kyle’s own spend. John had merely sat in a corner, watching the two other men, smoking a cigar and smirking, finishing up another little report for you to entertain yourself with.

[thestrangestthlng]

Back on my discourse bullshit.

I am really sick and tired of the insinuations that Tommy is predatory. It reeks of homophobia. Older gay man praying on the poor uwu infant grown man. It's disgusting.

The newest implication? That Tommy took advantage of Buck in his drunk state (while simultaneously wanting B&E to have hooked up when they were both absolutely annihilated... gurl gn). And can't forget the stalking allegations that they happened to be in the same bar. LA may be sprawling, but it ain't that big and it's absolutely not out of the realm of possibility that the both frequented the bar in the past. People have preferred bars that they go to.

Firstly, we don't know how much Tommy had to drink. Secondly, Buck is a 200+ pound tank of a man, it will take more to get him drunk than it would say... Ravi who is at minimum fifty pounds less than him. And Ravi who maybe drank a shot or two less than Buck was sober enough to walk up to the bar without stumbling, order beers without stuttering, and see Tommy and make the connection and hightail his ass out of there.

It was a consensual sexual encounter. They both wanted it. Tommy made it clear to us, the viewers, that he missed Buck as much as Buck missed him.

But being weird and shitty about a fictional character is one thing (even if toxic) but we bring that bullshit to the actors whose job it is to play these roles. Y'all love to say that Lou "gayed him up" and gave Tommy "gay voice" but in the next tweet will lovingly say that Ryan has a "f--cent". Meanwhile, first and foremost, there is no one way to be gay. A cadence in your voice does not indicate your sexual orientation. (Yes, I know there is linguistic basis to 'gay voice' but lets be honest, that's more masters level queer theory and linguistics and these babes are in 101.) Secondly, If you ever listened to Lou talk, you'd realize that's how he talks.

You can just not like a character because you think they are in the way of your ship. That is okay. Lets keep the -ists and -phobias the fuck out of it. Let's keep the actors themselves out of it and act like we had some semblance of home training.

Some people in this fandom has stripped all the joy away from even people who ship your ship. This fandom is known by other fandoms for this bullshit and thats embarrassing as hell. You're embarrassing. I'm embarrassed for you.

[mattsundaes]

i wish you would write a proper follow-up to reader and roommate!kuroo's aphrodisiac fiasco because i MUST know what happens next !!!

(continued from)

18+

>>: kuroo........

groaning in frustration as your vibrator dies a pleasureless, low-power death between your legs, you text kuroo before you can think better of it.

your roommate answers faster than you were expecting, the message hovering on your lock screen as you rifle around in your nightstand for a charging cord. kuroo: .........yes

the tangle of miscellaneous cords in your hand falls onto the carpet, and you groan at the hot, swollen ache that pulses below your navel, sending your ability to think straight wholly off kilter.

>>: what >>: the fuck

the typing indicator pops up and disappears several times before he finally answers.

kuroo: am i politely pretending i don't know what you're talking about or are we making this weird

>>: we accidentally ate viagra chocolate my vibrator is checked out and i need you to talk me out of pathetically relapse texting my ex we are past weird

and yet it only occurs to you after you hit send—

>>: wAIT are you >>: nvm

something inside of you burns hot at the thought that kuroo's probably got a hand wrapped around his cock right now. he hightailed it out of the living room before you, after all. he's got to be just as affected—

the typing indicator dance ensues.

kuroo: chances are very high i will punch him if that asshole sets foot in our apartment

>>: bokuto's been replying to all of my selfies with fire emojis lately >>: should i text him

kuroo: this is really effective at killing my boner actually keep going kuroo: but also please don't

>>: i heard lev's back in town

kuroo: please no more have mercy on me kuroo: i'm doordashing you a vibrator

you choke out a laugh.

>>: my knight in shining armor<3 >>: but it probably won’t come charged though so >>: square one

dots. more dots. more dots that appear and disappear.

>>: wait are we sexting right now

the door to your bedroom swings open suddenly, and for a brief moment, you forget that you're lying in bed naked from the waist down, tits spilling out of your tank top, your purple vibrator slick with arousal sitting forgotten on the sheets beside you.

you forget, because kuroo's standing there in your doorway shirtless, hair askew in every which way like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly, face and neck flushed, sporting an erection tented at the front of his gym shorts that leaves your throat dry.

kuroo's eyes go a little wide at the sight of you, but he recovers quickly, approaching the foot of the bed and placing his hands on the edge of it, leaning down to meet you at eye level.

"you're not calling your shithead ex-boyfriend."

you nod.

"and you're not calling bokuto."

you nod again.

"or lev."

you have to stifle a laugh at the last one—you weren't going to fucking call lev.

"you're going to look me in the eye and pick one of two options."

you swallow, a sharp swell of arousal cresting inside of you at the intensity in his gaze as he holds up two fingers.

"you can sit here waiting for your vibrator to charge. and i'm going to politely act like i don't hear you whimpering while you fuck yourself with it once it is—like i do most nights, by the way. like a good rommate. and then i'm going to put my phone on do not disturb and jerk off in peace."

he puts a finger down.

you might pass out.

"or, i fuck you until you're satisfied. with my fingers, my mouth, my dick. whatever the hell you want. until we get this out of our systems. and then we don't have to talk about it ever again."

he puts his other finger down, and your own fingers clench the sheets painfully tight. your cunt aches.

-

four orgasms later, you're too fucked out to think too hard about the way you're more than satisfied, but you're still curled up beside kuroo. still slotting your spit-slick lips against his, whimpering and moaning into his mouth between slow, deep kisses as he lazily fingers your oversensitive cunt, teasing your wet hole until you're trembling through yet another climax.

(he pretends like he's not aware that this is far beyond whatever the chocolate's done to both of you, that every desperate, needy sound you're making now is for him and because of him—and him alone.)

and you're rubbing your slick folds up and down his shaft until he's hard again, climbing into his lap to straddle him and gasping as he slides right back into your messy hole, fucking his cum right back inside of you.

[sayruq]

Hamas propaganda is so much more effective than Israeli propaganda despite not having the support of seemingly every western news organisation. It's simple, clear, cohesive, easy to understand, and therefore believable.

For example, Hamas will film themselves handing over healthy looking hostages to the Red Cross and then interact with them right before they leave to show how friendly the captors and captives have gotten. You watch the videos and you understand everything that is being conveyed immediately.

And it worked. Even the people in my life, who aren't watching the conflict as closely as we have, have seen these images and have spoken in varying levels of surprise at how 'nice' and 'hospitable' Hamas was to the hostages. Keep in mind that these videos came out after weeks of billions of people witnessing the brutal and systemic murder of Palestinian people. The contrasting gentleness of the hostage exchange stood out greatly.

Israeli propaganda is chaotic, it conflicts itself, it's complicated. Look at this for example

In order to explain why the hostages were so friendly with their captors, first, it was because the hostages had Stockholm Syndrom. Naturally, social media, their second greatest enemy, was awash with people refuting the existence of such a syndrome. So, it became that the hostages were actually being held at gun point. While, there were guns present during the hostage handovers, no one was pointing them at hostages in the videos that we all have available. No one was being hostile either. Now, we have the sedative explanation which again can be easily refuted by the videos we all have access to because the hostages didnt seem particularly drowsy. So, we have hostages with Stockholm Syndrome, who had guns pointed at them, and who were sedated. That's just too much. How can Stockholm Syndrome coexist with being held at gun point in front of the Red Cross? Why would they need to threaten the hostages if they're sedated? Which explanation can the average zionist go with? Which one can a neutral party accept?

The same goes for the war propaganda. On one hand you have American officials insisting that Israel would never harm Palestinian civilians on purpose but on the other hand, you have soldiers filming themselves shooting recklessly and with wild abandon into thin air with the implication being that they're battling off screen Hamas. You also have Israel insisting that hospitals, schools and refugee camps are secret Hamas bases but all we are seeing is civilians getting murdered in protected areas. When it comes to war reports, they can't decide if they've killed 1,000 or 5,000 Hamas fighters. No wonder even Israeli commentators have given up on the promise of the complete eradication of Hamas.

The Palestinian resistance have also released war propaganda. Simple, well edited videos showing their fighters actually battling Israeli soldiers and tanks, sometimes very up close. The videos are similar despite featuring different confrontations in the battlefield over a period of time. It's easy for anyone to spot an Al Qassam or Al Quds video. It's even easier to accept their daily war reports because we've seen them back up their claims. The numbers they give are consistent with their capabilities as well as various indicators such as Israel being forced to decommission their older tanks for the war in Gaza. Would they be doing that if they weren't losing their top line tanks fast?

Many zionists have spent the past 2 months confused as to why the whole world has seemingly turned against Israel. I'd point the finger at Israel if I were them, both due to its actions in Gaza and its inability to continue fooling the world.

[nikeson01]

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[watertanklevelindicators]

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[centrally-unplanned]

Follow-up to my Fanroad Magazine archival scan post - let's look at some cute 90's anime art! Just random ones that caught my eye:

"Hey, what happened to me!?" As mentioned, this came out before End of Eva did - as such, Asuka & crew really didn't get much of an ending in the TV show. 100% how she would react to watching episode 26, props to our artist (春原てるも/Kasuhara Terumo)

There are just so many "Rei running with toast" pieces, it was clearly a combination of a meme amoung the fans and the theme for the magazine. Love how this one brought marmalade too - never compromise on taste, no matter how late you are.

(The artist's name is "actually, I'm a Shinji fan" btw lol)

I love finds like these - these toast-lugging Rei's are by people who are professional mangaka today! The first is by いちば仔牛/Ichiba Kousei, or "Marketplace Cow" - it ain't their birth name I am sure - and they are a founding member of the doujin circle UGO - which is still going strong! And our second is by (I am 80% sure on this one) うおなてれぴん/Uona Terepin, a quite-accomplished artist who adorably published their first professional work in 1997, a year after this. Their twitter feed is 50% big titty girls and 50% model tanks, absolutely based.

Hot👏Shinji👏Fucks👏, this piece is amazing. What else do I have to say? (緋月れん/Hizuki Ren - maybe, translating Japanese names with no context is hard guys -_-)

This is one of my favourite trends - so Evangelion has a lot of technobabble? And it is very frequently in English. So fans really liked recreating that aesthetic in their art. But in 1996 they didn't have access to like screengrabs from the show or scanned splatbooks on hand? Which meant they just used ~whatever English text they could find - generally newspapers at their university or library. Which means we get Toast Rei splashed on reports of stock indices in the global financial markets, and this beautiful moe-Rei/Asuka looking solemnly out over, uh, some report about housing prices and cholesterol levels? Technobabble indeed! (嶋屋みえ/Shimaya Mei, まなせ貴也/Manase Takaya)

Rei clone army! Adorable. (藤桜智美/Fujisakura Tomomi)

Okay, moving away from Eva, there is in fact a bunch of other properties in here with fanart, but these types stood out to me:

That seinen "Kids on the Street" energy that was peaking in the 90's; fully ~aesthetic. (Keiko Kuyuki)

And to end on a weird note:

One section of the magazine is just a free-for-all of thoughts, and one Yayoi Hirone decided to give us a girl caught in the middle of undressing...alongside a recipe for cooking shrimp. Which, if I am being honest, is a huge improvement over the bullshit they throw on recipes online these days. This is the future we could have had -_-

Anyway, I hope that was fun - if anyone is struck or amused by some of the art in the magazine, I would be happy to see what stood out to you!

[cuubism]

saw this art of fem jayce at the forge and i was like possessed to write fem jayvik. help

-

Vik doesn't usually go to find Jayce at the forge. Besides the fact that it's quite a walk from the Academy, she considers it to be Jayce's safe space. She doesn't want to intrude.

But today, three hours have elapsed since they were supposed to meet, and Vik is getting a little worried. So she's intruding.

She can hear the clanging of hammer on metal as she approaches, can feel the heat of the forge, and steps through the doorway, curious. Jayce's back is to her as she works on something that clearly requires a lot of brute strength if the way she's going at it with her hammer is any indication, and she doesn't hear Vik come in over the sound of the clanging metal. It gives Vik a moment to just... look. And what a sight.

It's not at all that Jayce doesn't look attractive normally. At work, in the lab, she looks lovely, very smart, very professional. She wears the Academy uniform well. She looks beautiful at galas. Her dresses flatter her figure, her makeup is impeccable. It just... it doesn't do anything for Vik beyond a surface level appreciation. She'd started to think her physical attraction to Jayce at the start had been fleeting, some kind of fluke.

Now she curses Piltover high society for getting between her and this.

Jayce is a mess--but what a mess. She's only wearing a thin tank top instead of her usual long sleeves and layers, and is sweating through it, the strong muscles of her shoulders and back on display. Has she always had muscles like that, and just hidden them? By Janna. Her hair is coming out of its ponytail, falling around her face in flyaway strands, sticking to her neck and her temples, and the bit of her profile Vik can see suggests she's not wearing any makeup, presumably because it would just smear off.

Jayce brings the hammer down again on whatever she's hitting, arms flexing, and Vik starts sweating, not just from the heat of the forge.

She waits until Jayce has put the hammer down to speak, lest she startle her into dropping it on her foot or something. "Jayce."

Jayce whirls around, and then does almost drop the piece of hot metal she was working on, which she's holding in a pair of tongs. Fortunately she recovers in time. "Vik! What are you-- shit, am I insanely late?"

"Yes. But it doesn't matter." Vik walks closer. Jayce looks sort of nervous, caught out, though Vik can't imagine why. "What are you working on?"

Jayce gestures with the piece of twisted metal. "This is just scrap. I just... needed to get some energy out." She sets the tongs and metal aside, pulls off her gloves and puts them aside too. "I can meet you, I know we were supposed to go over the proposal-- just give me a few minutes to change and--"

Vik is close enough to touch her now. Possessed by the way the light of the forge is gleaming on Jayce's skin, she does, pressing a fingertip to Jayce's arm. The muscle is incredible. She feels all shivery in a way she normally doesn't just seeing Jayce at fancy events, much as she might appreciate her beauty.

"Vik," Jayce says, strangled. "Seriously. Just. Half an hour. I'm a mess."

"I don't mind," Vik says. It's possible it comes out a little bit like a purr. She's been half -- more than half -- in love with Jayce for a long time but this, this raw appreciation, this is new. Jayce is sweating so much from her exertion that Vik can see the outline of her nipples through her shirt. She kind of wants to put her mouth on one, or just plant her face between Jayce's tits. Oh, dear.

Jayce gives a hysterical, terrified sort of laugh. "What?"

Finally Vik manages to look up from her chest and into Jayce's eyes. She looks... sort of nervous. Almost scared.

Vik takes a step back. "I'm... sorry. I am making you uncomfortable."

"No- no!" Jayce follows her, hands hovering around Vik's shoulders. "I just. You never--? And now--?"

"Please, breathe," Vik says, and Jayce takes a shuddering breath.

"I didn't think you liked me like that," she says. "And, I mean, now? Of all times? I'm not-- I'm not dressed, I'm a total mess, I need to shower and-- this can't possibly be what you want, at least let me, like, try--"

"Jayce." Vik really hates Piltover sometimes. She's also having Realizations. "Do you like wearing makeup?"

"What?"

"Do you," Vik repeats. "Like. Wearing makeup."

Jayce pushes her wet hair back from her face, looking bewildered. "I. No? What does that have to do with anything?"

Vik touches her arm again, trails her fingers up and over Jayce's shoulder, up her neck, to cradle her cheek in one hand. "It has to do with the way you've been dressing yourself in their colors and I much prefer you dressed in your own." She presses her thumb to Jayce's lower lip. "And comfortable."

She looks like herself now. Not clothed in the finery that suits Piltover's idea of respectability. Or womanhood.

"So you're saying..."

Vik leans up to press her lips to the corner of Jayce's mouth. Jayce, unhelpfully, seems too stunned to lean down and help her out. "I want you."

"Like this?"

"Mmhmm. Don't let them get in your head. You look incredibly hot."

"Okay?" She still seems bewildered, but rests her hands on Vik's hips. "If you say so, I believe you." She ducks her head, nosing along Vik's ear. "You were the one I really wanted to be looking, anyway."

"I am looking." She ought to have come to the forge sooner. "Have you finished your hammering? Would you perhaps like to get out your energy in another way?"

"Vik." When Vik looks up at her, Jayce is blushing, the slight darkening of her cheeks visible even in the warm light of the forge. "Am I at least allowed to shower first?"

"Do you absolutely have to?"

Jayce presses her lips to her cheek. The heat of her body sways in close to Vik, and Vik shudders. "You could come with me if you want?"

Vik hums. "I think I can accept this compromise."

"Alright. We'll go, then." She steps back, offering Vik her arm to lean on. Vik takes it.

Jayce looks surprised. "Normally you don't want my help."

"Don't be fooled. I'm feeling you up."

Jayce laughs. "Oh, okay. Go ahead, then."

Her forearm is, indeed, very muscular and nice to hold. Normally Jayce covers up so much. Vik wonders if she can convince her to start wearing backless dresses at events...

"You're not just trying to flatter me, are you?" Jayce says as they leave the heat of the forge and step out into the hall, a hint of insecurity in her voice. "You actually like me like this?"

"When have I ever flattered?" Vik asks. "I think you should dress like this, how you like, more often." Then she considers. "On second thought, don't. Someone will steal you."

Jayce laughs. "I doubt that." She seems pleased by the comment, though.

"Either way, I want you to myself." She presses her cheek to Jayce's arm, nearly overbalancing herself, but it's okay. It's nice anyway.

"You've always had me to yourself," Jayce says.

And Vik can't deny that she likes the sound of that.

[andypantsx3]

INCENDIARY | 6 | BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader

LENGTH: 3.7k | 6th of 8 chapters

“Absolutely not,” Bakugou growled.

You just barely managed to step back as he reached for your laptop with one heavily-muscled arm. He swiped downwards as though he meant to shut it himself, physically closing the book on this discussion.

You let out a strangled noise, stumbling away, beating a quick retreat around the counter as the whisk he’d been using in the pancake batter clattered off the side of the bowl. You knew he could jump it if he really wanted, but the buffer between you made you feel better, although his instant rejection raised your hackles.

“Wait, why not?” you asked, although you’d been uncertain about the request yourself. It’s not like you had set out to accidentally become one of the most famous quirkless people in the country. Not to mention every time you stumbled back into public view, it seemed to just prolong your stay here, and put you in additional danger with Matsui and his group.

“Because it’s a fucking target on your back, idiot,” Bakugou said, pinning you with those scarlet eyes. “All this work to protect your bratty ass and you want to signal to Matsui right where you are?”

“Well, no,” you huffed. “But how many chances do you get to be on TV? This has to be carefully thought through.”

One blonde brow raised as Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest. You noted he was sleeveless again today, in nothing but a black tank, and all that bare muscle was looking especially pronounced at the moment—possibly from the workout you’d heard him finish a half hour ago . You forcibly dragged your eyes back up to his face, only to find he was watching you in disbelief.

Oh. Right. He was on TV like every day.

“Well, how many chances does a normal person get to be on TV?” you corrected, your face feeling hot for some reason.

The haughty, dismissive twist of Bakugou’s features made your back molars ache with that familiar need to bite him again.

“You’ve already been on TV and look where it got you, brat,” Bakugou said, returning to beating the pancake batter with a little too much vigor, his biceps straining.

Your gaze snapped to the motion of his arm, and you wisely chose not to pursue the subject any further, lest he deprive you of pancakes. Also your mouth was suddenly weirdly dry, and you felt a little bit like you needed to sit down.

This discussion could be put on pause for a minute.

You beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen instead, throwing yourself onto the couch where all your textbooks were still waiting for you, highlighter and pens uncapped where you’d dumped them all over the table. You sighed, flopping down and returning to your homework, feeling weirdly hot and displeased.

Bakugou was technically right. You ran a huge risk giving an interview on Japan’s biggest daily news show. And you didn’t even want to be famous—you wanted nothing to do with the level of internet notoriety you’d received, and you were so eager to be out of this damn safehouse. Now that Bakugou had apologized and you’d cleared the air, it somehow felt like the safehouse was even smaller than before.

Over the last few days, you and Bakugou had done an awful lot together. Cooking, eating, making actual human conversation. He’d also indicated he would let you watch one single hour of trash reality TV later this evening, which was almost nice of him. This entire morning, you’d found yourself compelled to spend time out in the living room while he cooked, trying not to peer at him over the top of your laptop screen as you finished up a paper.

All that interaction felt like you were occupying very close quarters, however, and that strange sense of tension was still there between you, though you couldn’t put your finger on quite what it was now. It was probably safest to evacuate the safehouse before anything came to a head.

You finished up your homework, trying to push the interview request to the back of your mind.

But it stuck around stubbornly, as if superglued to the forefront of your brain. There was this roiling feeling within you, like the one that had come just before your blowout with Bakugou. And his saying no only made things worse—it was like he’d lit a pilot light, dangerously close to a trail of gunpowder…

The request lingered in the back of your mind over the following days. It was there when you fell asleep, when you showered, when you brushed your teeth. It lurked in the cup of the measuring spoons as you and Bakugou cooked together once more, in the faces of the actors during your single permitted hour of “idiot TV”. For something you were fairly certain you could have said no to just a few days ago and never thought of again, it had alarmingly persistent sticking power.

On Sunday afternoon you found yourself blinking back to yourself in the shower, realizing you’d lost dozens of minutes to contemplation, staring sightlessly at the ugly floral curtain. You sank to the floor of the shower, huddling into a contemplative ball under its steady spray. A memory niggled at your mind, fuzzy, barely remembered, and yet disturbing in its intensity.

The flash of an ugly blue-and-green polo, a pasty leer, and a surge of white hot anger, climbing up your chest, into your throat, and then—and then—

And then the convenience store. The two men, advancing into the space you’d ceded. A request that they mind their own business and leave you to yours.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about minding your own business, you fucking freak,” echoed on loop in your brain.

Wouldn’t know a thing about minding your own business—because you had asked a bunch of QRAs to back off. To back off of people like you.

And…well didn’t that make it your business? Yours, more than anyone’s? You were the quirkless person whose very existence was being picked over. You were the quirkless person getting harassed on the street, in the classroom, in some random convenience store where you were just trying to buy a sandwich. You were the person trapped in a safehouse because someone wanted to murder you—all for minding what was exactly your own business.

Before you knew what you were doing, you’d risen back to your feet, and were shampooing your hair with a vengeance. You rocketed through your personal care and all but leapt out of the shower, and stuffed yourself into your change of clothes, still half-wet.

And then you found yourself peering into the living room, and risking the fragile peace you’d found with Bakugou once again.

“The fuck about ‘no’ are you not getting?” Bakugou demanded, whipping around to stare at you before the question had even finished leaving your own mouth. He was stretched out over the yoga mat, holding himself perfectly level, with his feet not even touching the ground.

You gaped, your mouth falling open as your brain went momentarily offline. All thoughts of the interview evacuated your mind. “What the fuck are you doing?” you demanded, your eyes flicking unwillingly to his straining biceps.

Bakugou’s red-eyed glare cut through you. “It’s a fucking pushup, idiot.”

Your head shook as your eyes lingered in the dips and swells of his muscles. That black tank top he was always wearing was slowly riding up over the flat plane of his stomach and you could just make out the shadow of an intimidating set of abdominals from this angle.

“Nuh uh,” you said stupidly.

A blonde eyebrow raised, and he slowly, agonizingly pushed himself into an impossible ninety degree angle and on into a fucking handstand.

You could feel how slack your jaw was but there was nothing you could do about your caveperson image. Your eyes were nailed to the trim waist and mouth-watering set of abs bared by this move. “You—pushup—that’s not—” you just managed to clamp your mouth closed as that horrible echo of pegnate?? gregnant?? tolled in the depths of your mind.

You were so focused on the flex of Bakugou’s arm as he lowered himself again that you almost missed the flash of a smirk across his mouth.

“Got something else to say, brat?” he asked.

The smugness in his tone raised your hackles, but it took you several more minutes to fumble around and locate your faculties for human speech. “I—yes, as a matter of fact. I’m doing the interview. And that’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

Bakugou pressed into another handstand, and then pushed up out of it, easy as anything. A vague sense of annoyance buzzed about you like a mosquito as he righted himself. Showoff.

“I already said you’re not, princess,” Bakugou said. Sweat glinted at his collar points and the line of his hair, giving him a faint glow in the afternoon sunlight. That sweet, tangy caramel scent met your nose again as he moved closer, crossing those biceps over his chest.

You tried not to go cross-eyed. “Well… I already said I am,” you told him, yanking your eyes firmly back up to his.

Something about the look on his face made your teeth ache to latch over his skin again, to clamp down and bite.

He leaned in, bringing a whiff of caramel with him, and you stumbled back a step, surprised. “You mean you’re not gonna be good for me, princess?” he asked, something smug thick in his tone.

Instantly your face flamed, the way it had a few days ago over breakfast. Good for him? Good for him? Your ears went so hot that the air around them chilled you.

“I’ll show you what’s good for you,” you said nonsensically, raising your hands to his chest to push him back, only to find he was as immovable as a stone wall, and as hard as one, too. Your hands froze on his pecs, your face getting even hotter with the heat of him under your hands.

A wicked smirk carved the sides of his mouth, and your brain suddenly fuzzed with static, panicking.

You couldn’t think—all you could do was reach up, catch a fistful of his hair, and yank him down into a headlock.

“Oi, what the fuck—” Bakugou swore, twisting. You clamped your arm down, panicking harder, realizing you’d just grabbed a trained combat professional, desperate to keep him down.

But Bakugou wasted no time. No sooner had you tensed your arm than he’d seized you under your legs and back, pushing you straight up and over his head. You flailed, trying to grab back onto him, but he swung you right down on the yoga mat he’d been occupying, grappling for your arms and pinning you down neatly. He managed it in under two seconds, and you stared up at him, dazed, taking in the incredulous look that split his stupid handsome face.

“What the fuck was that for, brat?” he demanded, his face filling up your entire vision.

“Showing you—what’s good for you—” you managed to cough out, winded.

A feral smile slashed across Bakugou’s mouth, completely unexpectedly. “I’ve met fuckin’ babies who can do better than that.”

You glared up at him, trying to angle your foot to kick him off of you, but he shifted, pressing his knee down on your leg in warning.

“You’re not doing the interview,” he said firmly, his tone final.

But you had already made up your mind, the second you’d sifted through those memories in the shower and realized just why the request had stuck with you. And not even pro hero Dynamight was enough force to stop you.

“Yes I am,” you told him, staring him straight in the eye. You tried to put all your conviction, all your determination and intent into your stare, into the firmness of your tone.

“For what?” Bakugou demanded hotly, his grip tightening on your wrists.

“For me!” you said. “I keep getting accused of not minding my own business, for being a nosy bitch or whatever, and I’m sick of it! Being quirkless is my business. I completely intended to mind my own business the night of the first video, going out with my friends and getting drunk, and it’s those QRA assholes who showed up on my campus in the first place! And then in the convenience store—all I was doing was trying to buy a sandwich!”

Bakugou’s mouth pressed into an annoyed line. “Yeah? And what are you even gonna say, brat?”

You grunted, trying to shift him off of you, but he held fast, pressing you down harder into the mat. “I want to give a real account of what it’s like to be a quirkless person who is minding their own business. Who was literally just living my life, uninvolved in any sort of activism or anything, and still got pulled into multiple situations where my life and my safety are threatened! The point is that ordinary people need to care about this stuff because it apparently can seep into your life whether you think you can avoid it or not. And some of us have been learning the hard way.”

Bakugou’s brows furrowed, his full mouth curling up in distaste like he hated to even be contemplating what you’d said. “So you wanna let Matsui know right where you are because you’re what—pissed off?”

For a moment, the only thought in your head was leaning forward and biting that expression right off of his face. Your whole brain was swirling with the barely-contained need to do something to him—until a revelation dawned on you.

You would be letting Matsui know right where you were.

Matsui, who had been waiting in the shadows like some sort of phantom harm. Matsui, who’d been bold enough to send a threat to your university, had been bold enough to run his mouth in all of the unsavory parts of the internet, but hadn’t yet been bold enough, or knowledgeable enough, to make his final move. Matsui—-who no one could actually touch or bring in until his threat was confirmed to be real.

And really, what better way to confirm than to draw him out?

You stared at Bakugou, your eyes running down his now-familiar features. That pert nose, that pretty mouth, always set in determination, those blazing scarlet eyes, always searching out a fight. His blond brows, still drawn down in focus, and the haughty tilt to his jaw. If there was one person equipped to handle Matsui, if he did come for you, it was the annoying pro hero currently pinning you to his yoga mat.

“What, scared to fight him?” you asked, knowing exactly the kind of reaction it would get from Bakugou.

His teeth gritted, and he leaned down to put his face into yours. “I ain’t scared of shit.”

“Then what’s the issue?” you asked. “Didn’t you say at the beginning that you wanted to hunt him down yourself and crush him?”

Bakugou’s expression darkened, getting slightly redder like he was getting angry, like he knew you were baiting him—but if there was one thing about him, it’s that he was an incredibly consistent personality. “I’ll fucking destroy him.”

You quickly suppressed the smile that threatened to overtake your mouth. “Good, then we’re in agreement.”

Bakugou looked almost apoplectic. “We are not in agreement, you goddamn brat,” he spat.

“You just said you were gonna destroy him!” you said. If your hands had been free, you would have thrown them up in exasperation.

“Jeanist has to agree to this idiot fucking plan, and he’s not gonna do that if it puts you at risk, you fucking brat. There’s no guarantee that Matsui wouldn’t bring a bunch of his quirk supremacist friends, it would be extremely easy for you to get your ass blown off the face of the earth. What makes you think you’d even fucking make it out of there in one piece?” Bakugou growled.

You looked up at him, slightly touched by the concern. But try as you might, you couldn’t imagine Bakugou of all people losing track of the fight and letting you get cremated. The more you insisted on this idea, the more you believed it yourself.

“Because I’ll have you,” you said simply.

Bakugou paused, blinking down at you through long, golden lashes. His face went suddenly still in a way that you hadn’t seen before, and without his features twisted up in disdain, he looked instantly, incredibly handsome. “What,” he said flatly.

You squirmed a little in his grip, embarrassed by how sincerely you meant it. But you pushed on. “Because I trust you to protect me,” you said. “You have so far. And you’ve proved I was wrong about you before. You haven’t given me a reason not to trust you.”

Bakugou’s face spasmed, like he was desperately trying to not feel human emotion, but you could see the way the tips of his ears went pink through the ashy blonde strands of his hair.

You thought this had been a rather effective play on your part, though you did mean it. He’d saved you once before, made you tea and food and let you cry in front of him like a big dramatic baby. He’d apologized, and spent the last week trying to make it up to you, albeit aggressively, by letting you get away with more and trying to feed you real meals.

Actions spoke loudly, and Bakugou’s actions had proven himself to you, as far as you were concerned.

Those scarlet eyes cut away from you, focusing on some point on the floor to the left of your head, and it was then you knew you’d gotten him.

“You’re a goddamn pain in my ass,” he said, his voice slightly more gravelly than before. “You can go on one fucking condition.”

You nodded eagerly, thrilled with your success. “Okay. Yes. Whatever it is, yes.”

Bakugou’s lip curled, and his gaze cut back to yours. “You’re going to learn self-defense before you go on that stupid fucking show.”

You blinked. “In less than a week? During finals week?”

“As much as I say you will,” he growled, raising his eyebrows at you significantly.

You got the impression then that this was a non-negotiable point for him. And much as you doubted you’d been an expert by the time Thursday rolled around, you couldn’t deny the idea had merit. You probably weren’t going to take out Matsui himself, but it wouldn’t hurt to know how to suppress someone with a lesser quirk.

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “I’ll do it.”

Bakugou shifted over you so he was crouched over you, almost sitting on your stomach, still pinning your wrists down at the side of your head. A mean smirk overtook his face again, and a warning light flicked on in the back of your brain.

“First lesson, then, brat. Try to get out of this hold,” he said.

You stared up at him in disbelief, incredulity and annoyance instantly bubbling up in your veins like they’d just been set on a hot stove. “Now? Get out of this?” you demanded.

Bakugou’s smile was a wicked, feral thing, and it made something hot curl in your stomach, even more disconcerting than your annoyance. “If you wanna make it to your computer in time to respond to the email, then you’d better hurry up,” he said.

Immediately you started bucking in his hold, trying to shove him off of you with the raise of your hips, trying to twist out of his grip like a spineless jellyfish. Bakugou held you down, looking far too self-satisfied, and way too relaxed, like this was child’s play to him, while you struggled for your life. You kicked and curled and squirmed but none of it would dislodge him, and the insane urge to fucking bite him rose within you again, blotting out all rational thought.

Before you had realized what you were doing, you’d turned your head and brought your mouth to one of the arms holding you down. And then you leaned up and bit him right in the middle of his bicep, clamping down for all you were worth.

“What the fuck—!” Bakugou shouted, suddenly pulling his hands off of you just as hot, reflexive sparks of his quirk shot out of his palms. The motion jerked the skin of his arm out of your mouth, and you could see the ring of your tooth marks left in the firm muscle, smell the ashy sweetness of his quirk heat the air around you.

You realized he’d only moved to protect you, but that was enough of a surprise for you to buck him off of you, sliding quickly out from underneath him.

He recovered quickly enough, catching you by the scruff of your shirt and slamming you back down on the yoga mat. He covered you with his body again, his palms still hot from his quirk.

“What the fuck was that you goddamn brat?” he demanded.

You gave him your shittiest, smuggest grin. “Self defense,” you said. “And I escaped your hold, even if only for a second, so I win.”

Bakugou looked beyond pissed.

“You’re gonna get it, you shitty fucking brat,” he told you warningly, his tone going darker.

But you didn’t care. You were far too satisfied with your unexpected win, and the realization of your desire to bite him that had compounded over the course of your isolation with him.

You loved the look of him, incredulous, furious, and so impossibly golden and handsome over you—this, you thought wildly, was worth any revenge he could think up. This was exactly how you wanted him.

And then Bakugou moved, his revenge swift and merciless.

He uttered your name like an oath, ducked his head. And then he caught your mouth in a kiss—hot and furious.

And the tension you had sensed building all along finally snapped.