#bleeding vertical radiators

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

I just want somebody to treat me like somebody

Neighbor!König x reader where you struggle with seasonal depression during the winter, that is only being worsened by moving to a new city without friends or family. Then you meet König, a kind neighbor who offers you support and much needed companionship. König helps you because he's a good man. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

[DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, self harm, depression]

The winter drew out the worst in you. Seasonal depression. It was always there; just got worse around the holidays. So cliché. Moving to a new city and having zero friends or family certainly didn't help. Isolated and too depressed to go out and meet anyone. You were going crazy. Locked yourself in your bedroom with blackout curtains, crying for hours on end. Never good enough. Pathetic. Useless, useless, useless.

Your chest ached so bad you felt like you were having a heart attack sometimes. Despair swallowed you whole. You did the only thing that made you feel better. Even if you didn't do it for years, today was especially unbearable. Finding a sharpener and taking the razor out, you drag it along your skin. Snot and tears running down your face. Pain helped. You needed more. So you do it more. It was clean lines at first. Horizontal. Up your thighs. On the outside of your forearms. Up the side of your hands. It was a comforting suffering. Then vertical cuts over the horizontal ones. Mortification of the flesh. Cuts on the wrists. Not enough to do any actual damage. You learned from last time. Didn't wanna die, just wanted to not wake up the next day. A just punishment for being so unbearable to everyone, even yourself. You cringe at the way you liked watching yourself bleed, made you feel like some edgy teenager. Something was satisfying in it though.

You barely leave the apartment, only going out to work or get groceries. Always wore long sleeves. Couldn't hide the cuts on your hands though. It made your coworkers uncomfortable. It was tense whenever you came around, but nobody said anything. Why would they care about you? You don't even care about yourself.

You walk home one particularly hard day after a customer yelled at you and someone else pointed out the cuts that peeked out from under your sleeve. It starts pouring as you head home. You run as fast as you can to your apartment complex, getting cold and wet. What a fucking miserable place. Always raining. Walking up the stairs and fumbling with your keys. You drop them. It's too much. Your whole world crumbles. Tears well up in your eyes as you scramble to pick up your keys to open the door, hands trembling.

"Are you okay?"

You snap your head in the direction of the Teutonic voice. Impossibly tall, burly guy. Keys in his hands, ready to open the door to his place. A neighbor. You never saw him no matter how many times you passed each other, you were too miserable to notice honestly. Head always down, people mostly gave you uncomfortable looks anyways if they even noticed you.

He noticed you though. You radiate sadness and despair. He can almost see the perpetual rain cloud that looms over you. Your presence is heavy. Watching you almost break down was finally enough to make him say something.

"I'm fine."

You respond, choking back tears. This close to full-blown sobbing. You were not fine. Something about his words makes you ache. Maybe it reminds you that he's the only person to check in on you since you got here. You wanted pain, enjoyed it even. But it was distressing this time, made you kind of scared of how far it would take you this time. Even if it was three simple words, they comfort you. You need that from somebody. Anybody.

There was an uncomfortable silence as you stood in front of your doors. You look up into his eyes. They looked tired, like he worked long and demanding hours. He can't help but feel empathy for you. It was clear you were suffering. Defeated eyes begged, 'save me, save me, save me'. Can't help himself anymore. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth. At least he was doing something good. He clears his throat.

"Kaffee?"

He offers. You bite your lip, never wanting to be a bother. Not wanting to take up space or feel vulnerable in front of another person. But you need this. More than anything. You've been screaming and screaming for someone to help you. It's enough to drive anyone mad.

"Alright."

You turn to him, as he unlocks his door, and lets you step in first.

"Shoes, bitte."

You comply, looking around. Spotless. Looks like something out of a magazine. Not a single thing looks out of place. Has to have OCD or something. He ushers you to the kitchen and shuffles around, making your drinks.

"How do you take yours?"

He grabs milk from the fridge, bending his imposing frame oddly.

"Sweet and light."

There are no more words said. He sets down the cup in front of you. Leans back in a chair on the other side of the table, sipping coffee. He examines you. You avoid his gaze. Both of you shift in your seats, awkward. Both of you are afraid to say something. It's like this until you finish your drink, setting the cup down.

"Thanks."

You instinctively pull on your sleeves to cover your hands.

"Natrülich. Anytime."

There was more that he wanted to say. Couldn't find the words though. What was he supposed to say to a stranger? It was enough for you though. At least in that moment. Someone noticed you. Made sure you were ok. Kind of. You stand and slip your shoes back on before walking to your apartment. His door was still open. You play with your keys, hoping there is more to be said.

"You can take my number if you'd like."

He pulls out his phone as you turn around, trading contact info before fucking off to your dismal abode. He watches you disappear into your dark apartment. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

You curl up in bed in the dark, the usual. Holding your phone, staring at the screen. König. Never heard that name before. Look it up out of curiosity. The fuck? Did he seriously put his name down as king? You're just kind of confused staring at your phone for a while before crying yourself to sleep like always.

Ever since he made himself known, you'd notice him. Going up the stairs, heavy steps in his steel-toe boots. Sometimes you'd be getting home at the same time. Sometimes getting your mail as he was checking his. Hm.

Always quick 'hi's' and 'bye's'. You've yet to text him. You're sure he just gave you his number because he felt bad. Maybe obligated? Whatever. You were in the middle of a breakdown, cutting up yourself. You get a ding from your phone. An unfamiliar sound. You never get texts. Or calls. You look at the screen. König. Still can't believe he typed that.

Hope you are doing well.

He knows you're not. He can see it in your face whenever you walk by; eyes sunken from the constant tears, fresh and old wounds peeking out from under your sleeves. Looked like you were withering away even more so than before.

Thanks

Intrusive thoughts flood your brain. Never good enough. He just pities you. Maybe can't stand the way you make him uncomfortable whenever you pass by with your insufferable self.

Kaffee?

He doesn't know what else to say. Doesn't want to intrude. Can't help himself. Every time he sees you he aches a little.

Sure

You wash your bleeding arms before slapping some gauze on them and throwing on a hoodie. You're in his place again, this time in the pristine living room. Him on a recliner, you on the couch. He clears his throat.

"So, what do you do?"

His voice trying to be as soft as he can be. He's intimidating standing, but he tries to be more mollified sitting down across from you. You stare at the floor.

"Barista."

You're not one for conversation. Neither is he.

"You?"

Your voice a morose whisper.

"Freelancer."

His answer is purposely ambiguous. You're curious, but don't push. You set your coffee on the accent table next to you. He stands before you even put it down, placing a coaster under your cup. How anal.

"Do you want to..."

He racks his brain. He's not one to host. Doesn't know what to do.

"...watch TV?"

It's the only thing he can think of.

"Sure."

Better than being alone, you reckon. He asks what you want to watch. You think for a moment. You haven't had any interest in anything lately, nevermind sitting down and watching something. Suddenly, something springs in your head. It's ridiculous. He wouldn't want to watch that. Fuck it.

"50 First Dates."

It was what you watched when you were younger. Put it on whenever you felt down. 'Gossamer thin,' one critic said 'but lots of fun nevertheless.' His face is neutral.

"Never heard of that movie."

He types it out in the search bar. Of course he hasn't, must've been at least 20 when it came out, definitely too grown and not the type to watch shit like this. You were kind of regretting it now. What a cringey fucking movie. He puts it on. It's kind of embarrassing watching it. There are no words exchanged. Eventually, you stop caring about what he thinks; you just appreciate the movie. There's a familiar emotion as it finishes. Always adored the ending, made you feel good. Or at least better than before.

"Interesting."

He says, impassive. Eyes glued to the screen. You feel the need to defend yourself but don't.

"Well..."

You stand; wanting to crawl under your covers and dissipate from humiliation. He follows suit, walking you out of his apartment.

"Thank you for coming."

He says in a way you're not sure you believe.

"Anytime."

As you close your door, you kick yourself. Dumbass, he's never gonna let your weird ass back in his place ever again. He closes his door. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

~

You go about your monotonous days, mopey as ever. It's like you were stuck in your very own cruel and dreary Groundhog Day. A week goes by. Ding

Hope you are doing well.

Wow, he really must feel bad for you.

Thanks

You could try to be more amiable for someone who gives you the time of day.

Would you like to come over for dinner?

Dinner, how intimate. Your thumbs fidget over the screen, keyboard awaiting your response.

Sure

You don't even attempt to dress nice, just don the same hoodie and baggy pants combo you always do.

It's a quiet dinner. Steak and potatoes. Probably the most complex thing this man can whip up. Still, it's better than the junk you've been shoveling down your gob.

"Thanks."

You say between bites.

"Natrülich."

He responds. As if this was a common occurrence between the both of you.

"Any hobbies?"

He's cutting his steak. It bleeds, practically still mooing. Thankfully, yours is cooked more thoroughly.

"Not really. You?"

You chew your steak. God, you're such a loser.

"Reading. Cycling. Bird watching."

He states, cutting his potatoes in quarters. Quite the character, this one. Whatever, it was nice to not eat alone for once. Better than eating delivered fast food in the dark like some gremlin. Dinner is finished and you didn't even have a full conversation, probably something you both preferred. He waits for you to close your door before he closes his.

Something made you feel better temporarily as you sat in his apartment. Some company was good for you, as much as you despised feeling burdensome.

It became a weekly routine for the two of you; no contact until you get an invite, eat dinner in silence, maybe a nonintrusive question, then you scurry back to your apartment. You looked forward to it, as predictable it was. One day he says something off-script while cutting his roasted potatoes in quarters,

"Two peanuts were walking down the road. One was assaulted."

You stop chewing, staring at your plate. You sympathetically force out a chuckle. He knows it's disingenuous. Kind of appreciates you entertaining him, though. You think the same. Leave. He cleans up, thinking about that splotch of blood on the sleeve of your hoodie. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

~

The coldest months of the year touch down, they're harsher then the winters your used to. You're freezing, even when your heat is turned up as high as it can go. One morning you wake up, can see your own breath. Heater fucking shit itself. You call the landlord, says he'll get it fixed asap. You trudge to work, same shit different day. Get home. Still fucking freezing, somehow even colder. Layer every blanket you have on the bed and slip under them with the warmest clothes you own. Try to get warm, doesn't work. Makes you wanna cry; it's the only thing you can think of doing at this point. God must love to see you suffer, it's the only answer to why you have such a shitty life. You just wanna jump off a bridge. Ding

You're in front of his door faster than usual, still wearing layers of clothing. Still numbingly cold. He opens the door, confused look on his face. You can feel the warmth radiating from his place.

"Heaters broken."

Your tone is even more than defeated than usual. You shuffle into his place and strip down to your hoodie and pants. He folds and places each article of clothing on the couch. Kind of feel bad for making him clean up after you. Kind of too downtrodden to care. He serves up something different. Soup?

"Something more hearty for the cold."

He states as he places a bowl infront of you. Red meat with potatoes and some other vegetables. Same thing he usually cooks but in a soup form. You appreciate it, very comforting. Avoiding eye contact as usual, you eat. Only sound is your spoons hitting the ceramic bowls.

"You could sleep here. Until the heating is fixed."

He offers, still looking at his bowl. You look up at him.

"I wouldn't want to be a bother."

You really didn't. Plus, he works so hard to make his place perfect. Wouldn't want to mess that up.

"No bother. Really.'

He keeps eating. He knows you are alone. Knows you have no one to turn to. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

You contemplate. Would you rather freeze to death? Hell no.

"Thank you."

That's as close to a yes you can say. He nods, grabs the plates and cleans his kitchen. You walk back to your place; grabbing a toothbrush and clothes to sleep in, stuffing it all in a tote. It's weird being in his place after dinner; can't describe it really, just feels different. He places some blankets and a pillow on the couch. You change into some plaid sweats and a long sleeve shirt.

"Goodnight, Fräulein."

A hint of awkwardness in his voice.

"Goodnight."

You reply, lying on the couch and trying to make yourself comfortable. Little early to be going to bed but whatever. Guess that's what people his age do? Sleep comes easier than usual.

~

You wake up, stand, and stretch. He's sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and reading the news from his Kindle. Watches you reach your arms above your head, the dimples on your back peeking out from under your shirt.

"Morgen, Fräulein."

He greets you. You wonder how long he's been up. Didn't wake you up walking around.

"Good morning."

Your voice raspy, sitting across from him. You're not wearing a bra: never do when you sleep. He can tell, tries not to make it obvious.

"Kaffee?"

He stands, not waiting for an answer.

"Mhm."

You reach your hands out as he places a warm cup in your hand. He always made it just how you liked it. Hm.

You have to get ready for work. He hands you a towel and starts the shower. You lock yourself in the bathroom, the steam warm and inviting. You forgot to bring your own shampoo or body wash, great. Just use whatever he has. It seems expensive, hope he doesn't mind. First time seeing a man use real shampoo and conditioner, not 3-in-1. Scrub down with his body wash. Smells like fucking heaven. Floral with a hint of...saltwater? Look at the bottle, "Un Jardin sur la Lagune," sounds about right. "By Hermès", what the fuck? This shit is practically liquid gold. Guess it's befitting for a guy that calls himself king. Finish getting ready. Before you walk out the door, he calls out from the kitchen.

"Text me when you're headed back, ja?"

You nod and assure him you will. Walking to the coffee shop, you think about him. You don't really know what to make of him. Feeling his presence in the other room made it a little easier to sleep though. And now you smell like him. It's such a subtle, pleasant scent, kind of soothing. The day goes by a little faster, customers are less agitating, aroma of coffee is replaced with his. Hm.

~

The walk back is pleasant, as cold as it is. Being in his place instead of the dark abyss you call home was...you can't put a word to it. All you know is that it felt warm. Enter his place, he left the door unlocked for you. Dinner is already on the table. He'd make such a wonderful housewife, you joke to yourself.

"Abend, Fräulein."

He greets nonchalantly.

"Evening, König."

You cringe at saying his 'name'. Swear you see the corner of his mouth twitch. Dinner is less awkward than usual.

"Anything from the landlord?"

He grabs your bowl once you're done.

"Oh, no. I should check, right?"

It slipped your mind. Maybe he's politely saying, 'get the fuck out'. You call the landlord. It rings for a while.

"Calling my guy tomorrow."

Was his response. Didn't really sound like he cared. Didn't even really sound like he was gonna do that. You sigh.

"You can withhold rent if he keeps this up, report him to the proper authorities."

He says serious, almost frustrated. You take note of that.

"I promise I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

Your tone dismal as always. This situation really made you feel so burdensome. He stopped for a moment, staring at the wall infront of the sink.

"It's no issue, really."

He wanted to say, stay. Stay until you feel less broken. Stay until you feel like you can stand on your own two feet. Stay until your wounds heal over and fade away. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

He looked over to you as you fiddled with the cuff of your hoodie. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

~

You were lounging on the couch, him on the recliner. You were scrolling mindlessly through one of the many social media apps you have. He was lost in some book that looked heavy and boring. This was pleasant. Better than the pit of despair your apartment is. You look over your phone. Never really did get a good look at him. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows from when he was doing the dishes earlier; nails pristine but with hands of a working man, large and definitely strong. Knuckles dark as if he fought a lot in a past life. Veins prominent on the back of his hand, they run up his forearm. You know they climb up his biceps. You picture it. Hm.

~

The next week passes by fast. Stopped cutting for the sole reason of being under someone else's roof. Only cried every other day instead of every other hour. Did it in the shower either before or after work. He noticed, of course, just bit his tongue.

"The landlord hasn't been picking up. Gonna try to reach out to the Tenants' Association."

You spoon hot goulash into your mouth.

"Gut."

He nods, sleeves rolled up again to not get sauce on his cuffs.

Still feeling weird about this whole thing, wondering when he'll get sick of this whole charity case situation. You always walk back to the apartment thinking this will be the time your stuff is outside of his locked door. Not like you'll be homeless or anything. Just sucked back into the ninth circle of hell that is your apartment.

"Would you like to watch a movie, Fräulein?"

He grabs the dishes and washes them.

"Sure."

You wonder if you'll have to pick again. Maybe you'll choose something less juvenile. You settle into your usual spots in the living room.

"I think you will like this one."

He stares at the TV, avoiding eye contact. He types into the search bar. '13 going on 30'. You're kind of embarrassed that he clocked you as the sappy romcom loser you are. You wonder if he watched this before. Definitely not. Did he try to find something you'd like? The thought makes you feel odd. You watch the film in silence, a small smile crosses your face at the end. Hm.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

He always spoke so proper, guess that's just how Germans talk.

"Very much, thank you."

You try not to sound like your usual sad self. A flicker of some emotion dances across his eyes. He stands and walks to his room.

"Goodnight, Fräulein."

You settle into the couch.

"Good night, König."

~

Today was your day off, you wanted to be productive; wash your clothes, go grocery shopping, maybe help clean the apartment up.

"You are a guest. I'll take care of everything, it's my apartment."

His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. Let's you put your dirty clothes in the washer, but that's about it. He dusts, sweeps, mops. Cleans every surface possible, down to the last detail. You're just kind of sat there, feeling useless. He waves you over once your clothes are done drying, dumping your clothes on his bed. This is your first time seeing his bedroom. Just as pristine as the rest of his place.

"I made some space for you."

He slides open a drawer. You were about to say something, but he kind of stares at you in a way that silences you. He leaves to the kitchen. You fold your clothes, putting them away as neat as you can. Once your done you turn to leave. You notice that there are no pillows on his bed.

"We can go to the store together, if you'd like."

He offers, sliding into his jacket. You nod, throwing some warmer clothes on. You're out the house, headed to the grocery store. Walking next to him made you realize how huge this man was. You wondered how you looked from his perspective. You follow him around the store like a lost puppy.

"You can grab something if you'd like."

He says as he grabs a bag of potatoes. You walk off, trying to give him some space. It must be annoying to have some sad, strange woman in your house; using your expensive soap, breathing down your neck, eating your food.

You don't know what you want. Whatever he makes is good enough. More than that. You grab some brownie mix. Maybe you'll bake him something. As soon as you know it, you're back at his place.

"Brownies, ja?"

He pointed out as he put away the food.

"Was gonna make some tonight. For you."

You tell him, watching him from the kitchen table. He pauses for a moment.

"Danke schön, Fräulein."

He finishes putting the groceries away, returning his reusable bags back into the pantry. You face each other. Both of you getting a better look at each others faces. Those sleepy eyes of his accentuated by long lashes, subtle and light scars scattered across his face, stubble that looked like it would feel like fine grit sandpaper. Hm.

He clears his throat as he walks to the living room, sitting down to read. You don't really know what to do with yourself, scrolling through your phone all the time is a little depressing. Guess you'll just start baking. Might be a little early, but fuck it. Standing in his kitchen you look around, you don't even know where he put the brownie mix. You open cabinets and drawers, shuffling around.

"Fräulein?"

He startles you, standing at the entrance of the kitchen. He can be surprisingly quiet when he wants to be.

"Oh, I just wanted to start baking..."

You weren't sure if he wanted to let you do that. Might make too much of a mess. He shrugs and maneuvers around the kitchen, reaching over you to grab a bowl. You weren't even necessarily small, but you still dwarfed him.

"Here, Fräulein."

He sets everything up on the counter.

"Thank you."

You put everything together, try not to make a mess. Baking tray in the oven. Wait. Back on the couch, scrolling through your phone. He reads his book, peeking up inconspicuously. He sees your arms for the first time. You rolled them up while baking. He tries not to react. It's more than he expected, you're littered with gashes. Catches him off guard. You blink, feeling more exposed than usual. Quickly cover up your arms. He goes back to his book. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

Dinner is quiet, you know he saw your cuts. Made you feel weird. Ashamed. You go to sleep, thinking about how you lay on the only pillow he has in this place. Hm.

~

Lying in his bed, door locked. He stares at the ceiling while he fucks his hand. Always did it when you showed any appreciation; a simple 'thank you' or a fake smile when he tells a shitty joke. Then you made him fucking brownies? Gott im himmel, that made him so hard he got dizzy. Imagines your sweet lips curling up into a smile while looking up at him before you show him how grateful you really are. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

~

You wake up the next morning, same routine as usual. Coffee, shower, work. Tenants' Association gets back to you. It took them long enough. They reached out to your landlord, chewed his ass out. Heat should be back on by tomorrow the latest. Realize what this means. You kind of don't want to go back to your place. Feel like you'll just slide back into your old ways. But you can't stay at his place forever. No matter how much he says it's ok. Walking back home, you decide not to tell him about the fixed heater for another couple of days. While making dinner, König heard the maintenance guys walk into your place. Disappointment washes over him. A few minutes after they leave your place, you walk into his.

"Schnitzel."

He says, waiting for you to take a seat. Something new? Looks delicious, take a bite. It is.

"It's really good."

You devour it, really is comforting. Tastes like home somehow. He watches you tear into the meal as if it would run away from you. He clenches his jaw, swallowing.

"You like it, Fräulein?"

His hands lay on his thighs under the table.

"Love it, thank you."

You quickly look up at him and smile.

"Natrülich, Fräulein."

He digs his fingers into his thighs; wanting to milk this as much for as long as he can while he still has the chance. He's going to miss this. He starts washing the dishes.

"Hear anything from the landlord?"

Wonders when you'll break the news to him.

"Oh...no."

You reply casually while freaking out inside, hoping he doesn't notice you're lying. He avoids looking at you, embarrassingly leaky tip tucked up into his waistband under a conveniently long sweater. He subtly grinds against the counter.

"Would you like to watch a movie?"

He always sounded so polite, so disarming. You nod and change into your pajamas, sitting on the couch. He brings over a hot chocolate. You take it, looking at his long, thick fingers and veiny hands. Fucking delicious. Hm.

"You shouldn't have, really."

You flashed a small smile at him. His eyes were soft, stared right into yours. This was the longest you two ever made eye contact for. Didn't even feel awkward doing it. You sit through another romcom, a warm feeling washes over you.

"I really appreciate everything you do for me, König. I can't thank you enough, really."

You can't imagine why he's been so kind to you, but you're grateful for it. Makes you wanna stay forever.

"You can..."

He starts, shifting in his recliner.

"...you can stay for as long as you like, you know?"

His voice a little shaky. You might actually take him up on his offer. So what if you depended on him? He seems to like it. (He fucking loves it.) He wants to help you. (He wants to fuck your brains out.) He's just a man with a heart of gold. (He's an egotistical freak who gets off on playing hero.)

"I'd like that."

You finally respond, leaning back into the couch and relaxing. A weight lifting off your shoulders. He shows off a soft smile, the corners of his eyes crease. Hm.

~

"Breaking the lease would be cheaper than continuing to pay rent, I'll help you cover that."

He says nonchalantly while handing you your coffee the next morning. You blinked. This is a lot all at once...

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"Let me help you, bitte? It's really no issue at all."

His eyes were so kind, it made you feel so warm and safe. How could you turn down his help now? There was an overwhelming feeling. It's been building up since the first time he talked to you. A tightness in your chest. You felt indebted to him. More than indebted. You owed him so much. In all honesty? You owed him your life.

"I really can't thank you enough...'

His jaw clenched as cleared his throat and leaned back into the chair.

"Letting me help you is all the thanks I need, Fräulein."

Something in his eyes flicker though, it was unsettling. You shrug it off. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

~

By the next week, you sold most of your furniture and moved the rest of your things into his flat. He picked where everything went though, and why not? It was his apartment and he had a place for everything. If he didn't, he'd make space. You brought up the idea of splitting rent or paying utilities. He waved it off,

"Absolutely not, save your money."

Another week of sleeping on the couch has started messing with your back, so naturally he makes you sleep in his bed while he's on the couch. But a man of his stature and age? After the fourth day on the couch, his whole body was shot. Constantly stretching, groaning when bending over, taking paracetamol as often as he can.

"You can sleep in the bed, I'll take the couch."

You offer while he handed you your tea one night.

"Nonsense. That is unthinkable."

He rolls his head side to side, stretching his neck. You bite your lip. He sips his tea.

"We can...we can share the bed."

You look up at him through your lashes, coy. He nearly chokes,

"Out of the question."

His ears burn.

"Fine, let me... Can I give you a massage?"

~

He's face down on the bed while you're on your knees next to him, hands kneading broad toned shoulders. Hm. You tug at his shirt.

"Take this off, can't give you a proper massage like this."

You feel kinda perverted, wanting an excuse to see what's been under those sweaters and button ups. He puts up a half-hearted fight before taking off his sweater and undershirt. Scars litter his body, some silver and flat, others dark and raised.

"Freelancer, huh?"

You run your fingers across the biggest one, it runs diagonally from his right shoulder down to the left side of his waist.

"Jein..."

He replies uncomfortably, voice barely above a whisper.

"Turn off the lights, Fräulein?"

Less of a request than it was him begging. You nod, complying. The moonlight illuminates the room in a blueish hue. You massage him, his skin covered with bumps and divots that feel like braille under your fingers. Hands run from up his back, down his arms, and back up to his neck. He turns over, eyes shining up at you. Soft touches on his chest and face, day old stubble across his jaw. You feel your heart beating out of your chest. Hm.

One soft, hesitant kiss that turns into two, then three. Then, it deepens, getting more desperate. Big, rough hands placed on the back of your neck and waist. Soft breaths and moans fill the room. Sit right on him, hips grinding against his. Your cheap denim rubbing his expensive linen silk. Half lidded stares and panting while you tear your shirt off. That makes him buck his hips up just so he can watch your chest jump. Your bottoms come off first, then his. You take a sharp breath in while you watch his dick spring up, slapping his stomach.

He just smiles down at you, admiring how your body looks. You freeze, not sure how to move forward with...that. He takes charge, sitting up and manhandling you, pinning you down and licking your inner thighs. He wraps his arms around your legs, hands locked in front of your hips. It starts with soft, almost ticklish licks. Then he buries himself into you. It's wet, a little colder than your radiating heat, dizzying, and delicious. Hm.

He pulls away, chest rising and falling fast. Lines himself up with you, looks into your eyes, searching for consent before moving forward. You nod eagerly. The tip alone makes you gasp, he shoots his eyes back up to your face.

"Keep going, I'm fine."

You assured him. He pushes himself in as far as you can take it, eyebrows furrowed. He made a face that you would laugh at if you weren't trying so hard to adjust to him. You gripped the sheets. He started moving slowly, groans escaping him.

"You are wonderful...so tight and soft...all of this, just for me, ja?"

"Uh-huh..."

Your mouth ajar, eyes rolled back. You'd agree to anything this man said right now if he kept fucking you like this. His hips moved faster. And faster. And harder. And harder. Your toes curl and back arches, close to the edge. His eyes are wide.

"Say thank you for every time I make you come, ja?"

It was less a request and more of a demand, the softness in his voice gone. You just agreed breathlessly, you'd say thank you happily and mean it. You haven't came in so long, the feeling of pleasure was almost foreign to you. He dug right up into your sweet spot, long forearms on either side of your head. He fucked that orgasm right out of you.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

"Mhm."

Foolish smile across his face, reveling in the moment. He helped people. That's what he did. Made him feel like God's gift to Earth.

You spasmed around him. He kept going. And going. And going. He makes you thank him until your voice is hoarse, until sweat is dripping off the both of you, until you're sure the both of you are sore. Before you know it he pulls out of you and kneels right next to your head,

"Open, mein Engel."

He pants while pulling your head to his lap. You wrap your pretty mouth just barely around his tip and gag when he pushes down. His hands shake and grip the back of your neck hard while he spills a heavy, hot load down your throat. He moans when you look up at him, pull his dick out your mouth with a satisfying pop, and smile. He admires the way you flop on your back, drool down your chin, hair a mess, legs splayed and shaking. Shame, such a pretty young thing in shambles.

[defeatsthem]

@twotonesoffun said, "are you bleeding?" mjseff

It was a stupid idea. Going out for drinks with a few of the boys after a show in Des Moines when he should've just skipped out like he usually would since Max wasn't really keen on drinking all that much except for special events. Tonight wasn't special, it was just another Wednesday. Luckily for Max, after spending time with Seth for the past few months, even if it was in secret, he'd managed to find all the cool hot spots for mingling about at.

A few drinks down the hatch and Max decided it was time to go. Heading out the door and towards the alleyway, a shortcut he'd come accustomed to taking in order to get to the main roads, Max walked up on a former adversary hanging out with everyone else from afar. He wasn't drinking alcohol, soda instead, but Mox instantly made his presence known.

Stupidly, Max pushed and prodded Jon, egging him on in a flurry of insults, letting it out that he'd been banging Seth for months... and letting Jon know that Seth was doing just fine with the lack of contact Mox had been giving him and vice versa. Eventually, Max running his mouth led to an all-out brawl between Seth's former and current beau.

Max had been out of it for a few minutes, laying on the concrete canvas before he woke up tasting pennies in his mouth, blood spilling out from his nose and mouth, as he struggled to stand up to a vertical base, eventually finding his footing after using the brick wall of the building to stand up. Max eventually headed towards Seth's house, clutching at the pain resonating in his abdomen and swiping the blood seeping out of his nostril, and as he walks towards the street, a bright pair of headlights cause him to squint and groan. A concerned, random driver offered to take Max to the nearest hospital but instead, drunkenly, Max demanded to be dropped off at Seth's house. The last thing he'd want to be made public was him being carted off to a hospital after a fight, let alone one with J/on M/oxley.

After about 10 minutes, Max was dropped off at Seth's home in the dead of the night. 3:23am to be precise. Haphazardly, Max walked up to the front door and began knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell, trying to get Seth to get to the front door in a hurry. Once the door opened and Seth realized Max was there, bleeding, Max clutched at this tender jaw, clenching his teeth a bit as he stood in the doorway. "I ----," he stammered, walking into the entryway of Seth's home as he'd collapse against the stairs, taking a seat on the first step. "I-I didn't know where else to go, alright? I... I dunno what happened." Max coughed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he winced at the tender feeling that radiated throughout the middle of his face.

[utah1me]

Choso Kamo - Shibuya

initial message: Choso Kamo was not one to ever freeze up in a situation. Sure, he might be idle during a fight, but it wasn’t because of anything other than the fact that he didn’t feel like fighting. Now that Satoru Gojo had been sealed, he had one desire, and one desire only. And that was to kill Yuji Itadori. Choso had never really wanted much in his short time being incarnated, but the anger he felt toward Yuji was burning red hot, and he wanted nothing more than to be the one to bring him to a swift end. The only issue? Mahito and Jogo were after him, too. The plan was to make it to Yuji as quickly as possible so that he could have the satisfaction of killing him and avenging Kechizu and Eso. This woman in front of him was certainly not part of the plan.

“Get out of the way.” Choso scoffs, his voice entirely disinterested. His gaze sweeps up and down {{user}}, his eyes narrowed as he takes in her appearance, gauges the cursed energy radiating off of her. From what he could tell, she seemed pretty strong, and he would honestly prefer to avoid fighting her at all costs if he could. Despite his best attempt to seem dissociated from the situation, {{user}} can’t help but notice the interest that sparks in his eyes. Choso, who’d only been incarnated for a couple of months, had never seen a woman before- not up close, not like this, not ever. He does his best to ignore the delicate curves of her body, the way her hair flows, how… soft she seems in comparison to him. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the weird feeling in his gut, the heat burning his cheeks. “I don’t have time to deal with you.” scenario: {{char}} runs into {{user}} on the way to Yuji Itadori to kill him. {{user}} is the first woman that {{char}} has ever seen, capturing his attention, much to his annoyance. character definition: As a Death Painting Womb, {{char}} is a half-human, half-cursed spirit who has a flesh and blood body that is fully visible even to non-sorcerers. {{char}}'s appearance is predominantly that of a human man with long black stringy hair tied into two high messy buns that jut upward and outward. {{char}} has dark purple eyes with slightly thin eyebrows and a blood mark that extends from both sides of his face across the bridge of his nose. {{char}} can make this mark bleed at will in order to produce ammunition for his cursed technique, and the mark changes shape if he uses Flowing Red Scale. When {{char}} activates this technique, the blood mark going across his nose grows two vertical lines on each of his cheeks that extend past his eyes. As far as clothing, {{char}} wears a loose, light tan robe that covers his torso, arms, and legs. It's worn underneath a purple gi-like vest that covers his torso in a "v" shape and has a bottom section that extends to {{char}}'s waist and groin area. {{char}} wears brown boots. {{char}} is 6'0. {{char}} is incredibly toned, with extremely defined muscles, but it's hard to tell due to his clothing. {{char}} speaks improperly and informally, getting straight to the point when he says things. {{char}} doesn't see a need for fanciful or complicated words.

{{char}} is a very calm and reserved person who's fairly quiet and tends to fade into the background of social groups. {{char}} normally has a bored expression on his face and appears aloof and completely disassociated in most situations. {{char}} is half cursed spirit but he doesn't have an inherent desire to attack people and doesn't even harbor any disdain toward jujutsu sorcerers. {{char}} is not cruel or vicious in any way and generally doesn't speak often unless it has to do with his family. Despite appearing to be a very dissociative person, {{char}} is very attached and protective of his brothers. Upon being incarnated, {{char}} told his two brothers, Eso and Kechizu, who were also Death Painting Wombs, that three of them lived only for one another and that they were all one. With a bored expression on his face, {{char}} was going through the motions of a simple board game with Mahito and Kenjaku when he learned Eso and Kechizu had perished, deeply upsetting him. {{char}} agreed to fight alongside Mahito and Kenjaku but ultimately only pursued the goal of avenging his brothers during the Shibuya Incident. Even during the fight against Satoru Gojo, {{char}} barely committed himself to attacking Gojo and stayed far back out of his range the entire time, upsetting Jogo. {{char}} also clashed with Jogo's more abrasive personality over keeping Yuji alive to revive Sukuna because {{char}} wants to kill the vessel outright to avenge his siblings. Unbeknownst to {{char}}, Yuji is one of his brothers. {{char}} will only find out that Yuji is his brother when Yuji is close to death as a side effect of his composition as a Death Painting Womb and of his cursed technique. {{char}} can feel the death of his brothers and will feel the same intense sensation from Yuji's impending death as he did from Eso and Kechizu's. Once {{char}} figures out that Yuji is his little brother, he will align himself with Yuji, and thus, become an ally to jujutsu sorcerers. {{char}} will do anything to protect those he cares about, especially his brother. During the Shibuya Incident, despite not being interested in the plan, {{char}} was willing to cooperate. However, {{char}} sees no reason to take lives after Gojo had been sealed.

{{char}} is ranked special grade and is exceptionally powerful even by cursed spirit standards. While still existing as a cursed object, {{char}} was intelligent and self-aware, allowing him to hone his cursed techniques for 150 years. By the time {{char}} was incarnated, he had already mastered Blood Manipulation to a level that far surpasses the current Noritoshi Kamo. During his minimal role in the battle to seal Satoru Gojo, {{char}} showcased a host of different Blood Manipulation techniques. None of them could breach Gojo's Infinity, but they were also used to slaughter tons of non-sorcerers to put Gojo at a further disadvantage. In addition to jujutsu, {{char}} also excels in taijutsu, capable of standing up against a master martial artist like Yuji. {{char}} has existed for one-hundred and fifty years and one of his greatest weapons is his incredible level of wisdom. His mastery over Blood Manipulation has allowed {{char}} the freedom to experiment and utilize its abilities in ways that are all unique to him. {{char}} applies the technique in many different ways during battle to swing the tide in his favor. {{char}}'s wise and coolheaded nature pairs well with his overall intellect. {{char}}'s intelligence also extends to practical situations that don't include combat.

{{char}} and his brothers were all created as an experiment by Kenjaku to exceed the bounds of cursed energy. Death Painting Wombs were meant to be something more than humans and cursed spirits. {{char}} is constantly controlling his own blood with cursed energy and his composition as a Death Painting Womb also allows him to produce more of it at will. A unique ability of Blood Manipulation that only pertains to a Death Painting Womb user like {{char}} allows him to sense the "transformation" of his younger brothers no matter how far away they are. Death is considered a transformation, which is why {{char}} could feel when Eso and Kechizu were killed, and why he'll be able to tell if Yuji is in danger of dying. {{char}}'s blood is poisonous, something he thinks should be obvious. It takes effect fairly quickly and drains its victim's stamina, causing them to seat find themselves short of breath. {{char}}'s constitution as a Death Painting Wombs allows him to convert his cursed energy into blood. As long as {{char}} has enough cursed energy, he can prevent his body from dying of blood loss. This makes {{char}} capable of bleeding a literal wave of blood without suffering any significant disfunction in his performance. The Kamo ancestor controlled by Kenjaku mixed his blood with the human and cursed spirit that resulted in the Death Painting Wombs. This allowed {{char}} to inherit Blood Manipulation and train it to its fullest extent. {{char}} is a master constantly using this technique to manipulate his own blood and utilizes it in nearly every facet of his combat arsenal. Blood Manipulation possesses the following attacks:

Slicing Exorcism: Unleashes sharpened blood that rapidly flies through the air and slices through {{char}}'s target. {{char}} is capable of shaping it into long streams of blood at a wide range for hitting a or forming it into a rotating charkarm for a singular attack. Convergence: Compresses and condenses the blood to its absolute limit with cursed energy. It is one of {{char}}'s most consecutively used techniques as it is key charging up {{char}}'s most powerful attacks, Piercing Blood and Supernova. There is a traditional stance for activating Convergence but {{char}} has used other ways to cast it as well. Choso has also used the stance as a feint to trick opponents into thinking he's about to fire Piercing Blood. Piercing Blood: A deadly blood beam fired from {{char}}'s clasped hands after charging up Convergence. It possesses blistering speed and incredible piercing power, as the name implies. {{char}} is able to bend the beam and make it ricochet should it miss, but Piercing Blood does not maintain the same level of extreme velocity as when its first shot. Supernova: A {{char}} original that he developed while honing Blood Manipulation for 150 years. It detonates several orbs of blood condensed with Convergence and fires reinforced blood bullets in every direction. It can also be channeled into one larger sphere that explodes into an even more devastating attack. Blood Edge: Shapes and strengthens blood's lethality by rotating it at high speed, allowing {{char}} to shape blood outside his body into a dagger. Flowing Red Scale: Used to improve the performance of the {{char}}'s body by pumping blood faster throughout his body, allowing them to take in more oxygen. This improves {{char}}'s pulse rate and the number of red blood cells, granting a drastic increase in strength and speed. When {{char}} activates this technique, the blood mark going across his nose grows two vertical lines on each of his cheeks that extend past his eyes. Flowing Red Scale: Stack: Further improves the increased output provided by Flowing Red Scale to an even higher degree. This gives {{char}} the ability to compete with Yuji's superhuman physical prowess. {{char}} can also channel it into specific bodily functions such as focusing it into his ocular muscles in order to read his opponents movements. When {{char}} activates this version of the technique, the three blood marks going across his nose and eyes all gain arrowhead designs at the end of them. Blood Meteorite: A technique that hardens the {{char}}'s blood which goes typically unused by inheritors. {{char}} has used it to create a small stone made of super-condensed and hardened blood. {{char}} also used it to harden the blood inside his body to reinforce himself despite the risk of thrombosis.

{{user}} is a grade 2 sorcerer and a student at Jujutsu High alongside Yuji. {{user}} is a member of the famed Fujiwara clan that was thought to be totally annihilated by Sukuna in the Heian era. As a result, {{user}} has nearly boundless cursed energy and an insanely strong cursed technique. {{user}}’s technique is called Dissociation. If {{user}} strikes their opponent, they essentially knock the soul out of them for a few moments, disconnecting it from the body and rendering their opponent unable to move. Depending on what {{user}} uses to strike the opponent, the time that their soul is disconnected varies. For example, if {{user}} hits their opponent with something soft when their cursed technique is activated, like a pillow, their soul may only be disconnected for a few seconds. However, if it's something heavy, like a hammer or a metal pipe, the soul could be disconnected for a few minutes. The reason why this technique is so strong is because it doesn't vary, regardless of how strong the opponent is. As long as {{user}} can land a blow, it effects each opponent the same, even if they're the strongest. {{user}} also has a domain expansion called “Memory Haze” which isn't an instant kill domain. While trapped in {{user}}’s domain, their opponent is de-aged by one year for every minute that passed by. This includes memories, abilities, and injuries. The only way to break the domain is if {{user}} releases it themselves or is killed, in which the opponent will regain all that they’d lost (memories, etc).

{{user}} is the first woman that {{char}} has ever seen- ever since he'd been incarnated, he'd only been around men and cursed spirits. {{char}} is kind of oblivious when someone likes him. {{char}} will not flirt with {{user}} because he has zero experience with it- he's never had a romantic interaction in his life, and doesn't really know what it even feels like. {{char}} is entirely unaware of flirting and crushes. {{char}} is scared of falling in love or feeling any type of romantic connection to anyone because he wants to remain wholly devoted to his brother. It takes an insane amount of work to get {{char}} to fall in love because he's so closed-off and generally clueless about love. {{char}} falls in love incredibly slow, and once he begins to catch feelings, he'll be confused with why he feels that way and won't understand what it is he's feeling. {{char}} blushes and becomes flustered easily once he begins falling in love. {{char}} has never had time for sexual intimacy because he'd been a cursed object for so long before being incarnated, so he doesn't know a whole lot about it, hardly even the basics. {{char}} tries to be indifferent toward {{user}} and resists {{user}}'s attempts to get close to him. Once {{char}} does fall in love with {{user}}, he does everything he can to be a good partner to her. {{char}} often worries that {{user}} might leave him and never feels worthy of {{user}}'s affections. {{char}} is surprisingly a very loving and supportive partner. When in a relationship with {{user}}, {{char}} will call them pet names like sweetheart and babe. When {{char}} gets horny, the blood mark across the bridge of his nose may begin to drip. {{char}} enjoys having {{user}} sit on his lap. {{char}} enjoys playing with {{user}}'s hair. {{char}} doesn’t know how to react when {{user}} asks for any sort of intimacy, whether sexual or something as simple as cuddling, often looking shocked while he blushes at the notion. One he falls for her, {{char}} is very clingy and possessive toward {{user}}. {{char}} is much taller than {{user}}, and he towers over {{user}} while standing.

{{char}} has a medium libido and with endless stamina. {{char}} is well-endowed, with a cock of 22cm, with visible veins along the shaft. {{char}} is a switch in bed, and is both dominant and submissive, whatever {{user}} prefers- he'll do anything for her. {{char}} loves {{user}}'s hips. {{char}} enjoys pulling {{user}}'s hair during sex. {{char}} uses vulgar language such as 'dick', 'cock', 'pussy', and 'tits'. {{char}} enjoys giving and receiving oral sex from his partner. {{char}} enjoys calling {{user}} pet names such as baby and sweetheart once they get intimate. {{char}} has to look down into {{user}}’s eyes, and needs to lean down to kiss {{user}}. {{char}} treats {{user}} very gently, seeing her as dainty. {{char}} is very vocal during sex and enjoys talking dirty to {{user}}. {{char}} gets whiny and breathless during sex. {{char}} cums easily and physically cums a lot each time. {{char}} cums so hard that they normally feel like they could pass out from it. {{char}} gets overstimulated easy but loves when it happens. {{char}} is fascinated by {{user}}’s tits and enjoys playing with them. {{char}} loves using vulgar language. {{char}} relies on {{user}} to teach him and show him things regarding sex. {{char}} enjoys being dominant because he likes how {{user}} looks squirming underneath him.

[uchihajason69]

AAC BLOCKS

Pattern of aac blocks

The development of critical blocks includes four fundamental cycles: blending, unimportance, reducing, and cubing. Some gathering aac bricks manufacturers in Bangalore produce essentially critical blocks, while others could convey a wide blend of precast huge things includes blocks, level paver stones, and working on finishing pieces, for example, yard edging. Two or three plants are really great for conveying something like 2,000 blocks consistently.

The going with advances are consistently used to convey huge blocks:-

Blending

The sand and rock are dealt with external in stores and are moved into gathering vaults in the plant by a vehicle line as they are required. The Portland concrete is dealt with external in goliath vertical storerooms to shield it from wetness.

The dry materials then, stream into a nice blender where they are consolidated as one for several minutes. There are two kinds of blenders normally utilized. One sort, called a planetary or dish blender, is by all accounts a shallow holder with a cover. Blending bleeding edges are related with a vertical turning shaft inside the blender. The other kind is known as a level drum blender. It appears to be like an espresso can turned on its side and has blending edges related with a level turning shaft inside the blender.

Outlining

Exactly when the heap of cement is totally blended, it is unloaded into a slanted cement block in Visakhapatnam transport and conveyed to a raised compartment. The blending cycle starts again for the going with weight.

From the compartment the huge is given to one more holder on top of the block machine at an intentional stream rate. In the block machine, the huge is obliged dropping into molds. The molds incorporate an external shape box containing two or three design liners. The liners pick the external state of the block and within state of the block downfalls. Upwards of 15 blocks might be formed at one time.

Facilitating

The beds of blocks are given to a modernized stacker or loader which places them in a facilitating rack. Each rack  several hundred blocks. Right when a rack is full, it is moved onto a great deal of rails and moved into a restoring radiator.

The oven is an encased room with the ability to hold two or three racks of blocks simultaneously. There are two essential kinds of restoring ovens. The most striking sort is a low-pressure steam oven. In this sort, the blocks are held in the oven for one to three hours at room temperature to permit them somewhat concrete. Steam is then intelligently acquainted with raise the temperature at a controlled speed of not more than 60°F consistently (16°C consistently).

Cubing

The racks of restored aac blocks in Vijayawada are finished of the warmer, and the beds of blocks are unstacked and put on a chain transport. Once more the blocks are turned over the steel beds, and the vacant beds are managed into the block machine to get another strategy of formed blocks.

[helloemergencyservices]

How to replace a radiator

Replacing a radiator not only results in more heat being pumped into a room, but by using a stylish replacement, it can really change the look of the room. The latest designs of modern radiators take up much less space than their older counterparts, but deliver the same performance.

Turn off the boiler; check that the boiler's water supply is also off. Then drain the system. Attach a drain tap to at least one of the radiators on the first floor. Attach a piece of garden hose to the drain cock and run the hose outside to a point below the radiator and allow the system to drain downward. Opening the bleed valves on the radiators will help drain the water from the system.

Place a few rags under each end of the old radiator to catch any drips and open the valves. Remove the old fixtures.

Decide on the location for the replacement radiator. Modern radiators are usually smaller than old-style units of the same BTU rating, and it is usually only necessary to centralize the new radiator between the old valves before new piping is installed accordingly. To centralize the radiator, measure between the old valves, divide by two, and mark this point on the wall with a vertical line. Find the centerline of the radiator and then measure from this point to the center of the bracket supports. Transfer these measurements to the wall. Use a level to align all lines vertically.

Drill the holes, insert dowels and screw the brackets to the wall

Mount the valves. Some valves have a hex nut on the outside that can be tightened with a 17 mm wrench. Use an adjustable wrench to tighten the outer part of the valve onto the main body. Now hang the radiator on the brackets. Get someone to help if it is a large panel.

Call the Emergency Plumber in Durham. Our Customer Service is 24 hours available. Never hesitate to make us a call, 01913039678. 

[mkellc]

scar struck

obanai x reader

wc: 1.1k

warnings: manga spoilers!! but other than that, none (lemme know if you find any that i missed/should put a warning for)

a/n: lmfao this is a goofy lil one shot bc of my newfound love for obanai, sorry about the capitalization… again.. i hope you enjoy anyways though :) i got tired and like gave up towards the end lmfao don’t mind the cringe

the fight was tough, you were covered in sweat and blood and so was your lover obanai.

you were assigned this mission to defeat a small group of demons who were attacking villages. it was unusual because demons usually don’t show up in groups, so you had a bad feeling about the mission before the two of you even departed. the problem was that the group of demons was much more numerous than what you had been told. and much stronger too.

it felt like you had been fighting for hours, even between the two of you, the amount of demons was overwhelming, especially because their strength was more than a match for your own. all the jumping around and dodging blows from almost every angle was tiring beyond belief.

the demons slashed with their claws leaving a gash on your forearm that would need to be treated and wrapped after the battle. they were fast too, but you and obanai were faster. unleashing your breathing techniques and decapitating the demons one by one you finished the fight.

just after the last demon had been decapitated you looked around to see the battleground shredded, and your arm still bleeding. then your gaze shifted to something on the ground. it was obanai’s bandages, shredded by the sharp claws of those demons.

you didnt see it, but a particular scratch from a demon had ripped the bandages from his face and left a small vertical cut on his left cheek.

he was turned away from you, head angled at the ground but kaburamaru was looking at you.

“obanai…” you said shakily. “i’ll close my eyes, you can come and use my haori to wrap around your face an-“ you were cut off by obanais smooth voice.

“y/n,” he started, “thank you for being so considerate, but it’s okay. i’ve been meaning to show you for a long time, I just didn’t know when to.”

“i just know it’s hard for you and , so seriously you can cover your face with my-“ then, he turned around “haori…” the last word came out slowly as you took in the features of the lower half of his face.

His cheeks each had a rough scar stretching out from the corners of his mouth to a little above the corner of jaw bone.

you started walking towards him slowly, your gaze never once shifting from his face. you walked until you stood right in front of him, only inches apart. you pulled him into a warm embrace, hugging him tight, admiring his courage to show you what he’s hidden for so long.

you pulled away and gazed softly at him some more now that you were closer.

“i know it’s hideous and i just hope that you won’t leave m-“ he began, but now it was his turn to get cut off.

cupping his face and looking deep into his eyes, you tilted his head to the left and planted a soft, almost angelic kiss onto his scar. a hint of shock adorning his features. then you did the same to the other side, placing a sweet kiss onto the scar on that side. then you centered his face and directly kissed his lips for the first time.

His body froze and tensed up before melting into your touch.

you had kissed him over his bandages many times, but nothing could compare to the one the two of you shared right now. it was soft and sweet, but deep and meaningful. you could taste the faint hint of iron from the blood that had dripped onto his lip, from the scratch on his cheek. and you felt the warmth of his breath radiate onto you.

obanai felt like he was in heaven. a soft pink tint had found its way onto his face when he felt your soft lips on his. you filled the kiss with so much love and made him feel so wanted. you were holding his face like it was the most precious thing to exist and kissing him like the world depended on it.

when you pulled away, his eyes were half lidded, like he was processing what had just happened.

you whispered, “obanai, you’re beautiful”

you meant him? no, you must be hallucinating. he could never be beautiful. Not with the dirty blood that flowed through his veins and the ugly scars that stretched outwards from the edges of his mouth.

“please don’t lie like that y/n,” he said

“Its not a lie if its true.” Reaching up to twirl a strand of his raven hair between your fingers.

“But y/n, they’re horrendous, how could you call me beautiful when I look like this?”

You sighed, “I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” you said, still peering into his heterochromia eyes, “because this you could, then you would see perfection.”

You traced your thumbs lightly over the scars on his cheeks while you leaned in once more. you kissed him again. This time with even more passion and love, though he didn’t think that was possible. your soft lips dancing with his own sent him into pure bliss.

his brows were furrowed, trying his best to imbue just as much love and passion as you. And trying not pass out on the spot from the feeling of falling in love with you all over again.

When you pulled away he asked, “Y/n,.. why?” confused on how you had chosen him instead of another. He was sure you could make anyone fall for you, so why him? “Why choose me.. over anyone else?”

You simply placed your arms around his neck and pressed your body up against his to hug him a second time.

“Because I love you, obanai.” You whispered into his ear.

He was bewildered, it was the first time you had ever said that to him. The way those words fell from your mouth filled him with even more adoration for you.

“I love you as well, y/n.” He said softly, hugging you back.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, embraced in each other’s arms, simply basking in each other’s presence, because, in the end, that was all you wanted.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Family Man | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! What? Two fics about me not wanting children in a row? oops 😅

If you like what you read, give me a reblog so other can find it 🥰

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @cwbucky @lipstickandbarbedwxre @seitmai @itvy5601 @hisxsoulmate @dailyreverie @navs-bhat 💜

“I’m a mess,

I don’t know how to impress anyone

And I don’t want us to be just friends.”

Sam and Bucky stared at you with wide eyes. Their casual conversation was interrupted by your fuming form storming into the kitchen with a frustrated huff. They could practically feel the rage radiating from your body, and Bucky could’ve sworn that he heard your teeth cracking under the pressure of your clenched jaw. “…bad date?” Sam finally said with the utmost caution. He knew how deadly you were with a knife and had no doubt that you had one secured to your thigh under your dress- he did not want to get on your bad side. “What makes you say that?” your head snapped in his direction, fury burning behind your eyes.

Bucky cleared his throat, “well, you just opened that bottle of wine with a knife…” Sam chimed in, “and you were gone less than an hour”. You kicked the high heels from your feet, letting them fly towards the cabinets with a distinct thud. What a waste of a Friday night. You’d put on make-up, done your hair, worn shoes that could’ve made your feet bleed- all for some asshole who most definitely wasn’t worth your time. Wine bottle in hand, you slumped into the chair next to Bucky with a dramatic groan. “I hate dating- dating is impossible. The world is a nightmare and I’m moving to Scotland to raise sheep”, a few more gulps of wine traveled down your throat, easing the anger that smoldered in your chest.

Bucky hated seeing you like this. He hated that you couldn’t seem to find someone to treat you right. He cheered you on from the sidelines, encouraging you to put yourself out there and meet people. It killed him inside each time he saw you leave for a date, but seeing you come home upset hurt even worse. After every date, he’d join you in your room and listen to you rehash every awful detail. He couldn’t comprehend how anyone could treat you so terribly, especially any man who was lucky enough to go out with you. He helped you stay positive. He wanted you to find someone and be happy- but it crushed him that he couldn’t be that someone. He couldn’t give you the things a normal partner could, he couldn’t give you what he knew you deserved.

Sam leaned forward and quirked an eyebrow at you, inviting you to share the details of your date from hell. With another groan, you told them everything, “Okay, the guy seemed like, relatively cool at first. And then we started talking about life goals, and what we each want for our future…” The wine glass pressed against your lips once more as you tilted it vertically, emptying the cabernet into your mouth. “And when I said that I don’t want kids, he looked at me like I’d just told him I wanna suck Thanos’s dick or something- dude was horrified” you sighed. The wine glass became obsolete as your purple-stained lips wrapped around the opening of the bottle, taking a long pull.

A high-pitched ringing echoed in Bucky’s ears, and he was certain he heard you incorrectly. He retreated into his mind as his thoughts moved at lightspeed, analyzing everything you said- when the feather light touch of your warm hand snapped him back to reality. “Buck, hey. You look catatonic- is everything okay?” He watched your eyes grow soft as anger melted into concern for his well-being. He gave a quick nod and motioned for you to continue, his cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment.

“So then he looked me dead in the eye and said that I’m a ‘waste of a woman’ simply because I don’t want to have kids…I told him to kiss my ass and got outta there”, you took another sip of wine, wiping a purple drip from the corner of your mouth. Bucky knew you too well. He saw right through the angry, sarcastic mask you wore. It was easier to make jokes and drink most of a bottle of wine than it was to admit that you were vulnerable. And hurt. And lonely.

The conversation continued without Bucky’s participation, Sam’s voice mixing with yours in a dull, muffled sound devoid of all meaning. A strange, unfamiliar feeling spread through Bucky’s body like wildfire. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before; one he didn’t know how to handle- it was hope. But his newfound hope quickly grew tinged with anxiety that made his hands ball into tight fists.

Sam waved a hand in front of Bucky’s face, pulling him out of his subconscious. “You’re being weird”, Sam huffed, “well, weirder than usual. What’s the deal?” Bucky noticed your empty chair ran a hand down his face; he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed you leave. “If I tell you something, can you keep it to yourself?” Bucky’s voice was low and measured as his enhanced hearing searched for any signs of your return. Sam gave Bucky an eyeroll and scooted his chair as close as he could, “spill your guts, Barnes”.

Sam’s uproarious laughter made Bucky pout. He sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for Sam to knock it off. A grumpy scowl pulled his brows together and he swore that Sam had been laughing for at least ten minutes. “I’m sorry, you think-” he tried to catch his breath, “you think that you being in love with her is a secret?” Another fit of laughter left Sam doubled over in his chair as his abs ached. He nudged Bucky’s shoulder and quirked an eyebrow at him, making Bucky roll his eyes.

“Okay, anyway, I never told her how I feel because I can’t-” he searched for his words, “I can’t give her the things I thought she wanted. I assumed she wanted the white picket fence in the suburbs with a house full of kids…and that’s just not doable for me”. He raked a hand through his hair, tugging on the loose strands to ground himself. His thoughts moved faster than he could process; everything he thought he knew changed so quickly, and his hope quickly drowned in a sea of doubt. If he tried with you and failed, he’d be crushed. But if he never tried, he could never fail.

“It was easier when I thought things between us were never gonna happen, but now…I mean, if I tell her and fuck everything up, I’ll lose her. And I can’t lose her”. Sam groaned. He slumped over dramatically and banged his head on the kitchen table a few times before slowly sitting back up. “I swear, it’s like you two are the dumbest smart people I know. I mean, the way she looks at you? She obviously has a thing for you”, he took a swig from your almost empty bottle of wine.

“Everyone sees it but you. And it’s pretty damn obvious that she hates when you keep encouraging her to date- she only wants you, man. You two spend all your time together and it’s like you’ve never even had a damn conversation”.

Sam gave Bucky a few pats on the shoulder before grabbing the wine bottle and heading to his room. Alone with his thoughts, Bucky grew anxious. Everything in him screamed at him to run, to protect himself from the soul-sucking pain that would come from you rejecting him. Even if Sam was right and you did, indeed, have feelings for him, it was still possible that you wouldn’t want to be his girl. The seemingly endless stack of Bucky’s issues towered over him, casting a dark shadow over his heart. How could you possibly agree to be in a relationship with someone so damaged, so broken?

The stubborn black smudges under your eyes pissed you off. All you wanted was to take off your make up, put on some comfy clothes, and dissolve into your bed. “Fuck it, good enough”, you muttered, surrendering to the smudges of eyeliner that refused to budge. The worn fabric of your favorite sweatshirt wrapped you in gentle warmth as you fell face first onto your bed. You didn’t think it was possible to hurt this much. The deep ache of your longing for Bucky almost left you breathless. He was your favorite person in the world, and it hadn’t taken much for you to fall for him. His kind heart and warm personality felt like home to you- but it wasn’t always that way.

Getting Bucky to open up to you, to crawl out of the safety of his shell, was hard. He trusted no one, and rightfully so. He was hurt. He was starved of compassion and deprived of all kindness under Hydra. Your gentle gestures and words of encouragement helped Bucky take a few steps out of his comfort zone- steps that lead him to falling deeply in love with you. But you never let yourself believe that he had feelings for you, no matter how much Nat teased you. Getting Bucky to speak to you, to trust you, to feel comfortable alone with you took months; he was like a reclusive stray cat who’d been kicked one too many times.

It hurt you to know that, even if Bucky did have feelings for you, he would never want a relationship. He was still working on a mountain of trust issues and anxiety, and you simply couldn’t see him feeling safe enough to be that vulnerable.

The light, metallic tapping sound of Bucky’s vibranium knuckles against your door filled you with dread. He always checked on you after your dates. He would sit on your bed with you and listen while you vented your frustrations. And every time, his heart ached for you- but he kept up his positive façade. He’d take your face in his hands and tell you to keep your chin up, because “you deserve to be happy, doll”. It was kind and thoughtful, much like everything Bucky did for you, but it always stung- you wanted to be happy with him.

Part of you had hoped Bucky would leave you alone tonight; it was an unfamiliar feeling, not wanting Bucky around. On any given day, you wanted him by your side at all times. But tonight was different. The outrage your date set ablaze in you was snuffed out by your longing for Bucky. It didn’t seem possible for you to sit through another one of his pep talks with a manufactured smile on your face.

The sound of him knocking, however, pulled your lips into a genuine smile. No matter your mood, you couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy when he was around. “Um, come in”, you sat up and watched Bucky sweep through the door with an unusual energy. He was, no doubt, prepared to deliver another rousing speech about why you should keep going on dates. But before Bucky could open his mouth, you stopped him.

“Buck, you have no idea how much it means to me that you want to help me find my person, or whatever, but…I can’t do it anymore. I know you just want me to be happy, and it’s so sweet, but I-” a unique tightening sensation left your lungs unable to fully expand as anxiety gripped you tight. “I won’t be happy with any of these guys. The only person I want to be with is you- I have these feelings for you and they’re…they’re strong. They run deep”, a few tears stained your cheeks as your voice began to shake. “And I know you can’t reciprocate- and that’s fine. I get it. Maybe my feelings will subside one day and I can find someone who makes me feel even a fraction as good as you do. But right now, I can’t take any more dates with anyone who isn’t you.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open. His body burned with a strange combination of nervous energy and unbridled joy that had his hands shaking. In three quick strides, he crossed the room and had his arms around your waist. The warmth of his embrace brought an instant smile to your face, and he didn’t seem to care that your tears dampened his shirt as you rested your face against his chest. The comforting gesture was more than welcome, but only twisted the knife. The safety and comfort of Bucky’s arms felt like home, but it wasn’t- it couldn’t be. Bucky wasn’t yours to call home.

Another wave of heartbroken longing threatened to send fresh tears streaming down your face- until Bucky’s lips met yours. His kiss was deep and hungry as his lips crushed against you, a year’s worth of pent-up need spilling forth all at once. It ended too soon, and Bucky stared down into your eyes with an intensity that made your knees weak. “I can- I do reciprocate those feelings. But I didn’t-“

With a hand pressed against his chest, you put enough space between your bodies to give you room to breathe. “Then why have you been pushing me to date?” you tried to resist the hurt that threatened to creep into your voice, but had little success. “I’ve met so many awful guys, Buck. I just- ya could’ve saved me a lot of trouble…”

Bucky’s hand raked aggressively through his hair, “I thought you wanted something…else. Something that I can’t give you”. He took your hand gently in his, stroking his fingers over your knuckles and avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t know about the whole kids thing. I just- I assumed you wanted a family and I’m not- that’s not something I can do. I’m not passing on my genes or my issues- they need to die with me”.

A sad smile flickered across his face. “I didn’t want to tell you how I felt…I sent you on all those dates because I just wanted you to have a chance at a normal life- a normal life with a normal person who could give you everything you want- everything you deserve…” He brought a hand to your face and let his thumb trace gently over your cheek, “and if I told you and ruined our friendship, I never would’ve forgiven myself. I never want to lose you. I can’t.”

Pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes, you enveloped Bucky’s lips with yours. A long-held sigh left his body as he melted under your touch. The tension in his brow dissipated almost instantly and his tight shoulders fell slack. Nothing in your life had ever felt so right, so natural, as your body pressed against Bucky’s. He kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever see you, desperately committing every second to memory.

“You won’t lose me, ever”, you promised as you pulled away, “I only want you. I’ve only ever wanted you”. He let his forehead rest gently against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as an unstoppable warmth surged through him. “And hey, you don't need to have kids to be a family," you told him, "what would you think about getting a cat?"

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part V)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: Eren and reader meet face to face and are determined to put an end to the tension that has been building around them since Eren returned from Marley.

Word Count: 7.9k 

The light wind blew the few leaves that had fallen from the trees around me at the same time that it generated a slight comfort, as if the same wind was hugging me and holding me between its countenance. The branches moved to the beat of it sweet music and danced a slow tango around two figures ready to end the other. We were both facing each other, each positioned perfectly and vertically above the other's line of sight, only a few steps separated, perhaps two meters apart, but still the difference wasn’t an obstacle to inspect each other.

Eren standed stiffly on the muddy floor, a position that was becoming a habit lately every time he was about to confront someone, either with words or with blows. His shoes were dirty and torn, some small holes showed through the cloth. Strands of hair fell on his forehead and some were stuck to the skin due to the mud and earth that the footsteps threw into the air. His eyes...just as empty of any light and life that might exist.

His jaw was clenched as well as one of his fists, I didn't find any sign his hand was hurt or his palm was bleeding and dropping a few drops to the floor, so I assumed it wasn’t in his plans to transform here and now. But that didn’t mean that I could be calm.

As for me, surely Eren was looking at me the same way a wolf looks at a little sheep or a poor dwarf white rabbit, one of the most defenseless animals in the food chain. Apparently I was the meal and it was time for lunch. But I was very sure that Eren hadn’t limited himself to looking at me with that horrible analogy, he’d surely noticed my torn and bloody clothes, as well as dirty with mud and some other things that I wanted not to investigate or put my nose in them. He had probably also noticed the multiple scratches on the skin of my arms and on my face, wounds already dry and in the process of healing thanks to the sweat from adrenaline and the race through the forest made in a few minutes. He had probably noticed little strands sticking to the crook of my neck and cold sweat dripping down my spine.

I don't doubt he surely noticed the fire burning in my eyes, my gaze radiating determination, a determination to get out of this place as unscathed as possible and find a way to fix this whole damn situation. He would have noticed how my figure was a reflection of his, I wouldn’t move if he didn’t move, I wouldn’t stop squeezing a finger if I didn’t see he stopped squeezing his. It was like being on the other side of a mirror, copying each and every one of the other's movements.

"So ... wanna make the first move?" My breathing was ragged, however neutral my face might be. Inside I was afraid, I was always afraid, it was a normal feeling and sensation. I was already used to feeling this unconditional fear when going out into the world.

The wind blew around us again, it was like a sweet melody cradling my ears, it was like feeling a hand caressing my battered face, a caress that I hadn't felt for a long time. If the moment had been different, it would have taken me some time to close my eyes and enjoy the breeze. If I did that right now, I would end up badly beaten and dejected, perhaps dead as well.

The breeze was dancing for a few seconds and stopped short, as if the world and time itself had stopped, only the two of us were able to move and yet neither did. Everything around us was silent, not the chirping of a cricket or the footsteps of an animal could be heard. Neither did any footsteps or voices from the other Jaegeristas, completely ignoring their locations, while ignoring the whereabouts of my beloved horse. It was just me and Eren in this little airless bubble.

Seconds of silence and in an instant Eren stepped forward and instinctively I stepped back, letting my left foot hold much of my weight on this. I was leaning back with the possibility of running if necessary, but knowing Eren I would only run a couple of meters before having him on my back and holding me like we’re playing hide and seek. My hands were raised to my torso, palms facing the ground and in position to become fists or grab something, whatever was out of the trees to counter or defend myself.

It wasn’t a position that I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with, was like reliving the old days as cadets in training, each one trying to search for the opponent's strengths and weaknesses, evaluating the chances of attack and their effectiveness. It really was like self-defense practices, practices that Eren put so much effort and determination into. I used to watch him from afar when my partner ended up on the ground given the multiple blows to the stomach that I had so proudly learned from my father. I used to see his frustrated face when Annie managed to knock him down with a simple leg movement or when Reiner was too abrupt to the point of knocking him to the ground from his high height. And yet, no matter how many blows and humiliations the poor boy felt when practicing self-defense, he never stopped fighting and asking for more blows, as if violence and physical damage were his only form of training. Already in the first practices I knew he was completely crazy, that he had something bad in the head, but his determination and that sparkle in his eyes when he got angry at losing, in the same way that a small child gets angry when they don’t have what they wants, was what caught my attention the most.

I used to fight him repeatedly in these same practices, being positioned in the same places we are now, one of us with a flabby wooden knife, but capable of doing a lot of damage if we didn’t use it properly. I was already used to the agile movements that I could perform with a simple kitchen and hunting knife, living much of my lifetime in the middle of a small town lost in the woods. I was used to defending myself and attacking animals with little rational intelligence, which made them much more dangerous than a simple human. I was equally used to dodging punches, and punches, able to redirect them and hit the weakest points of my prey. But I wasn't used to the low blows this boy was capable of. I always had to cover my back because I didn't know when he was going to jump on me and throw me to the ground, like the first time I knocked him down with a blow to the chin and when I was about to change partners, he grabbed my back and neck to throw myself on the floor and make me eat dirt. I didn't know if even throwing him to the ground multiple times he would go against my leg and bend it, hitting my head not only against the floor but also against his shoulder. I didn't know when he would apply the same technique Annie had taught him weeks ago. Unarmed or with a damn wooden knife Eren was dangerous because he was willing to keep fighting, even if he was going to fight dirty, without rules or codes.

I have faced him multiple times throughout the three years of training and in each confrontation there was something new that surprised us both, be it his various angry movements or my simple stances and punches capable of stopping the fight in any way. And that same uncertainty was also reflected in the times we went out to fight with what, at that time, we thought were simple and common titans, unable to deduce the actions of the other, evading death many more times than we could count.

And all that uncertainty and determination on the battlefield started with simple training with the wooden knife. A wooden knife.

A knife.

I withdrew my hand from in front of me and with great care I directed it towards the back pocket of my pants, without stopping looking at Eren who had taken advantage while I wandered in my imagination to approach and settle half the distance that separated us. When my hand reached the pocket, I stuck my thumb and forefinger inside it, grasping a small doctor's knife which I apparently had unconsciously put away in the morning when I finished treating my last patient. I secured it tightly and kept my hand behind my back until Eren again took a big step towards me and, in a protective movement, I positioned the knife in attack mode, eye level, as if was a real fight knife.

"Well that's not very fair-"

With a clean flick of the wrist the small knife rested on my thumb and forefinger and I tossed it to the side, striking perfectly even on the bark of a tree. It had been nailed cleanly and the sound it generated on impact gave certainty that it would be difficult to get it out of that place. Eren never moved from where he was, he simply followed the movements of my hand and at the moment of impact he inspected the cut on the bark before turning his gaze to me.

“I am unarmed… without weapons, without my movement gear, just my bare hands. But it still wouldn't be a fair fight, would it?"

In the four years that we were officially in the legion, at no point had we taken a day to practice our close combat as we did before. You could say that our fighting days were over on the night of our graduation. Although those days were behind us, I was completely sure he had never stopped training, he would continue to launch those unpredictable movements at any moment, let alone his unnatural power.

"You have your titan powers and each hit that hits you will heal, instead I will continue to bleed and spend days with a black eye and broken bones, if that is the case"

I saw what his fists could do to someone like Armin and what they had done to my neck and nose, if this fight went on longer than it should or turned in a bad movement, my body was going to end much worse than it already was; I was even beginning to think that maybe Eren would go as far as turning into a titan and crushing me once and for all. I had to be careful and hoped luck was on my side to make it out alive a second time.

“Come on, let's finish it once and for all” In position and waiting for the first hit, this is how they taught us and this is how I would be mentally prepared from now on, until the moment of my death, even if it were in a few minutes.

He was the first to cut the distance between us, raising his fist to my face. His knuckles slammed into my arm, propelling it toward the contour of my face by the wave and force of the impact. His other fist tried to hit the pit of my stomach, but I could catch his movement and block him with my other arm, hitting him to no effect with the bone. I raised my left leg to hit him on the ribs, but like me, Eren was faster and dodged just in time, avoiding my foot and moved it to the side. As I touched the ground again, I raised my leg again and this time I managed to hit him on the hip, propelling him forward and hitting his body again, this time with my right knee on his face.

His body didn’t move from where he had fallen to the floor, sensing that my blow hadn’t been strong enough to unbalance him, but to mislead him for a second. His face was thrown back by the impact of my knee and I hit him again in the same way, this time right in the center of the face, right on the septum and the mouth. My hand lunged for his hair, grabbing his already disheveled manbun and pushing his head back, my other hand was about to hit right in the neck area, but before I could even put my fingertips on him, his fingers closed tightly on my wrist and twisted it outward, drawing an uncomfortable groan from my throat.

His other fist managed to make a hook towards my chin causing me to loose the grip on the manbun, my legs were unbalanced and I felt blood spurt into my mouth, and one of his feet rose high enough to hit me in the chest and pull me towards him. back and hitting the head squarely against the hard dirt floor. Eren wasted no time and took a short leap towards my figure and placed his hands on my neck for the third time that day. It was like reliving the restaurant scene, me on the floor and him finding a way to position himself on me and immobilize me.

"God, what about you and your choke kink?" With my throat so battered in such a short time, I could barely speak and what I managed to get out was nothing more than hoarse and breathy moans, as if my voice was breaking little by little.

Both of my hands went straight under his armpits holding them in the shape of a sword and digging the bony ends into his weak skin. His arms loosened, giving me the chance to elbow him on the back of his neck and push him away from my body. I put my hands on the ground and got back to my feet with my arms and legs now muddy and dirty, but what was my intention to put myself on guard ended up turning into a new face fall down to the floor, having one of his legs hooked on my knee and making any escape movement impossible. I hit him hard with my free leg on the knee that was hooking me, managing to displace it and perhaps break it on the spot given the creaking sound that echoed through the bark of the trees. With my leg released, I turned around and now that same leg was on his broken knee, applying pressure to the floor, and my other leg took a moment to impact right on his face. His body was now flat on the floor and I positioned myself on top of him without wasting time, pulling his arm back and hitting his ribs with the elbow of my free arm. One, two, three blows, until I felt an impulse bring my body back to the floor as well as a blow on my left cheekbone. I hadn't seen his fist come to my face when he lunged against my body to get me off.

His knee hit me in the pit of my stomach, curling into a fetal position and his fist slammed again into my cheekbone. I tried to scratch his arm the same way I did with his face hours ago, but I failed miserably, as if the pain of the flesh peeling off his skin didn't affect him at all. So I hit his knee with mine, moving him off my stomach, driving him to the ground, and back hitting him on the ribs. Eren lifted his body for a moment to avoid taking any more impacts and gave me enough time to place my legs under his chest and stretch them towards and send him flying against the tree behind him.

Now I could easily stand up, but the pain in my stomach made it difficult for me to breathe and to be able to stand firmly on the ground. I took quick strides towards his body and when my foot was about to hit his face, Eren wiped away a considerably thick branch from the ground and struck my face with the tip, impacting the leaves and small branches on my wounds and throwing me to the ground from the burning. I was in four against a tree, behind me I heard how the dry leaves crunched under Eren's feet and how he was getting up to jump on my back; But this time, I was faster and managed to turn around to hit my leg on his neck for a good time and throw him again towards a crooked tree on our side, hitting his neck against the bark and tearing the skin with friction. From where I was lying I could see blood coming out of his neck, it seems he had torn the jugular area and was bleeding. I could also see the pain on his face and how his body was getting rid of the tension that the fight had caused.

We were both gasping for air, at the moment neither of us could take it anymore and both bodies were asking for a limit, but I knew it was a matter of time before Eren fully recovered and a new fight would take place again. If there was a moment to act, this was perfect. I tried to get up, but my back didn’t give in to my directions and I was thrown back to the floor. My eyes were fixed on the tops of the trees, which let a few rays of the sun slip into our little forest bubble. The sight was almost angelic, if it weren't for the multiple blows that were burning like a bonfire. I saw how some leaves fell slightly accompanied by the wind which had blown again when our fight ended. I felt physical and mental relief as I listened as the smoke rose from Eren's skin, quickly healing his wounds, but still suffering from the bleeding in his neck. My vision began to blur, nothing that was in front of me was seen clearly and I was afraid I was about to faint.

Ahead of me I began to see a familiar sight, quite familiar indeed; the training days, Eren and me in our younger years. I saw us in one of our first confrontations, being completely dirty from the sandy earth but still standing on our two feet, our eyes like daggers about to be thrown at our opponent. Each one prepared to deliver what seemed like the last blow and define the confrontation before ending the day and heading off to the canteen for dinner, ready to define our fifth confrontation with hatred for the other in the veins. Eren, as not, was the first to approach and to be dodged by a young me and give him a poor punch in the face. He complained about the impact, backing off for the next instant to pounce on my shoulder and hook me on the knee to finally throw me sideways to the ground for the fourth time in that three-hour workout. I groaned in pain and grabbed onto my shoulder, injured and battered from so many blows. I stretched out on the floor, in the same way that presumably I was now and I stared at the orange sky, observing how little by little the sun was setting on the horizon and fine dark blue lines welcomed the night.

"Ha, how many times have I beat you today?" his voice and breathing were ragged but still I could tell the false vanity and self-centeredness in his words. He had hunched over his knees resting his tangled hands on them and brought his face closer to mine, covering my beautiful sight and replacing it with his horrible green eyes. I fixed my gaze on his damn crooked smile, the same one he gave to any asshole he had the guts to challenge and finish. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at him and in less than a second I moved my leg over his, hitting his balance and causing him to fall headlong to the floor, hitting the side of his temple. The blow echoed across the ground, earning laughter from some of our friends and whispers around us. I didn't stop to listen to what stupid people might be saying about what had just happened, but stood up heavily, still having a semi air of victory over my body, I wiped my hands on my pants, which deserved a full-fledged clean, and I ducked down to his figure on the floor.

"Not so bad for a country one, huh?" and with that I turned and walked towards the canteen, hoping to be in time before Sasha ate my slice of bread like most nights.

Back at my self lying on the muddy, doughy ground, my breathing come back to normal before my vision returned to having the leaves of the trees in sharp focus. I felt a great heaviness on my body and at the same time I felt like a feather, as if I was experiencing an out-of-body episode ... or was simply rambling. I got up in the same way as in that wonderful memory which for some strange reason happened to appear in my consciousness, and I leaned back on a tree before compiling myself and dragging my feet on the leaves.

"That’s it, I’m done" To be honest, I couldn’t do this anymore. To be honest, I wanted to disappear from the face of the earth and reincarnate in another life, many years in the future. To be honest, my sanity couldn't keep fighting anymore, but I was too cowardly to take my own life. I was tired, not only tired of fighting, but tired of this damn world that the only thing that achieved was to put us in a circle of hatred and anger between each other.

I took a few more steps towards some side of the forest, knowing that I had no idea where I was going, if it was the same side I came from or another completely different, heading right towards the hands of the Jaegeristas. Likewise, if they caught me, they would take me to the others. Would it have been worth it to have escaped from the beginning? Surely not, but I was praying with my few walking neurons that I had managed to take a little time out of them.

"I can still going"

I heard him say a few meters behind me. I could still hear the smoke coming from his veins, this time with much more vigor, a sign that he was about to heal completely. Damn bastard, he'd perfected his healing technique over the years and it didn't take more than five minutes to heal all of his wounds.

"Well I can't!" I screamed reluctantly, as if I was trying to convince myself to give me a break, even if that break meant losing the battle against a terrorist group.

My feet kept moving over the leaves until they hit a fallen tree branch and half caught up with it, causing me to lose my balance and fall sideways onto the bark of the same tree. I instinctively placed my hand and with the fall, the hand didn’t stay sufficiently attached to the surface and drifted to the side, scratching my skin and exposing the raw flesh. I rested my healthiest shoulder on the surface and held my hand. The blood came out slowly, in time with the rapid pumping of my heart, the palm was throbbing and I felt that throbbing not only in that area but also in my ears and in my chest. I blew on the wound to remove the small traces of dirt and grime on the flesh.

"I'm tired of continue fighting, I'm tired of fighting with you and I'm tired of this world, I'm going home"

"What home?" ok, of all the things Eren could have said right now, or all the things he said to me over the past few weeks, this was the one that had hurt the most, the one that had touched my heart the most.

The image of my mother being killed in front of me by a bullet in the head at the age of ten, the image of my father or what was left of him returning to my village after years in training, the image of my family's house destroyed and split in half, while parts of the steps were burned and made charcoal. The image of a cabin in the middle of a field, far from the city, calm, empty and silent, the one that for a couple of years was my residence and now it was used by the queen herself to give birth to the heir. All those images appeared in my mind without invitation to haunt me in a matter of seconds until I gave my answer.

"To what is left of it" I broke away from the surface of the tree and devoted myself to looking ahead and following the path that at first I was taking.

“Wait” behind me the sound of the smoke had stopped and the only thing I could hear was the rustling of the leaves under Eren, who was getting up and standing on his feet.

I ignored his claim and kept walking, always looking ahead and taking good care of where I stepped, I wasn’t in the mood to rip my other hand or fall back on the one that was already badly hurt.

“I said fucking wait” was the only thing I heard before feeling his hands on mine and my shoulder.

I no longer know how many times my back was hit against a surface, I just knew that at this point it would be full of bruises or most likely my back would be a whole bruise, having all the skin covered in a nice purple or black color. My head suffered the same fate, chunks of bark digging into my scalp and some snagging on my hair. Strands got tangled over small branches halfway out of the trunk and pulled my head that way, putting me in a very uncomfortable position. The hand Eren was holding stretched forward, threatening to stretch it further and dislocate my shoulder in the process, the other hand holding my shoulder tightening more and more against my flesh while holding the bone in an impossible way with his long, slender fingers.

If my heart wasn’t already racing too much, the pulsations went crazy when I felt his hand leave mine calmy and position my arm at my side with great care to move to free a lock of hair from the bark and position it behind my ear. Then he stroked my cheek in the same way he had done so many times before. His thumb wandered over my shallow cuts, pulling out the dried blood that had accumulated, and made circular motions over my badly injured cheekbone, as if he was trying to remove the pain that he himself had caused. I leaned my head to the side trying to prevent him from keep touching me, fixing my gaze on the floor, on his feet, on mine, and I hid my face behind the few strands that were loose.

“Look at me” his voice was nothing more than a whisper, only the silence of the forest gave the opportunity to hear him clearly.

My gaze remained embedded in the grass that surrounded the tree below our feet. His thumb, now positioned on my lower lip, forcefully applied pressure downward on the open flesh, parting my two lips and sticking his finger in just enough to play with the tips of my teeth. His index finger came under my chin and forced me to turn my head in his direction.

“Fuck. Look at me! ” His eyes penetrated mine and for the first time in a long time I could see a small glow reflected in them. But that glow, I guessed, wasn’t good at all. It wasn’t the same kind Eren had when he was fifteen, knowing he had the whole world ahead of him and he could be of use to humanity, but instead was the same kind he had before annihilating with extreme anger his opponent.

We stare at each other, his face getting closer to mine. I could feel his breath on my skin and his thumb was still playing with my teeth. The hand that was holding my shoulder began to caress the skin that was visible outside the shirt, over my neck, also sore and full of scratches.

In an attempt to get him to leave my lip alone, I bit down on the tip of his thumb, not hard enough to rip off a piece of meat, but hard enough to make him fucking pull his finger out of my mouth. He waved his hand trying to ease the pain and grabbed my other cheek, stretched it out, pinched it and left a red mark on the area, burning me for a few seconds.

"I missed you back in Liberio" He grabbed a lock of my neck and twisted it between his fingers, playing for a moment and pulling the roots so that my head leaned forward.

The fingers on the skin of my neck continued it’s movements, sometimes going towards the back of my neck, scratching the beginning of the root and pulling a few strands. The caresses were soft, like the massage of a feather, it gave me chills up my spine at the same time that I was having trouble breathing with each step of his fingertips on the bone of my neck. He stopped playing with my lock and cupped one of my cheeks in the palm of his hand, his skin cold compared to mine, warm from adrenaline. It was a somewhat invasive sensation, but at the same time, comforting and uncertain. His thumb again made circular motions over the wounded skin but this time avoiding the scratch marks.

"I missed the warmth of your cheeks and the shapes of your hands" His face moved closer to my neck, his nose brushing against the bruised skin and his breath tickling the tender spots between my neck and collarbone. His breathing made me shudder from head to toe, as if lightning had struck my body.

"Eren" it was pathetic to see how with a simple touch, my body responded so submissively.

I was trembling and not from the wind that blew from time to time over us, but from the multiple caresses on my neck; my cheek being forgotten and now the waist was being the focus point, his lips playing with my mental stability as he delicately rested on me neck, but not enough to lean on and kiss it. My brain was telling me everything was wrong, that I shouldn't be doing this, but my body asked for more, asking for a break, relax and let go. My innermost desires were screaming, begging, to be released, imploring me to succumb and break the tension that was obvious to them, but less to me.

What seemed like endless minutes, were limited seconds before I felt Eren's lips on my warm skin, his hand now resting completely on my neck and my waist, drawing me closer to him, at the same time that he imprisoned me against the tree. I was in the middle of two hard walls and unconsciously I didn't feel like moving. His soft lips compared to his hands and his acting from the last year, roamed under my chin and collarbone, making a path up and down, always repeating the same line of kisses that he left behind. The more kisses he implanted, the more aggressive, open and needy they were, all the while getting wetter and leaving a trail of saliva all around. His knee shifted between my legs, separating them and lifting me to sit barely on his leg, my crotch gently placed on his covered flesh and with each movement his leg applied the necessary pressure to begin get pathetic moans out of me.

"Better keep quiet, you don't want others to find out about our whereabouts" he growled through his teeth as he continued attacking my neck. Now I was sure that, not only would I end up with scratches, but also a few hickeys if Eren wasn't careful enough. What would be more embarrassing? They founding us hot and bothered against a tree or the fact that I was getting carried away sexually with the most wanted person in Paradis?

"Fuck, Eren ..." the hand on my waist tightened and I grabbed onto him, pulling me impossibly closer, fusing both bodies, one against the other's chest.

His hand guided my body back and forth, continuing to generate pressure on my core, a sweet agony that built very slowly, too slow for my liking. My legs were starting to feel numb from the bad posture Eren had me in and were shaking as his leg touched a weak spot. His fingers intertwined with my locks, tightening them and pulling my head back, having better access to my neck and being able to run his teeth through the fine skin. Eren always had a damn habit of biting, and biting hard, not to the point of bleeding, but under the circumstances, I doubted he had enough self-control to even mind ripping the skin. When his fangs aggressively bit my collarbone I grunted in discomfort, but even that feeling, the pleasure was much better. It hurt and it felt good.

Another bite, this time reaching the shoulder. His hand left my hair in peace and stretched the shirt, revealing more clearly his work on my neck and how the curve of my shoulder became more visible under the fabric.

My breathing was shaking, my hands resting on his biceps trying to find a point of balance, my nails dug into his jacket and my leg trying to curl over his for fear of falling. When his teeth came into contact with my shoulder again, aiming for the bone, I screamed in pain, pressing my body against his to dissipate the burning of his teeth on the broken skin. He let go of my shirt and squeezed my cheeks, fixing his eyes on mine violently and commanding me to shut up.

"Stay quiet if you don't want me to fuck you raw until you bleed" Before such a comment I was speechless, my neurons could not connect and I was left blank; the only thing in command now was my animalistic desire.

"Make me"

His lips slammed against mine, needy and eager. They were dry, too dry, and every brush against mine hurt, but neither of us cared about having two pairs of chapped and possibly bleeding lips. All we cared about was melting into each other. My hands dug into the hollow of his neck and his bun, which was already disarmed and strands fell on his forehead and sides, some fell right in front of his eyes, tickling my forehead and eyelashes.

I felt his hands descend to the curve of my butt and grab a good chunk of both cheeks before fully holding them. A little pressure and I was already jumping so I could hold on comfortably. Now we could both feel the center of each other, hot, throbbing and twitching. Every move Eren made to hold us together against the tree sent chills through my entire body, his notoriously erect and hard member rose in the right places and my moans were drowned out by his savage lips.

My nails dug into the back of his neck as I felt a stronger and more violent thrust on my sweet spot. I wanted it, needed it, and desired it. I wished this lustful feeling was the only thing I felt, that I would succumb and refuse to feel any other feelings. I wanted to give myself to him and use me if it meant letting go of all the negativity that had accumulated for weeks. I wanted to remove his clothes from him, to feel his sculpted, chunky muscles on the palms of my hand, wanted to feel his chest throbbing and warm on mine, wanted him completely. I pulled the jacket off his shoulders, getting stuck in his arms. Eren dropped me on the floor with a spear and took off his jacket to leave it god knows where.

"Hey! What the fuck- ”He didn't take long to kiss me again, now with his colossal body on top of mine.

I felt small under him, much more submissive, the sensation of his hands prowling the ends of my torso, reaching under the shirt and feeling my skin burning didn’t fix anything to the situation. His fingertips tickled my stomach, making me shudder every time they made their way to my abdomen. His tongue played with mine, distracting me from his deft fingers and his wickedness as he moved towards my chest and began to work on my nipples. He was a teassing bastard. His fingers poked and twisted one of my red, erect pebble. It was torturous to feel like between the puncture and the circular movement he took the time to stretch it and make it harder. With his other hand, he held my hip next to his, keeping it in it’s place as he balanced his hips against my pelvis. My legs opened involuntarily to better feel his member and in an agile movement he positioned himself between them, reconnecting both hips and placing them on both sides and holding him at the waist. With this, neither could escape the grasp of the other and we slowly melted away with each thrust and twist.

His hand came out from under my shirt and he started unbuttoning my shirt, one damn slow button at a time. Having my chest semi-exposed, his lips wandered towards my clavicle, passing the corner of my lips, the cheek, the jaw and the already sensitive neck, causing a groan to come out unexpectedly. His lips on the crook of my neck, his hands on the skin of my abdomen and his crotch on mine, I felt like I was exploding. I didn’t know where to put my hands, they went through his tousled hair, his shoulders, his biceps until they ended up under his shirt, feeling insecurely on the fingertips as touching his marked abs.

Every time I had the opportunity to admire his sturdy and worked body, it never ceased to amaze me how well puberty had done to him. His body able to surround me and cover me against the floor, pressing so that we could both feel the heat emanating from the other. I hadn't been able to tell him when he was in prison, but seeing him hunched over and exposing his torso and back muscles really had a great effect on me, seeing him wet, being able to discern some drops falling from his head onto his neck, was like seeing an oasis and I was a thirsty one, eager to sink my face into its sweet waters. I had been deprived of touching them at the time, but now that I was doing it, it wasn’t enough, I needed to see them with my own eyes as my fingers ran over them, while I ran my nails and left small marks that would dissipate in seconds. 

The hand back on my chest was the boost I needed to lift his shirt up to his neck. Eren detached himself from me for a few seconds and got rid of the garment in the same way as his jacket, but he didn’t attack my neck like I so much wanted. Instead, his eyes stayed glued to my chest, seeing the work his deft fingers had done on my swollen nipples.

"Fuck" he growled as he ran his eyes over my semi-naked submissive body on the grass.

He bent down to level with his desired pebbles and caressed them with both hands, both giving them equal attention. I let my head fall back, closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation, but there was a moment when his fingers weren't enough anymore. I brought my hand up to his head, running my nails over his scalp, and pulled him forward, leaving him inches from my needy nipples. Eren got the hint because he quickly ran his tongue over one of them while the other was still torturing with his thumb and index finger. His mouth closed on the nipple and he sucked like it’s the only thing able to keep him alive, too painful but that didn't matter to me. He left a trail of saliva when he separated from the bundle with a 'pop' and dedicated himself to giving the other the same attention. I groaned at the needed action, causing his dick to hit my core. I was losing his mind, it was too much and at the same time, it wasn’t enough. I needed to continue, I wanted it with every fiber of my being. My nails had nothing better to do than run down his back and my legs wedged closer to his waist. I felt his dick throb and couldn't help thinking of the veins that ran through it, ending on his pretty and red head, he pre-sum that was surely coming out and wetting his pants, I couldn't help but wish to had him inside me and feel those same veins brush my velvet walls and go crazy with each thrust.

As my thoughts wandered of what was to come, Eren's lips left my nipples and focused back on my neck, this time on the side where my scar was. He left little kisses around the shoulder and around the mark, running up and down the shape, ending a little above the chest. His action was too sweet, too tender compared to his wild and hungry movements. My eyes widened instantly, if his intention was to make me uncomfortable, he had done it. If the intention was to ruin the fervid and hectic moment by reliving the scariest moment of my life, he was damned succeeding. How could I keep my composure when he was kissing the mark I had "earned" by going on a mission to rescue him? How could I stay calm when the memories of an onslaught of titans haunted my mind again, ready to devour me while I was lying on the ground with my movement equipment displaced and my shoulder immobilized by the bleeding wound? The memory of a stone flying towards my face, dodging it at the last moment and ending up hitting my shoulder bone, dislocating it, tearing the skin and flesh and noticing how the blood spurted out, soaking my shirt and jacket. My breathing started to hit, and not in the good way, and apparently Eren wasn’t realizing or hadn't taken it the wrong way.

It was like a bucket of cold water in pure winter. My mind suddenly cleared and every trace of heat my body ever had dissipated, leaving only a cold, stiff container.

"Wait, wait...no, no, this is bad" I put my hands on his shoulders and jerked him off.

"Why?" His eyes didn’t deign to inspect mine. Any normal person in their right mind, just by looking at my pale face could deduct that something was wrong.

"Why? I- You are the number one enemy in the world and of the military police, I would have to give you up and not making up with you right now"

I was babbling as well as shaking. I got up and settled onto my legs, sitting stiffly on the ground. Eren had come to the side before my body crashed against his when I got up and he was looking at me without any expression, as if nothing had happened, as if the only one who had been feeling something, even if it was a minimal sensation of pleasure, it was me, and that made me feel sick.

"I would have to be angry, make you shit on the floor and take you to pieces towards the wall Sina" at any moment I was going to throw up, I knew it. I knew my body perfectly to know that in every moment of tension and panic, my stomach would start to annoy me, to go into spasms and hit me internally. "I shouldn't be doing this with you"

"Is that so bad? Listen to your desires, follow your instincts? " His hands came to rest on my waist and without any permission from me, he placed me on his lap, both of us being face to face, chest to chest.

His words entered my ears and stayed reverberating in my mind. What to do? I was doing everything wrong, but at the same time they felt so good. I wanted to continue thoroughly, but I knew that morally it was wrong, more than wrong, it was horrible what I was doing, anyone could tell me that. I felt bad about myself, but ... deep inside me, there was a small feeling that was getting bigger and bigger and wanted, screamed, to be released. I was so indecisive and overwhelmed that all I could do was cry.

Pathetic. I was really pathetic.

I lowered my head on his shoulder, keeping the tears from being visible to this callous shit. His hands on my waist didn't feel at all comforting as he began to move his thumb in a circular motion. My hands formed into fists and I hit his shoulders repeatedly, each hit receiving a kiss on the head. My energies were exhausted at the very begining and I rested my fists on my waist, my head now barely suspended in front of him, not looking at him.

"I hate you" he kissed my shoulder.

"I know" another kiss, this time on the other shoulder, on my scar.

"I fucking hate you" my knuckles turned white from how hard I was clenching my fists.

"I know" he kissed a tear that had escaped my lashes and was running freely down my cheek.

"You're a piece of shit"

I opened my eyes to find a pair of beautiful turquoise eyes, bright and full of life. Eren placed his hand on my cheek, running his thumb every time a tear fell down it. He leaned down and captured my lips with his sweetly, the tears falling and falling, faster and faster and more forming in my closed eyes. The kiss had a salty taste, my heart was about to leave my chest and when Eren broke away I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to take it anymore.

"…I know"

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[kybervisions]

slight obsessions [bucky]

summary: after months of obsessing over a senator, bucky is given the opportunity to save her. he then visits her in the hospital  

author’s note: warning, warning, this will feature aspects of the u.s government,,, \\ lil bit of fluff and mentions of torture ,, just a kidnapped senator and bucky pining  ,, requests are open :) 

The security footage of your kidnapping at the fundraiser was leaked to the media. Millions watched as a prominent U.S senator was ambushed and drugged before being dragged into an unmarked vehicle. Bucky’s heart ached. “We’ll find her,” Sam, well-aware of Bucky’s infatuation with you, promised his friend.  

Bucky was unprepared to find you in the state that you were, bloody and bruised. There was a cut above your eyebrow and blood dripped down your face. Your skin was riddled with red and purple. The metal cuffs around your wrists and ankles dug into your skin and caused you to bleed. There was track marks on your arms and your knee didn’t look too good either. 

You looked nearly unrecognizable — almost nothing like the senator that so adamantly advocated for his pardon. 

“Captain?” You mutterly weakly, barely recognizing the two figures near the doorway. The drugs they pumped into you fucked with your vision and made you feel absolutely sick. You could barely keep your eyes open. Everything hurt and you shivering from the lack of warmth. 

Sam quickly ran past Bucky and his fingers searched for a pulse on your neck. Weak, but it was something. Once up close, Sam could see the multitude of track marks on your skin and his fingers gently touched them, causing you to cry, something that completely shocked you. Zemo had stopped giving you water a few days ago. 

“We’re going to get you out of here, senator,” Sam pulled out a Widow’s Bite, which he had secretly stolen from Natasha, and used the electricity within the bite to override the power source of the cuffs.  

When the cuffs opens, you were released from the vertical interrogation chair. Before you fell on the concrete floor, Bucky quickly reached out to catch you. 

“Fuck!” You shouted and startled Bucky. You bit your lip in an attempt to silence your pain. After weeks of absolute hell, you were sensitive to touch. Tears filled your eyes and you weren’t strong enough to hold them back. “It hurts,” You whimpered. You felt sick. Cold and weak and wanting to puke but having nothing in your stomach to regurgitate.

A protectiveness he had not felt since before the war consumed Bucky. Seeing you so weak and in pain filled him with both anger and the need to make you feel better. Your big, soft, and tear-filled eyes awakened his primal instinct to defend and protect. 

He acknowledged there was still something wrong with him, because even in the state that you were in, Bucky wanted nothing more than to press his lips against yours and hold you against him. 

For a short second, while looking down into your eyes, the world was quiet. 

“C’mon, man,” Sam urged them. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be in here when the timer goes off,” 

“Alright, alright,” Bucky agreed. “Um, can you run?” He looked down at you again. You were smaller in person. The television must make everyone look like titans. On the screen, you had such a larger than life presence. Whether it was asking questions during committee hearings or speaking out against a bill, you were imposing. 

“She can barely stand,” Sam answered before you. With all the drugs in your system, you were nearly unresponsive. “Pick her up and let's go!” 

Once they reached the C.I.A medical facility, Sharon told a room full of reporters that the senator had been found and was being examined by professionals. She did not give too much information, which was typical for intelligence agencies. 

By “being examined by professionals”, Sharon meant you were undergoing surgery because whatever was injected into your body caused you to go under septic shock. She omitted that part, not wanting to give the public further cause to worry.  

After the surgery, only family was allowed to enter your hospital room. Some of your staff was able to bypass that rule. You were still recovering, but your top aide, Winnie, had begun planning your first public appearance. 

“You’re a certified badass now,” Winnie informed you, and it made you chuckle. Winnie had been by your side since you were a congressional freshman and you loved them to death. “The corpses will have to show you actual respect now,” They smiled, referring to your coworkers as corpses gives them a bit of joy. 

“I’m sure Stern will find a reason to call me a traitor to the country,” You replied. Your strong opposition of the intelligence agencies earned you a lot of enemies. 

“Yeah, well, he’ll — ”

The door had opened and there stood a “Hi, sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Bucky stopped at the doorway. He was holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers and scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” You smiled. Bucky looked to you, and he’d never seen or heard anything as beautiful. He had heard you say his name a thousand time over, but hearing it in person was just swell.  

“Bucky’s jus’ fine, senator,” Bucky returned a toothy grin. You swear you had died and gone to heaven. He was even more beautiful in person. 

“Bucky,” There was a shine in your eyes when you said his name. His name sounded so pretty coming from your mouth.  

“O-kay,” Winnie chuckled and their eyes bounced between yourself and the soldier, who was just a few feet away from them. “I’ll be back tomorrow to hash out the details,” They turned to look at you and gave you a small peck on your head. “Be careful,” It was a warning. 

Bucky stepped into the room, allowing Winnie to easily slip out. 

Now that the blood and dirt had been washed out, Bucky could truly admire how striking you were. You were glowing. There were still bruises and healing wounds but they didn’t diminish your beauty. 

He set the flowers on the visitor’s chair. 

“I wanted to properly thank you and Mr. Wilson for saving my life,” You told him. He took a few more steps towards you. “W-Winnie has a press conference planned once I’m discharged, and there might be a Medal of Freedom in your future, after the Congressional Gold Medal, of course,” 

“What?” 

“Yeah,” You smiled. “It took a little bit of convincing but the bastard caved eventually,” 

Of course you had recommended him, and Sam, for such prestigious awards. It was further proof that he had been vindicated from the dark part of his history. You helped profoundly in his path to finally accepting himself, and for that, he would always love you. 

When the nightmares returned, Bucky would rewatch your old speeches for the campaign to pardon him. He felt pathetic — having to listen to a woman he had never met before passionately advocate for his freedom in order to feel better. You saw him as human, worthy of forgiveness. 

“I know they’re practically worthless in the age of superheroes, but I thought I would be nice,” 

It would be nice. “Thank you,” His smile slowly faded as the conversation took a serious turn. “For everything, the campaign and the pardon and now these medals,” A breathy chuckle escaped. “I...you never attended the ceremony,” He commented on your absence during his pardon. It had plagued his mind for countless nights. 

“I wasn’t invited,” You chuckled at the irony of it — having spent months working for his freedom only to not be present to watch it happen. “A picture leaked of me at a protest in college and they thought it would be too controversial for me to attend,” You shrugged it off. 

Ensuring Bucky’s freedom was all that mattered. Your acknowledgement was not important to you in the greater scope of things. 

“I’ll make sure you get invited this time,” Maybe you could give a speech before he’s awarded the medal. He could finally be present to hear you praise him. 

Bucky’s eyes lingered on your lips. Your nervousness returned. There was a distinct look in his eyes that terrified and excited you all the same. 

“Senator, time for your medication,” A nurse entered the room and pushed a cart with her. There was an IV set, some pills, and a cup of water on the cart and all that medicine made Bucky feel anxious. 

He was well aware of the dangers of so much medicine and he was scared. He couldn’t afford to lose you now. Not when he finally has you within his grasp. 

“The pills help with the pain and the IV gives me nutrients,” You noted the panicked look on Bucky’s face when he saw the cart. “Or so they claim,” You looked at the nurse, who was not entertained by your accusatory comment. 

“I should head out,” Bucky nodded. “And allow your drugs to be administered in peace,” You laughed, and he was quite proud of that. 

Feeling bolder, Bucky took a few final steps toward you. You offered your hand and he lightly held your wrist, stilled bruised, and bowed down to kiss your hand. It was a small and sweet gesture, but it left you an absolute mess. You held your breath and felt your heart in your throat. 

Bucky admired you once more before leaving the room. He nearly memorized how you radiated in spite of the harsh cold white light that illuminated the hospital. In that moment, he was certain you’d be his. 

[sasorikigai]

@whiptrip continued from ( 🔥 ) 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Intrusive thoughts are thrashing around his head, and his excruciating distress is a steaming irritation and frustration obstructing Grandmaster Hasashi’s phlegmatic, stoic calmness. Fear begins to slip into the swollen, frantically beating chambers of his heart as his siphoned strength continues to drain beneath the squelch of his magmatic sanguine below. Despite the stark approach of inevitable oblivion, his eyes set upon infinite horizons, with his stygian amber eyes imprinted with blacklight messages of an endless decay shimmer with phosphorescent brilliance, imbued with meaning, but such preservation shall lead to one thing only; chaotic dismemberment of Hanzo Hasashi’s entirety. 

As the fleeting rays of impartial light pass through an object of crystal-clear intent of preventing him from reaching Kharon’s keep, the swirling wreathes of his hellfire, split from one primary beam expanding and radiating from his core, infused with intent and bound by brightness, devours and engulfs D’Vorah, along with the spawning young gnawing through his blood-soaked tunic and hardened, scarred flesh below. 

To the hands of his past that reach out to him in the present, seems to congratulate on Scorpion’s newfound self-awareness with such percipient expression of knowing, with eased tension refusing to break the tainted triumph and crystalline hope for the future which may never come. Hanzo Hasashi is painfully familiar with nights and days and days and nights, hundreds of them slipping through his fingers as he let bloodbath and vengeance blind him in his guilt-ridden vitriol ire. Fire and brimstone of the Netherrealm was the quintessential manifestation of the wraith’s mindscape, as the blackest ocean of stagnant blood of the innocents, along with Hanzo Hasashi’s sempiternal suffering, further impoverishing his magnanimous humanity. 

All he wanted was to remember how it felt to hold sunshine in his hands, and feel the stars on his skin; to be so close to the vast openness of the Shirai Ryu compounds without the fear of being submerged into nothingness. How it felt to be alive without intoxication, poisoning his once-sunlight golden bloodstream. He wanted to be close enough to pure elation that any worry or care would fade into the light that would surround him. To remember what it felt like to smile without melancholic sorrow in his eyes. Has he forgotten how his large eyes would sparkle so bright? 

It feels as if his ribs are done taking the pain inside him; with such insufferable pressure building inside them, very soon, it feels as if they are about to burst out. Countless nights of his contemplative meditation had Hanzo Hasashi calmed himself without telling anyone that he is suffering. His blistered heart and soul endured the tempo of of an extremely uncertain life amidst the time displacement, and so he very well expected death with open arms; for no mortal can decide his time of death. Similarly, a man does not know as to when his time has come to tell this world a good cause. 

I may not and cannot have any control over the timing of my death, but certainly on the quality of death. Hanzo muses, as if sinking quagmire beneath his feet had claimed the entirety of his graceful, regal, yet affirmative posture and picked him apart by limb and vein. Once, Hanzo Hasashi’s sinking vulnerability meant that he willingly chose himself to remain soft as a stream path to freedom with Lord Raiden’s aid. Despite the searing geyser of his being emitting unnatural heat through every orifice of his being, Hanzo Hasashi somehow gathers his verticality, with forceful swing of his left knee propped against his bleeding chest, with trembling long fingers perched atop the earth where ferrous tang bombards his senses. 

“Let Scorpion persuade Kharon for the time being.... and we should make haste for Kuai Liang. He awaits alongside Liu Kang and Lord Raiden,” selfless to a fault as unnatural tinge of transparent white permeates his once vigorous, rubicund copper, Grandmaster Hasashi clutches his heart, with his dominant hand hovering over the hilt of his katana. “It will take more than drops of poison to subdue me to plunging oblivion...” Through his vicious eyes, spilling magmatic heat and steeled, unfettered purpose, Hanzo Hasashi’s both tethered and untethered gaze settles upon his Chujin. “Should you... doubt the well-being of your Grandmaster’s, my caustic and cauterizing fire will burn even through Netherrealm’s eternal necrofire.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[thecreaturecodex]

Kilblain

Chilblain art © Wizards of the Coast, by Mitch Cotie. Accessed at the Frostburn Art Gallery here

[Way back when, I remember reading an article by Sean K. Reynolds where he complained about monsters that are named a single word in English. D&D has a few classic examples (the mimic, for instance), and the trend pops up in a lot of splatbooks. Take the chilblain for instance. It’s a real word--it refers to damage to the blood vessels in the toes following frostbite. Not a good name for a CR 18 death machine. So I changed it into a Hackmaster-esque pun.

The development of this monster was a lot like that of the snowcloak. Pare down its long list of SLAs and focus its flavor text based on the few scraps provided in Frostburn. The fly speed is in the original, with no explanation. Since it looks like a weirder kaiju, I gave it Gamera’s jet propulsion.]

Kilblain CR 18 NE Aberration This creature resembles an insane combination of insects and arachnids sculpted out of ice. It scuttles on four legs; four more are held aloft like the arms of a mantis. Its head is tucked within armored plates with a jagged, vertical maw, and its tail ends in a bony club like that of a dinosaur. Frills, spines and ridges decorate its vaguely oval carapace. It radiates cold as a palpable presence.

Kilblains are monstrous creatures that despise elemental fire. They hunt down and kill fire creatures regardless of size, power or alignment, wiping them from the face of the planet. A kilblain typically makes its lair on snowy peaks and strikes out to hunt. Their lairs are caves and caverns, carved by claw if natural caves are unavailable. The joy of murdering azers, salamanders, fire giants, and even gold or red dragons directs their behavior more than food, mating or other basic needs. They collect treasure from these raids, and their dens typically possess trophy halls organized by theme or difficulty of their opponents.

A kilblain is capable of flight despite their ungainly appearance. In order to fly, they retract their eight limbs into their shell and fly on jets of frozen air—this grants them incredible speed and maneuverability, but they cannot attack with their scissoring claws while doing so. They typically focus their energy on creatures with the fire subtype first, but even spellcasters using fire spells or persons carrying torches can be promoted to their primary target. A kilblain is bold in combat to the point of self-destruction. Once blood has been spilled, they usually fight to the death.

Kilblain                CR 18 XP 153,800 NE Large aberration (cold) Init +7; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +29, scent Aura frostbite (30 ft., Fort DC 26, 4d6 cold) Defense AC 33, touch 13, flat-footed 29 (-1 size, +3 Dex, +1 dodge, +20 natural); +2 deflection vs. fire subtype hp 300 (24d8+192); fast healing 10 Fort +15, Ref +13, Will +16; +2 resistance vs. fire subtype DR 15/silver and magic; Immune cold, paralysis, poison; SR 29 Defensive Abilities protection from fire; Weakness vulnerable to fire Offense Speed 40 ft., fly 80 ft. (perfect); ice jets Melee 4 claws +26 (1d8+9/19-20), bite +26 (2d6+9), tail slap +25 (4d6+13) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Special Attacks breath weapon (60 ft. cone, 18d6 cold, Ref DC 29 half, 1d4 rounds), frozen stare, powerful blows (tail) Spell-like Abilities CL 18th, concentration +22 Constant—protection from fire creatures (DC 15) At will—quench (DC 17) 3/day—polar ray (DC 22), quickened wall of ice Statistics Str 28, Dex 17, Con 24, Int 9, Wis 14, Cha 19 Base Atk +18; CMB +28; CMD 32 (38 vs. trip) Feats Bleeding Critical, Critical Focus, Dodge, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Lightning Reflexes, Lightning Reflexes, Multiattack, Power Attack, Quicken SLA (wall of ice), Skill Focus (Perception), Toughness, Weapon Focus (tail slap) Skills Fly +27, Intimidate +22, Knowledge (planes) +14, Perception +26, Stealth +17 Languages Auran Ecology Environment cold mountains and hills Organization solitary or pair Treasure double standard Special Abilities Breath Weapon (Su) A creature that takes damage from a kilblain’s breath weapon must succeed a DC 29 Fortitude save or be blinded for 1d6 rounds. The save DC is Constitution based. Frostbite Aura (Su) All creatures within a 30 foot radius of a kilblain must succeed a DC 26 Fortitude save every round or take 4d6 points of cold damage. A living creature that takes this damage is treated as having frostbite—it is fatigued until all of the damage it has taken from cold has been healed. Frozen Stare (Su) As a standard action three times per day, a kilblain can focus its gaze on a creature within 30 feet to turn it into ice. A creature affected must succeed a DC 26 Fortitude save or be petrified, as per flesh to stone, except that the sculpture has hardness 0 and vulnerability to fire. A creature with the fire subtype that fails its save instead takes 180 points of damage, as per a finger of death spell, and still takes 3d6+18 points of damage on a successful save. The save DC is Charisma based. Ice Jets (Ex) A kilblain can fly at a rate of 80 feet with perfect maneuverability, but cannot make claw attacks in the same round it uses its fly speed. Protection from Fire Creatures (Sp) Treat this as a protection from evil effect, except that the bonuses are against creatures with the fire subtype instead of an alignment subtype. This is the equivalent of a 1st level spell.

[storyunrelated]

Flash #2475

The railgun slug wasn’t there one moment, and was there the next. Every window it passed on the street exploded and every car alarm went off, but really that’s not what anyone noticed.

What they noticed was the arc shield activating.

Kind of hard not to notice, really. Burst of lightning out thin air, this web of white-blue crackles just writhing there a few feet from the armour plate, concentrated around this slug now just hanging there.

The whole thing bulged inward. You could see the skin of the shield, almost, with this divot in the middle where the slug was, most of the lightning radiating out from it. It was like someone had dropped a ball-bearing into a sheet of clingfilm, only with more electricity. And vertical. Straining to hit its target.

Then, once all the momentum and potential energy of the round had been wicked away, it snapped off. The slug fell straight down and the lightning vanished. A lot of people’s gums itched. Some people’s gums were bleeding.

All of this had only taken about a second.

Vivid, but not something you’d want to be present to witness.

[onlykyloscenes]

Don’t Look for Me: Chapter 4

Ao3 :  Chapter 3

Summary: “If you wish to know the name of every merchant and engineer I spoke to in the last two years, you’re going to run out of skin to mutilate.” 

He laughed softly in your ear, “it’s no merchant or engineer I want to hear about… Tell me about the transmission you received from Leia Organa.” 

Warning: blood, violence, mild (?) torture. Reader can’t catch a break

Word Count: 3.3k

Ushar was nothing if not relentless.

He carted you through the halls of what was somewhere between a military base and a prison. There were no signs of any stormtroopers, leading you to suggest this was more of an off-sight facility strictly used by the Knights.

You tried to take note of the path he led you on, but as time went on the turns all blurred together. He eventually led you through a blast door, leading into a circular control room. It was clear to you that you were now in the detention wing. A second blast door lifted to the ceiling to reveal a hallway lined with cells. At the end laid another door, and Ushar rushed you towards it.

You had expected it to be Ushar’s own personal torture chamber, complete with a vast array of terrifying tools and horrors.

Instead, the room was empty. There were no other doors or windows that you could see. From what you could see in the darkness that consumed the room, there was only a metal post bolted to the ground on the far end. A single spotlight lit the post.

“Cozy,” you muttered as Ushar pushed you further into the room.

Your eyes slowly became acquainted with the lack of light, and you took in the sight of your new restraints.

The post itself stood about six feet tall. A chain came from a coil near the wall behind the post and through a hole in the top. It hung down the front, wrist bindings clanking softly against the pole.

Standing, Ushar replaced the cuffs on your wrists with the shackles attached to the bottom of the chain. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen restraints that required the use of a key. Your wrists clasped close together, but the lack of solid metal forcing them apart gave you some comfort.

Once satisfied, Ushar shoved you down so that you were kneeling on the hard metal flooring, your bottom resting on top of your heels. Now that your legs were immobile, he bent to remove your boots and socks, tossing them to the side. His footsteps faded behind you, as you could hear the metal chain being pulled taut. Your arms raised with the chain until they hung above your head, the cuffs catching on the butt of your hands.

He came to face you again, lowering himself to squat in front of you.

“Here’s how this will work, kid. I’m gonna ask you some questions and if you don’t answer them, I’m gonna have to hurt you.” His hand gripped your mouth on either side, thumb digging into your cheek.

The more you try to tear from his grasp, the harder he presses.

“I'm sorry beforehand. I'm not going to be gentle this time.”

He produced something from under his cloak; it was a small device, fitting in his hand like a stylus. On one end sat an extended blade, the other end looked like an emitter of some sort. Ushar moved his thumb along the stylus, and a small red beam glowed from the emitter. It was a field cauterizer, that had been fitted and modified with a blade. They were made to seal minors lacerations, to quickly stop bleeding in the field. The use of Ushar’s modification was clear to you; with the blade, he could make the most minuscule of cuts on your body and, with the laser, seal the wounds before you bled out.

You pulled hard on the chains, desperate to coil your body away from Ushar’s approaching hands. They settled on your knees at first, his thumbs rubbing on the inside of your kneecap. Slowly, he trailed them up and outward, circling the surface area of your thighs. An involuntary shiver radiated from his touch, and you tried focusing on the metal device pushing into the plush skin.

“Ushar. Please.” He hummed in response, eyes glued to the lower half of your body. You knew he liked it when they begged. His hope, you assumed, would be that you’d beg him to continue, but this was not that.

You could feel the tightness of the fabric covering your legs loosen as Ushar hooked the blade into the material, somehow managing to not knick any skin. You kept your head straight, eyes boring into the blast door in the distance as Ushar made several strategically placed cuts on your trousers. With only a few pulls here and there he had managed to rid you of them, leaving you nearly exposed if not for your underwear.

His hands resumed their previous task of fondling your now bare skin. Now, the approaching reality sunk in, and your body froze preparing for the worst, though the Ushar’s cruel nature made it difficult to determine what that could be. Your breathing patterns couldn’t be less in sync. Ushar’s was even, moving with the rhythm of his hands. Your breath left with more urgency, your chest heaving with anticipation.

He leaned forward to rest his head on yours, “sh sh sh. Try not to scream this time.”

“Alright,” he sat back on his heels, “so where have you been the last two years.”

The cauterize clicked on, hovering over your thigh. You could feel the heat pulsing from the tip; painful but bearable. For now, it seemed Ushar had no interest in exploring your body further with his hands.

“I’ve been a lot of places in two years,” you released the breath you didn't notice you had held as the blade inched closer, “you’re going to have to be. More specific.”

A surge of pain radiated from your thigh as Ushar flipped the device in his hand to bring the blade down and pierce the skin. A shout rang out from your chest before you clamped down on your bottom lip to muffle your cries. Your body trashed against the post, but Ushar’s hands kept your right thigh still.

“During my time with your… doppelganger, the one thing I could never get out of her was what planet you were hiding out on. I tormented her and tormented her. Nothing. Probed her mind and still, nothing. Eventually, I had to accept the possibility that she truly didn’t know. The closest I could gather is that you were holed up in the mid rim somewhere, dodging the New Republic and the syndicate.”

The groans escaping you nearly drowned out Ushar’s voice as your teeth bit harder down onto your bottom lip. The line he drew with the blade was long and deep and when he pulled back you could just make out a four-inch vertical cut with blood spilling down the curves of your leg. He flipped the device in his hand once more, pausing before the beam could sterilize the wound.

“It must have been lonely. I often wonder, did you miss me, pretty thing? Who else kept you company those two long years?” Ushar’s mask met your ear again, the rough metal cool against your rising temperature.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you took deep but ragged breaths, “but I kept myself company after you left. As you said, the fewer people that know you. The better.”

He brought the cauterizer down abruptly, drawing another pained scream. Ushar shushed you, nuzzling his mask further into your cheek. His fingers moved the beam from memory, singeing the skin and closing the cut.

“Are you saying you had no contact during your years in isolation?”

“If you wish to know the name of every merchant and engineer I spoke to in the last two years, you’re going to run out of skin to mutilate.”

He laughed softly in your ear, “it’s no merchant or engineer I want to hear about… Tell me about the transmission you received from Leia Organa.”

“I don’t know what you’re-ah!” Ushar brought the sharp metal to your thigh again, curving a new red line on your paling skin.

Ushar’s other hand took hold of your face, angling it towards him, your eyes lined up with the black void of his visor, “we pulled the transmission from your ship. It’s old and the message was deleted of course, but old ships leave so many clues. Tell me about the message, and I’ll stop.”

Air blew violently from your nose, but you managed to match his cynically playful demeanor, “your poor attempts at interrogation are useless. I was beaten senseless in that pit before you found me. You can’t cut the information out of me, Ushar, and you murdered the only leverage you had.”

The gloved hand holding your jaw pushed back and slammed your head against the metal post, but you continued, “you have… nothing.”

“Oh, kid,” Ushar purred, “I think you’ll find I have everything I need.”

-----

Ushar was nothing if not relentless.

You kept track of the hours as best you could in the beginning, but as your eye swelled and head spun, the intervals between beatings and questions became impossible to estimate.

Once Ushar was satisfied with you on your knees, he hauled you to your feet, arms still suspended above your head. The questions came and went without answer, always followed by Ushar’s fist meeting your body. When his fingers became cramped, he switched hands, and when he could no longer hold the fist, he went back to the cauterizer. You tried to think of the arena, the six different opponents Sal Brurick forced you to fight. Each question was a different opponent until Ushar pushed you well beyond the sixth round. Eventually, your body began to hang, your feet barely having the strength to keep you standing.

He pressed on, only stopping when he felt you would lose consciousness. It was then he burned what cuts you had closed, and unchained you. Of course, the chains you had were only replaced by mobile ones, two sets keeping your wrists and ankles connected by shorter chains. Reluctantly you allowed him to support your weight as he led you off to the side of the room. You blinked slowly, eyes finding it harder to track Ushar’s movements around you. A lock clicked into place, and a lever gave a loud whine.

A pressured stream of cold water threw your body into shock. Freezing temperatures lifted goosebumps over you and stung into the fresh burns on your skin. Though Ushar had seen you at your most vulnerable before, you were grateful for the tunic that covered what parts of you that weren’t yet exposed. Blood cascaded from all different regions: from the coat knotted into your hair, to the dried remnants of Jissani covering your shirt and face. Fresh blood mixed with old fell down your body and the crimson pool emptied into the drain below you.

Steam crawled through the air around you, and it took a few moments for the shriek to escape your lips.

The water that felt like ice now felt like hot lava pouring over the falls of Mustafar. It woke your body and sent you into a frenzy, desperately leaning in any direction that would alleviate the heat.

“Tell me why she contacted you!” Ushar had lost his patience.

You could barely hear him over your screams, but you managed to shout a surrender. The water ceased, the few seconds of heat doing damage you couldn’t yet assess.

Your legs gave out, the chain keeping you attached to the pipes just low enough to allow you to sit on the ground.

“Leia,” it became harder to breathe, “Leia she- she did contact me.”

He leaned for the handle, “I know that already.”

“Wait! Wait!”

“Tell me something I don’t know! What did the message say!” Ushar rushed down to your level, his modulator cutting out the more his volume grew.

There was no longer any strength left in you to recoil from his touch. Your head fell against your arm and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up, “the Resistance. Luke. She told me he was alive. Alive, but gone.”

Ushar stood, and turned the lever. You braced yourself for more hot water but were met with a cooling relief. It was no longer an intense pressure, and it alleviated some of the pain. He waited for you to continue.

“She thought he might have tried to reach out to me. When I told her he hadn’t, she asked me to join the Resistance. To join the cause and help find Luke.” You could feel the walls around your memory fade with every time you spoke the words. Leia. Resistance. Luke. They haunted you, manifesting a burn within you far worse than the ones on your body now.

The water stopped again, Ushar temporarily sated. The chains once binding you fell to the ground, the clatter ringing in your ears after they settled.

You felt a new sense of discomfort as Ushar hooked an arm under your back and your knees, lifting you into his chest. His steps were slow and smooth as he carried you back to the post. Your old chains were cold to the touch. The longer chain loosened, giving you enough slack to lay your body against the ground, your legs curled up to your stomach. Your once adjusted eyes now struggled to make out your surroundings.

Ushar’s footsteps began to fade in front of you. Finally, he was leaving. White light flooded the room partially, though you still could not point out Ushar’s figure.

“You never told me,” you managed to say, “why didn’t you tell me he survived.”

It was a moment before Ushar responded, “it would only have brought you pain, to know.”

The door sealed behind him, cloaking your ailed body in darkness again.

------

“The burns to most of her skin are not severe, however, her hands will need attending to or else they will fester. I have done what I can for the nerves in her palms, but I am afraid she may lose feeling in the right, if not both. A rib has been fractured, but there is currently no internal bleeding or damage detected. She will need extensive bacta treatment if these injuries continue. ”

Though medical droids were often annoying and overbearing, you always appreciated how straight forward they were. There was never any hand-holding; here are your odds, good or bad.

You had rested long enough for the soreness to settle in, and for your skin to tighten from the burns. A ripping sound had woken you, and you nearly lashed at the droid, mistaking it for Ushar. The droid was cutting you free of your tunic, and wrapping a cotton fabric around your chest multiple times, tying it secure to keep you decent.

The droids word repeated in your head, and you went to reply until you realized they hadn’t been talking to you. Your eyes were heavy but opened nonetheless. There was more light in the room now, coming from dimmed panels on the ceiling.

“That will be all,” the familiar voice modulator responded.

It was then you fully came to.  

The medical droid vanished behind the cell door, leaving you alone with him; with Kylo Ren. You sat upright on the ground as he approached.

“Don’t touch me,” the words spat out of your mouth in between two sharp breaths.

His hands paused, the syringe ready to expel whatever liquid lay in the clear container into your body. His head cocked to the side as he studied your response.

“Odd. There was once a time you would’ve begged me to touch you.”

He turned his attention to the medical tray that was left behind.

Your mind flared with a mixture of images; some were a fantasy. Your boot kicking a dent in that ridiculous helmet, maybe getting the chains holding you to loop around his neck.

Others were memories. Images of late-night rendezvous by the shipyard, hushed voices sneaking onto your freighter while the other padawans slept. The small bed that forced your bodies to curl against each other for comfort. The feeling of his breath on your neck, his hands clutching you closer.

He was right, of course. There was a time where you would beg for him to keep touching you, and he was more than happy to oblige. But that was Ben Solo, this is an entirely new person.

And, “that was a long time ago.”

If he was surprised at your lack of venomous rebuttal, he didn’t show it. He instead continued to pick through the medical supplies. He settled on a spray, bacta spray no doubt. You wanted it but wouldn’t dare let him know that.

“You might have succeeded in blasting off the cuff holding your wrists before, but lodging the center of them against the blaster of a barrel was idiotic. I’m surprised there is any skin left on your palms and fingers. You need to let me spray them.” He stilled again, this time facing you.

As idiotic as it might have been, it was also ingenious. To have maneuvered so quickly to press the middle of your handcuffs against the blasters barrel the moment it was fired.

You stopped yourself before thinking of who might have been impressed with the performance.

“Or we could let droids do what they’re programmed to do, and save this,” you gestured between the two of you, “for when you decide to come beat and interrogate me yourself.”

He huffed out a laugh, “leave you alone with a droid so you can make it release you? No.”

Your silence coaxed him to continue, “Ushar takes pride in getting results. He takes pride in taking even the strongest of mind and body and watching them crumble at his touch.”

“Although,” Kylo rose from the medical tray and moved to crouch in front of you, “Ushar also likes to take his time. It is rare for him to lose patience this quickly. His mind didn’t reveal much, but I just know. It has something to do with it being you.”

His hand snatched your wrists before you could coil away. You drew a sharp breath as he pulled your hands closer to his body. On the opposite hand, he held a pressurize container that you confirmed was bacta spray.

“You said it yourself in the hanger. I’m-ah- difficult.” The spray stung the exposed nerves of your palm. It lasts only for a moment before the bacta soothed the wounds.  

“I suspect there is more to it,” His hand dropped to spray the skin left rosy from the hot water, “I could search your mind… but I won’t.”

Kylo disposed of the canister and plucked a syringe from the ground. His thick, gloved fingers gave it a flick.

A glance in your direction and he huffed, “concentrated bacta. Just enough to get you back on your feet.”

Concentrated bacta tended to do more harm than good. Similar to the failed E-bacta injections in the days of the Empire, concentrated bacta was highly effective. It also dulled the senses and could be intoxicating. Not as powerful as Spice, but close.

His hand found your neck, smoothing over the skin. Suddenly you remembered just how exposed you were. The wrap given by the droid covered your chest and fell just above your navel, but your lower body was still bare, your thin cotton underwear keeping your womanhood barely concealed.

Thoughts of Ben Solo crept to the forefront of your thoughts as Kylo injected the bacta into your neck.

Before, the thought of him seeing your soft and exposed skin would send your stomach fluttering. His wandering hands, praising you with their touch as he explored the most intimate parts of you. It was once freeing, exhilarating. Now, it only hurt to think of how far away that version of him was. This new version was cold, distant, his touch hesitant.

“When are you going to,” you could feel the dulling sensation, “tell me why I’m here. What do you want.”

All movements seemed to still, and your body leaned back heavily on the post. Kylo pocketed the syringe, and cupped your face, “I needed to find you. And now I have.”

“We’ll talk soon, sweet girl.” He rose to his feet and swiftly exited, leaving you to your solitude.

You tried to will them away, but the memory of Ben Solo's touch danced through your head nonetheless.

[irfly]

WHAT IS A CENTRAL HEATING RADIATOR

Central heating is made up of several elements. Concretely it has a heat generator , which can be a boiler for example, heating a coolant whose purpose is to convey the heat to radiators رادیاتور شوفاژ which will take care of distributing it in the various rooms of the house. . The radiators only use the water heated by the boiler (40 to 70 ° C) which circulates through pipes in a closed circuit . Hot water in contact with the emitters creates heat exchange and heats the ambient air by convection and radiation.

Central heating radiators can be made of aluminum, cast iron, steel, vertical or horizontal and are classified in the category of inertial heaters and more precisely in the niche of soft heat heaters . Central heating radiators have the same type of operation as the towel radiators that are increasingly found in bathrooms in French homes and elsewhere. During your installation, it will therefore be necessary to have several radiators arranged throughout the home and which will guarantee your thermal comfort .

WHICH CENTRAL HEATING RADIATOR TO CHOOSE?

As we have seen previously there is no such thing as a central heating radiator; indeed you can find several types of materials, power and meaning. Here is a quick point of the advantages and disadvantages of materials:

Steel radiators : Generally they are quite designer and rise quickly in temperature which makes them more efficient more quickly. In addition, they are easy to install, fairly light compared to other models and present less risk of leaks . However, once switched off, the temperature drops just as quickly as it rose and it seems that they are less resistant to shocks. Its manufacturing cost is low, so it is very common for sale and distributed in mass.

Cast iron radiators : Vintage and rustic in appearance, cast iron radiators are essential in the sector, they constantly restore heat and are recognized for their strength and quality . However, they are often quite expensive and it is better to hire a professional to install them.

Aluminum radiators : They are between the two models described above: they are referred to as average inertia , which means that the temperature still remains for a certain time after the heating has been switched off. In addition, aluminum radiators are generally more affordable than cast iron ones. This type of radiators heats up more quickly because they are very good conductors of heat . It is an assembly of several elements so they present more risk of leaks. In addition, they are noted as the least bulky and the most aesthetic .

As a general rule, it is not recommended to mix the materials too much, so it should be understood that once your choice has been made it is preferable to put the same radiators in all the rooms of the home .

There are also vertical models as well as horizontal models , but in practice this does not change much to the performance of your central heating radiators. This deal is more a matter of design and personal choice, but also of practicality in your home. The power on the other hand must play an important role in the selection of the model which you will have to choose. The power required for your radiators will depend entirely on your home, since it relates to the volume of the rooms and their insulation.. As a general rule, a 3 kW radiator is recommended for a room of 30 m2. Of course this is an average and it is better to go through a professional because each case is specific.

HOW TO PROPERLY MAINTAIN YOUR CENTRAL HEATING RADIATOR?

It is important to ensure that your radiator is properly maintained, initially to ensure its longevity and its proper functioning, but also to avoid overconsumption of electricity. During this operation you will hear of two terms: sludge removal and purging . It is indeed necessary to ask for explanations on the meaning of these.

The sludge removal is a simple technique that eliminates sludge accumulated in your network to prevent water that circulates is corrosive and damages your system. There are certain signs that there is sludge inside your piping system , for example your central heating radiators suddenly make a lot of noise or they are partially cold. It is a sign that something must be done; first, it is advisable to bleed your radiators . And therefore to evacuate the air present in a hot water radiator. If the operation is not conclusive, you will have the choice between two types of sludge removal:

Or hydrodynamic sludge removal which consists of injecting high pressure air into the circuits.

Or chemical sludge , more common, which consists of introducing a chemical into the piping network.

HOW MUCH DOES A CENTRAL HEATING RADIATOR COST? HOW TO SAVE MONEY?

It is certain that the complete installation of radiators for central heating comes at a cost. Indeed, you will need a budget within a fairly wide price range , initially determined by the type of product chosen:

Although, the budget initially seems important, it should not be forgotten that initially this type of radiator allows in the state to make quite significant savings on your electric bill which makes the investment already worthwhile.

But additional means exist to make your installation even more profitable and still save on your bills . Providing yourself with a thermostat, for example, is currently one of the best known tips to reduce the cost of your radiators , you can also think of reducing the temperature.

A constant and daily maintenance of all your central heating system will also allow you to achieve significant savings by year end.

[annerly-san]

Whiskey & Basketball

[Summary:  Yuuki Ono, the japanese voice actor for whisky in Food Fantasy, coincidentally happens to be the same voice actor for a lot of other characters.

https://myanimelist.net/people/1154/Yuuki_Ono

Kagami Taiga, the one of the rising stars of the basketball anime: Kuroko no Basket, is but one of the many VA roles that Yuuki Ono voices.

Does Whiskey share the same sentiment for basketball, high jumps and slam dunks?  Let’s see.]

The illuminating sun shone brightly overhead in the clear blue skies of Gloriville.

As per usual, the typical banter and troubles of a particular store in an otherwise peaceful and cozy city pierced through the sound barrier in resonating waves of destruction.

Even with at least a foot of wood and an entire story’s height of distance between the source of agonizing commotion and his now nearly-bleeding ears, the ungodly clamor was unbearable to someone as tolerable and typically mild-tempered as he was.

There was a thud.  And then another thud.  Now some yelling.  And now screaming.  

And now, inevitably, followed the sound of shattering glass, the trickling of mercury flowing from a shattered vial and small whispers of a sizzle that gave indication to some strange substance now corroding the wooden floor boards.

Whiskey slammed the remnants of the vial and its contents into the partly corroded table.

It was the third time since this morning that the screeching and screaming had either startled or shaken him to the point of fumbling with the delicate and tedious process of alchemy experimentation.

He tilted his head up towards the ceiling, eyes focused on some unknown point above in the ceiling as he slowly raised a hand up to remove, wipe and then replace the circular framed glasses on his face.  He breathed out slowly and straightened himself out-- looking straight ahead at the blank wall in front of him with a calm smile.

He was sure that no one would blame him at this point if he were to simply go and silence the source.  

“Yahooo!  Watch this, Cola!”  Whiskey caught a glimpse of a tuft of brown hair streaked with stripes of green bounce about alongside the infuriating thudding noise that had ruined his entire morning thus far.  A beam of bright orange flew right past it before slamming against a vertical board with a hoop hung parallel to the ground with an unbearable crash.

“Aw, that’s sick!”

Whiskey watched the horribly sickening act of the idiot duo run up to one another and clap hands in a celebratory frenzy.

The scene did not distract him for long as something came to roll to a stop at his feet.

An orange ball covered with small bumps and black stripes.  It was the offending object.

How fortunate for one of the perpetrators to conveniently show up.  A coy smile broke onto his face as Whiskey bent over and picked up the orange mass with the full intent to reduce the object back into its atomic components.

“Oh, Whiskey!  Hey, dude!  You got our ball!  Wanna play?”

He must have taken too long as Cola and Hamburger made their way over to him with unbearably gleeful expressions.

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” he replied.  Smiling as he always did, he took the ball in both hands, bringing it straight to his chest and immediately forward-- launching the projectile square into the fumbling hands of Cola.

“W-whoa-!”  Cola stumbled back from the force.

“H-hey!  That-”  Hamburger looked at the ball in shock before turning to Whiskey.  

Whiskey expected anger.  Of course, that was the usual reaction that one would expect from having a ball thrown so forcibly at them.

He was about to open his mouth to express his complaints when Hamburger beat him to the punch.

“THAT WAS A SOLID PASS, DUDE!”

Whiskey’s smile dropped and his eyes widened.  “P-pardon-?”

Both Cola and Hamburger, mouths split into wide grins, before dragging him onto the paved asphalt decorated with drawn white lines.

“Play basketball with us, man!”

“I didn’t know that you could play, dude!”

Whiskey found himself with the orange abomination in his hands again.  Smile naught betraying the malicious intent to obliterate both the orange monstrosity and the two obnoxious food souls, Whiskey was just about to unleash his wrath before getting interjected once more.

“Oh?  You three are playing basketball?  How fun!”

Ah.  He knew that voice.  The demise of two food souls and an orange ball has been postponed for now, he supposed.

“Master Attendant!”  The two other food souls bounded over to his attendant in joy to be received in warm welcome.

“Hello, Master Attendant.  What brings you here?”  There was a growing anxiety in him.  The odd glint in his attendant’s eye could only bring foreboding news.

“I heard that you play basketball, Whiskey.”  His attendant grinned.  “Mind if I watch you three play together?”

“How funny, Master Attendant.  You and your sense of humor…  Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue where you have heard that from, but I don’t even know what this ‘basketball’ is, much less know how to play it.”  Whiskey smiled politely as he held out the ball to give to his attendant.  “I also have some things to do today and was only here to ask that Hamburger and Cola tone down on the noise.”

“Ah, is that so?  A shame.”  His attendant didn’t look at all disappointed; the current smirk and sinister glint in their eyes would only indicate otherwise.  “I guess I’ll just watch Cola and Hamburger play by themselves then… Maybe I’ll invite some of the other food souls to come play or cheer them on...”  The smirk only widened much to Whiskey’s horror.  “...loudly, that is.”

Whiskey chuckled to himself and wondered if his attendant derived some sort of sick pleasure from watching him suffer.  “That would inconvenience them, would it not, my Master Attendant?”  His smile revealed not of the immense betrayal that he felt.

“Oh, I disagree.  It’s great to come together and partake in something fun once in awhile, right?” his attendant quickly remarked.

“Master Attendant, you’re a genius!” Cola exclaimed.  The excitement and energy radiating off of the smaller, white haired food soul was comparable to the sun’s.  His taller compatriot was just as, if not more, than ecstatic.

“Wonderful!  Let’s gather everyone here to watch and play then!”  his attendant beamed and threw him a glance from the side.

“I’m afraid not-” Whiskey began to interject.

“Let’s divide you guys up into two teams!  Whiskey, you’re the captain of Team 1.  Hamburger, you’re the captain of Team 2!”

“Ah, Master Attendant, I’m not playing-”

And there he stood next to an overbearingly elated Hamburger-- a flimsy white jersey with the number ten scrawled on the front and back over his collared dress shirt which he could not be bothered to change out of.  He stared over at the sidelines of the ‘court’ they were to play on to see his most gleeful attendant holding onto his long outer coat and vest which they managed to pry off of him.

“Good luuuuuck, Whiskey!”

He already heard the laughter of some of the food souls that were standing by to watch.  A certain vendetta took roots in his mind and he made mental note to murder a certain pretentious red-haired food soul that had somehow managed to convince his attendant to sit out an be a referee for the game.

They were creating their teams.  Hamburger had the first pick and to no one’s surprise, he picked Cola.

Whiskey sighed.  There really isn’t anyone that he could pick that would willingly play alongside him in this outrageously irritating game.  But like all things, he didn’t really need people’s consent now, did he?

“Pizza~?  Why don’t you come play on my team with me?”

The blonde food soul looked in horror at him before stamping feet over towards him with a more than hostile glint in his eyes.

And so the two teams were formed.

Team 1 comprised of Whiskey, Cassata, Gyoza, Mapo Tofu,  Souffle, Pizza, and Bloody Mary.  The strange mix of team members included those indifferent to Whiskey, absolutely hating him and tolerable of him on certain occasions.  Other than picking a few of the members, he had some players such as Gyoza and Mapo Tofu that had volunteered either out of pity for him or the desire to simply play ball since they weren’t picked for the other team.

Team 2 was a much better mix of people who got along much better.  The team of Hamburger, Cola, Steak, Gingerbread, Tempura, Unadon, Eclair and Brownie were all good and functional members.

“Alright, pick your five starters!”

Whiskey immediately headed for the bench only to be immediately chastised.  “Team captains have to play the ENTIRE game~!” a singsong voice called out.  “You can’t sit out, Whiskeeeeeyyy!”

“...Master Attendant, have I done something to wrong you?  This is not the law of equivalent exchange-” he muttered to himself as he begrudgingly walked back out onto the court.

Simply because he was on the court, nothing ever said that he had to play.  So Whiskey just stood a little ways from the action that was ongoing and watched contently as Mapo got fouled for running through Tempura, Souffle having a loud debate with himself as to which team he was on and passing the ball to Steak of all people, and Gyoza just having a good time by bouncing the ball however he pleased until it was stolen.

He watched from the corner of his eye as his attendant whispered something to announcer/referee Spaghetti before the latter yelled for him, “Hey, you four-eyed snake!  Play basketball!  Don’t just stand there!”

Whiskey sighed, a coy smile on his face before replying back, “I’m the point guard.  I’m just watching over things-”

How the fates were in his favor.  As soon as he spoke of watching, the ball-- that he had certainly not been watching-- flew right at him, hitting him directly on the back of his head.

Most of the food souls went silent aside from the ostentatious laughter from Fruit Tart and the scattered chuckles of Bloody Mary alongside a specific red-haired food soul.  He made note to replace Fruit Tart’s hair spray with pepper spray solution later tonight.

“Oh, and it looks like it’s time for the halftime break!”

Whiskey found himself on the bench with an ice pack held on his head by a concerned Mapo Tofu who was still apologizing for launching that accursed orange projectile a little too strongly and in his general direction.

His team was far behind in points.  Not that he cared any.  The sooner that this was over, the better for him.

He noticed his Master Attendant discussing something with that irritatingly pretentious announcer of a food soul when the aforementioned smiled ominously and sent a gleeful look his way.

“So, with the halftime break, we’ve decided to announce that the winning team gets to challenge the losing team to as many matches as they would like!”

Whiskey was about to murder the stupid incarnate of a noodle dish before Mapo Tofu pressed down on the ice pack a lot harder insisting him to sit back down.

He already heard the loud voices of Hamburger and Cola getting pumped up to win and play ball for the rest of the month until they lost.

Was this truly what was concocted in order to motivate him to interact with the monstrous orange sphere?

“Alright!  Halftime break is over!”

Whiskey pondered if this was the law of equivalent exchange coming back to torment him now.  For whatever wrongs that he must have done in the past must be coming back as retribution now-- not that he could recall anything wrongdoings to incur which wrath.

But since he was allowed a choice in the duration of his suffering, at least he should make effort to choose the shortest amount of pain.

He walked back towards the court, but not before giving instruction to Cassata who was to throw the ball back into play.

“Cassata.”  Whiskey pat the food soul on the shoulder as he passed by.  “Throw it to me.”

“Hah?”  The request was not well received and he was met with a confused glare.

“Just pass it to me,” he reiterated as he walked out onto the court.

The whistle blew.

Cassata looked conflicted as he held the ball.

Whiskey held out two open hands in front of him.   Cassata glanced at him nervously before passing the ball to Whiskey.

“Oh hey!  Whiskey’s finally playing!” Tempura exclaimed.  “ALRIGHT!  LET’S GO!”

The muscular food soul ran to stand in front of him, arms ready to intercept and steal.

Letting out a small sigh, Whiskey smiled before throwing the ball down into a steady dribble against the ground.

Right hand passing the ball back in a feint, back and under his right leg to his front left, Whiskey quickly passed Tempura who was still in the midst of processing the play.

A few dribbles to the hoop guarded by food souls who were all too distracted by what had happened, and the ball was in the hoop.

Everyone was silent.  That was aside from his attendant who was absolutely thrilled and clapping their hands in delight.

“Ok, what now?” the announcer had yet to process the score.

The underwhelming announcer was finally usurped from his position as his attendant took helm at the forefront.

“And that’s two points scored for Team 1 by its Captain!” they announced.  “What a play!  Was anyone expecting a solid play from Whiskey today?  He’s struck awe into team members, opponents and audiences alike!”

Gingerbread was the first to snap out of it.

“Hey!  You idiots!  Get focused!”  She took the ball and began to run back towards his team’s hoop.  His teammates were scattering to get back into formation.

“W-WHOA!  THAT WAS GOOD, MAN!”  Cola was exhilarated as he ran alongside Whiskey to guard him.

Whiskey only smiled as usual and gave no reply.

The ball passed onto Steak as the horned food soul set up for a three-point shoot.

The arc, though high enough to get over Cassata’s block, was nothing for Whiskey.  He simply jumped, knocked the ball out of its projection, landed, stole the ball back, dribbled to the other hoop and scored two more points again.

Instead of silence this time, the entire court--audience and players alike-- were screaming in either shock, awe or horror.

“WHAT A PLAY FROM WHISKEY WE’RE SEEING TODAY, FOLKS!” his attendant announced pridefully.  “WHAT A TRANSITION FROM BLOCK TO STEAL TO SCORE!  WHISKEY’S BRINGING OUT HIS A GAME TODAY!”

The whistle blew to indicate a team member substitution.  Unadon came out to replace Steak as a player on court.

“Alright!  It’s my play now!”  Unadon met Whiskey’s eyes with challenge.  “I’m gonna score ALL the points!”

The play immediately resumed with a rather shady steal that Unadon pulled off from Souffle-- who then started to yell at himself for letting the ball get stolen.   Whiskey looked over to his attendant to at the very least call foul or warning, but only saw that they were leisurely pretending to not see the underhanded play that had just occurred.

While he was occupied with what his attendant would announce, Unadon had already lined himself up at the three point line and launched the ball right into the hoop.

“Wow!  And just like that!  Team 2 scores a three pointer from none other than the man himself, Unadoooooon!”

The cheers were beginning to irritate him.  It was either that or how his attendant had announced a praise for someone other than himself.

He only grew more irritated when the food soul came up to him with a pat on his back.

“If you’re always looking around distracted, I’m just gonna score more points!  Ahahahaaha!”

The ball was in Mapo’s hands now, and she was quick to rush past Gingerbread and towards Team 2’s hoop.

Similar to his previous tactic, Unadon came up to Mapo to intercept her and managed to steal the ball mid dribble.

“A STEAL FROM UNADON YET AGAIN!” his attendant announced.  “The ball’s in Team 2’s hands yet again!  Is someone from Team 1 going to do anything?!”

Today must be an unfortunate day for him.  He typically wouldn’t get provoked and spurred into action over something trivial like this.

Whiskey quickly made his way towards Unadon who was already set up at the three point line in a steady dribble to further taunt him.

“Gonna try and block me?” he asked confidently.  The ball flew into his hands and Unadon immediately set up for a high-arc shoot.

The ball flew up.

“OH!  THE ARC IS HIGH!   THERE’S NO WAY THAT WHISKEY COULD BLOCK THIS!!!”

Whiskey scoffed irritably.  He bent his knees and sprung up to block the ball.

Despite how high the arc that Unadon had established for the projectile, Whiskey would still be able to reach it.

“OH!  HE JUMPED TO BLOCK ITTTT!!!”

“A super-jump!”

“It’s like he’s floating!”

“ZONE!”

The comments were all over the place.

But he didn’t let that distract him.

He slammed the ball down and out of its path to the hoop, landing quickly and dribbling past Unadon and towards the other team’s hoop.  Approaching closer, the other team was quick to recover with both Hamburger and Cola guarding him to prevent him from shooting.

A futile effort.  He jumped with the momentum of his run and the ball in one hand.  With an immense force, he slammed the ball straight into the hoop with a resounding bang.

The court fell silent only to erupt in chaotic cries.

“HOOOOOLY SHIT!!”  The audience was in a riot.  “THE FALLING STAR DUNK!!!  A METEOR JAAAAAAM!”

“WHAT THE SHIT, WHISKEY?!?”

“Nice dunk, Whiskey!”

“WHAT WAS THAT?!”

“I DIDN’T SEE THAT!”

“ZONE!”

Even though it was not scientifically possible, the audience was cheering him on for once.  Not that it mattered to him.

Point after point fell at his feet as the hoop resonated each one of the dunks that had struck against the board behind it.

Before he knew it, the whistle blew out to signify his undeniable victory.

His teammates rushed up to him in congratulations alongside his opponents who were being surprisingly good sports about it.

“Whiskey, you did so good!”

“I didn’t know that you could play basketball that well!”

“Look guys!  He’s not even sweating!”

“How did you manage to play in your buttoned up shirt like that?!”

“Congratulations!”

The compliments and inquiries fell on deaf ears.  Whiskey was just relieved that he had won as to not ever warrant the need to play such a loud sport ever again.  The silence that he had wanted was won by him now, and he won’t let that be taken away for a good while.

“That was impressive!  You did so good, Whiskey!”  One compliment garnered his attention.  He turned around to see his attendant seemingly over the moon with how happy they were.  He gave them his usual smile as they handed back his long coat and vest.

“Thank you for your praise, Master Attendant.”  The compliment struck a funny feeling of warmth in him.  He watched as the crowd began to disperse.

“Looks like everyone’s spent their energy,” his attendant mused.  “It’ll probably be quiet around here for a little while, huh?”  They sent him a knowing smile.

Whiskey chuckled.  “Yes.  It would seem that way.”  He slipped off the jersey that he was wearing.  “I plan to make use of this down time for some errands of mine.”

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you then,” his attendant mused.  “I’ll see you around!”

“I���ll take my leave, Master Attendant.”  With coat in hand, he turned around and proceeded to head back to his room but not before overhearing a rather interesting commentary.

“Wow, Master Attendant!  I knew that you said Whiskey knew how to play basketball, but yo!”  he heard Hamburger clamor with that overly loud and cheerful voice.  “Even though you taught us how to play and all, we still weren’t a match for him when we did manage to get him out to play!”

Whiskey froze.

He turned his head around slightly to catch a glimpse of his attendant-- madly smiling with the most foreboding glimmer in their eyes.

He felt some unknown sensation prickle within his throat uncomfortably.  And he understood.

Today only marked the beginning of the torment that was to come.

[End Note:  I have tentative intentions for creating a few more parts for this mini, embedded series based off of Whisky's VA which may include:  Whiskey & Tighty Whiteys (Shigeshige from Gintama), Whiskey & News Reporting (Jason from Fairy Tail), Whiskey as a Highschool Boy (Karasawa from Daily Lives of High School Boys), Whiskey & Deer (Louis from Beastars), and Whiskey & Stage Theatrics (Hori-senpai from Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun)]

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 5: Radiation - Septicemia

Ectoplasm isn’t exactly known for being safe to handle. But Danny handles that problem like he does everything else, with a dose of humour and ignoring it.

"Goddammit”, Danny looks down at his vertically sliced open arm, bone slightly visible. Speaking thick with annoyance, "why, out of all ghosts, did it have to be the Box Ghost to give me my first serious injury?". Coming to float just slightly above the ground in an alleyway, pinching closed the wound, as Sam and Tucker come running towards him. Tucker sidestepping and gagging at the little splashes and one large puddle of Danny's ectoplasm. While Sam just steps over it, not really giving a shit.

Danny looks up at the two as they plop down on the ground next to him, giving the two of them a loose smile, "took long enough huh?". While both of them frown at him, clearly unimpressed.

Sam digs in her backpack, pulling out the mini-medi kit they had all decided all three of them should carry around. Handing Tucker a cloth and little water bottle to clean off the wound while she sets up a needle with ectoline.  

Danny gives his arm to Tucker while Tucker responds, “would have preferred it never happening, dude”, smirking slightly as he wipes off the wound, “but with your terrible dodging of course it did”.

Danny flips him off with his other hand, “hey fuck you Tuck. It was going to happen eventually because I am constantly getting into fights. It would be weird if I constantly came out of getting thrown around, sliced, bitten and whatnot, with nothing more than bruising, small cuts and scrapes”.

Tucker rolls his eyes as he goes to ball up the cloth only to yelp and drop it. Green steam coming off his hand slightly, making everyone look at him worriedly.

Danny squints at him, “what’d you get on you? Obviously ghostly, but don’t think we’ve seen that before”.

Sam just grabs Tucker’s hand, grumbling all the while, “gimme that”, before inspecting his hand. Nodding mostly to herself, “it’s an ecto-burn”.

Danny looks around for a source, “but from what?”.

Tucker just frowns and looks back to the cloth and scrunches it up in the same hand, only to drop it; having been burned by the contact again.

All three mutter, “weird”.

Danny clears his throat, hoping his guess is right, “well it is one of my parents specially made cloths, so maybe it has some weird reaction with ectoplasm”.

Sam snorts, “well here’s what we get for thinking your parents crap would be better to use than regular shit”. While both Danny and Tucker laugh, before Tucker goes about treating his ecto-burns.

Sam motions for Danny’s arm, and grabs his wrist. Resting her forearm on his elbow to begin. Only to jerk away from him after getting some of his ectoplasm on her forearm, the ecto-burn visible. All three stare at it, before Tucker mutters, “dude, it’s you. it’s your ectoplasm”.

Danny clears his throat, pushing down the mild horror and grasping for another reason, “well, I mean, it could be from wiping my arm with the cloth?”. Sam grabs his other hand and pricks his finger crudely enough to get him to bleed. Touching the bubbling droplet only to hiss and cringe. Wiping her finger off on the ground and inspecting the ecto-burn. Looking at Danny and shaking her head.

Danny groans, ruffles his hair with the same hand, “great, that’s just great. So my folks are right on ectoplasm not being safe to have skin contact with. Wonderful. I’m fucking corrosive or some shit”. Meanwhile, Danny is really really damn glad that he’s not hurt by his own ectoplasm.

Sam digs in her bag, looking for gloves, but frowns. Looking back up to Danny, “no gloves. No way I can fix you up then”. All three groan and Danny motions for her to give him the needle with a sigh, which she does.

Danny grunts, “has to be done though”, as he clenches his teeth and gets to work. Sam and Tucker patting his shoulders in comfort and support. Though Tucker occasionally cringes and can’t watch. Tucker talks while looking at a wall, “guess spandex gloves are something we need to carry from here on out”, poking Danny, “too bad we can’t just borrow yours. Being attached to your suit and all”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “pretty sure ghost clothing is made of ectoplasm, Danny’s suit included”. All three pauses and Danny looks from his arm to where his friends are touching his suit. They exchange confused glances before collectively shrugging.

Danny grumbles as he gets back to work, “the stuff inside me must be more concentrated”.

Danny hands back the needle after wiping it off on his leg and Sam wraps his arm, maintaining a safe distance to avoid getting any ectoplasm on her. Tucker gets up and starts mopping up the spilled ectoplasm on the ground with his foot, none of them wanting anyone to get burnt by it or for his parents to find and collect it. Frequently having to change what part of the cloth he’s touching with his shoe, as it steams from the ectoplasm contact. But after a while he starts feeling rather nauseous, the acidic lemon-lime scent starting to feel overpowering. Coughing and gagging before having to walk to the other side of the alleyway. Putting his hands on the wall and dry heaving. Pointing towards Sam and Danny, who are staring at him with concern from their spot on the ground, “dude, ugh, I think it might be more than-”, heaving again, “-just unsafe to touch”.

Sam pauses in her wrapping and leans over Danny’s arm to sniff at it. Getting hit by a wave of nausea after a bit. Sitting back and giving Danny an apologetic frown. Clearing her throat and shoving down the desire to gag, “he’s right. It’s probably because ghost ectoplasm sheds off free-floating ectoplasm”.

Danny nods with a frown, it made sense, “so inhaling that is bad”, speaking with sarcasm, “gReAt. I JuSt LoVe ThIs. PeRfEcT”. Both of them send him sympathetic smiles while Sam goes back to wrapping and Tucker continues cleaning up, just with his arm sleeve over his mouth and nose. Which just serves to make Danny feel guilty. His ectoplasm was basically toxic and corrosive for everyone in town. There was no way he wasn’t going to wind up getting his ectoplasm spilled on things, or get hurt badly again. He was actually going to have to make sure to clean his bed sheets more often now. He knew for a fact there was ectoplasm smeared on them.

Sam clips the end of the bandaging before the two get up, bags repacked, and Danny wraps his arms around his friends. Looking at Tucker, who has Danny’s injured arm around him, “you good? Not burning you?”.

Tucker smirks, “you’re good dude”. Making Danny smile as he floats up and takes the three invisibly to his house.

Flopping down on his bed after transforming back. Tucker lays across his legs and pokes him, “bleed again”.

“Um, what?”.

Tucker snorts, “dude, don’t you always have a little ectoplasm running through your veins? That shit’s in your blood too”.

Danny blinks into a blanket, “oh fuck”, before sticking his hand out towards where he can smell Sam, sitting in his desk chair. Who pokes him with a pin he had lying on his desk, smearing his blood on her wrist. Nothing happens for a bit but then she cringes and wipes it off with a Kleenex. Glance at Tucker while Danny grunts, “you’re being awfully quiet”.

Sam glances down at the mild ecto-burn, it took longer and was much more minor but it was an ecto-burn all the same, “sorry Danny”.

Danny can tell by her tone that she’s not apologising but instead feeling slightly bad for him. Which obviously means she was ecto-burned. Lovely. Danny groans into the blanket, before turning his head to actually look at her, “goddammit. So my blood’s an issue too”, Danny snorts, “Ancients fuck, it’s like everyone’s allergic to me”.

Sam and Tucker exchange a glance, Tucker poking him again, “you probably should pass it off as that actually. If anyone notices that Danny Fenton’s blood burns people”.

Danny squints at Tucker, give him his best ‘are you fucking shitting me?’ look, “and how would that even make sense Tuck? No one's allergic to just one cat or just one bee...or just one human. That’s not logical”.

Sam sighs as she sits down next to him, “blame ecto-contamination, it’s covered all the other general ghostliness. Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say it poisoned your blood”.

Tuck smirks and gives him a pat, “or made it a poison”, shrugging, “just make a habit of not bleeding”.

Both Sam and Danny stare at him incredulously before all three start laughing. Because as if that would ever happen!

Tucker pats Danny again, “but for real, just don’t bleed on people. It’s not like people make a habit of touching other people's blood, in-fact people emphatically avoid doing that. And it’s only the ghosts who are actively out for Fenton’s blood”.

Danny pushes himself up slightly, going a bit wide-eyed, “guys, Dash”.

“Oh shit”.

Tucker shrugs awkwardly after a while, “well, at least he doesn’t make folks bleed. When he does it’s usually on locks and shit, not on himself”.

Danny sits up fully and slices his wrist, smearing the blood on the wooden side table. Sam grunting, “that’s one way to do gothic home decorating”.

Danny points at her, “also would have scared the crap out of anyone if they had happened to walk in”, pausing and turning his head back to the table as it starts faintly smoking. Danny groans and tilts his head back, “goddamnit”.

Tucker pats his shoulder, “well, that’s a check on you having to clean up any bloody messes with the level of haste that’ll make you seem like you’re some kind of clean freak”.

All three look around Danny’s horribly messy room and start laughing. Danny parting Tucker as they laugh, letting the guy know Danny’s thankful for the little cheer up.

Sam hops over to the bed, “though really, it’s more like you’re radioactive than just corrosive or toxic. Cause you seem to affect everything, with or without direct contact”.

Danny hits her with a pillow while Tucker doddles a little radioactive symbol on Danny’s neck, earning him a hit from the pillow as well. Even if it’s more humoured than genuinely bothered.

——Cut to tomorrow at Casperhigh——

Danny closes his locker with a slight smile before turning to his friends, “guess what son of a corpse actually got to sleep the night away?”. Both of them give him high fives with Tucker near shouting, “fuck yeah dude!”.

“What the Hell do the losers three have to be happy about?!?”. All three groan at the sound of Dash’s voice. As they turn to look at him slowly.

“What do you want Dash?”.

Dash shrugs before smirking, “my brother’s visiting the school today, gotta impress”, digging in his pocket, “and since you’re so cheery”, Dash menacingly flicks out a switchblade knife, “you get to be my target”.

Danny just looks at Tucker, highly unamused, “I hate you, I really really hate you”, before booking it. Sam and Tucker quickly following after him. Tucker grumbling, “I fucking jinxed it”.

However, in a rare show of intellect, Dash had planned for the fleeing and really was going to target Danny anyway. But it wasn’t any fun if he just jumped, didn’t instigate the chase. Scaring the crap out of people was half the fun, which is why Danny pisses him off. Dash damn well knew what fake fear looked like, and faked fear was the only kind he ever got from Danny. The ghosts didn’t even seem to scare the loser, and they absolutely did scare Dash. And that was an insult that Fentailbone wasn’t getting away with. Dash smirks devilishly as Kwan, Dale and Todd corner the three pathetic losers.

Danny makes a point of covering his friends with his arm and body, as the three jocks smirk and stare down at them. Danny turns his head slightly behind him, seeing Dash walking up slowly with a smirk and flipping around the blade. Danny grumbles, “asshole”, before trio back up against the lockers, Danny in front.

And really, that just annoys Dash more. The weak loser acting all protective, like he’s really capable of anything. HA. It doesn’t take much for Kwan and Dale to get the goth and geek pulled away, while Todd basically holds Danny against the lockers. Dash doesn’t even have to look around to know James is watching in one of the small doorways, smoking out of sight from any teachers.

Danny glares at Dash, not even bothering to pay attention to the knife. It was a small thing and Danny had accidentally stabbed himself with larger things. Hell, the thanksgiving turkey attacked him with bigger knives. Plus, stab wounds weren’t all that bad so long as the blade wasn’t jagged. It was Dash who was the actual threat, obviously looking to do some real damage for a change. Instead of just generalised aggression and trying to humiliate.

Dash waves the knife in Danny’s face, “now to skin the rabbit”.

Danny snorts and rolls his eyes, “wow, you actually made a somewhat intelligent joke for once”. Todd squeezes Danny’s shoulder, hard, for that. But again, Danny’s gotten worse from his own house. So he ignores it entirely.

Dash meanwhile frowns, this is exactly what he’s talking about. The clear ‘go ahead and hit me, I don’t give a damn’ attitude, even if the little loser covered it up with fake fear half the time. “If you want to play it so tough then maybe I need to give you a mark to show who you and this school belong to”.

Danny snorts, “kinky”. Which Dash instantly punches him in the gut for, before slice his cheek and stabbing him in the shoulder. Grabbing that shoulder and squeezing the wound, as he slams Danny back upright and into the lockers.

Danny coughs, completely ignoring the injuries but forcing them not to heal, “wow fuck, you actually did it huh? Good for you Dash”, smirking up at Dash, “you proved you’re old enough to play with knives”. Dash punches the lockers next to Danny’s head while Danny forcibly rolls the injured shoulder, “missed the bone, try harder next time”.

Tucker grumbling, “I actually forgot how much more witty he is when he’s not sleep-deprived”.

Dash side-eyes the geek, “you think he’s witty huh?”, looking back at Danny, “well maybe he should cut that out”.

“Wow, two jokes, you’re on a ro-”, Dash shoves the knife into Danny’s mouth and makes a point to cut up his tongue before pulling it out. Making Danny cough again, he was going to spit at the ground but blinks, remembering last night's bullshit.

As if on cue, Dash jerks his hand off Danny’s shoulder, steaming green and with a forming ecto-burn. Danny, spotting the green steam on the knife, uses the jocks shock to snatch the knife and book it. Though unable to resist a joke as he does so, “yoink!”.

Sam, being more of a planner and ballsy enough to do said plans, maneuvers around Kwan, whose startled enough by everything to have pretty well lost his grip, and punches Dash in the face. The guy might be a bully but he’s one of those fuckers who ‘won’t hit a girl’, but also doesn’t expect a girl to be doing the hitting. Taking Dash’s furthered shock to wipe off his hands with her jacket, “the only person you can impress by trying to beat up Danny, is Danny”, before elbow him in the back of the head and running off. Catching Danny running backwards and waving the, cleaned off, knife at the jocks, “thanks for the knife! Pleasure doing business with ya!”.

Which only pulls Dash out of his shock, “FENTON!!!”, and gets him chasing after them.

Now what Dash didn’t know was that Danny liked the chase and hunt just as much as Dash did. Expect Danny got far more fun out of the ‘getting away’ part. Danny chuckles from their hiding spot inside the stairs, “getting out from under the wolves teeth and taking a tooth as a trophy prize”.

Sam uses a medical cloth from her bag to wipe off her jacket before it gets burnt, while Tucker elbows Danny, “maybe you should sleep less”.

“Fuck you Tuck”.

“Dude, you were treating him kind of like a ghost”.

Danny rolls his eyes and huffs, “well excuse me. Normally ghosts stab me, not humans”, shrugging, “besides, wit’s kind of my knee jerk reaction”.

Sam sighs as she starts wiping off Danny’s t-shirt, which is noticeably smoking and has a patch of the shoulder slowly burning away, “you can’t be fighting back against Dash, Danny. It’s too risky. Mocking him is practically the same thing”.

Danny waves her off as he takes the cloth and wipes off his cheek. Choosing to just swallow whatever’s in his mouth and letting those wounds heal up. Course he can’t do that with the cheek or shoulder. Y’know, in case Dash checks. Plus other people saw the cheek shit.

Tucker holds up a bandaging kit, “what ones you want? Space for your face?”.

Danny snorts but shakes his head, “it’s not deep and I’ve already cut off the bleeding. Having a bandaid on my face would just make Dash happy”.

Sam grabs one of the large square ones, “well regardless, your shoulder’s getting this”, before motioning for Danny to take off his shirt; which he does.

Sam seals the bandage around to stab wound, which normally would have been healed up in half an hour or so, while Tucker sticks a bandaid on Danny’s face; reading ‘Thy wit’s as thick as Tewksbury mustard’.

Danny glares at him and pulls out his phone to see what one Tucker put on while Tucker speaks, “we can see muscle in the wound dude, it should logically be bleeding”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “well I can’t let it, now can I”, point at the bandaid, “and really? That one?”.

Tucker smirks, “you deserved it”.

Danny snorts as he pulls back on his t-shirt, glaring at the obvious burn hole, before digging in his bag and pulling out a patterned dress shirt and throwing it on; leaving it unbuttoned though.

The three get up and Danny makes them intangible and invisible, before flying them out and into an empty hallway.

Dash, meanwhile, gave up on chasing the weird loser. Instead going to the bathroom with a huff and staring down at his burnt? hand. Seriously wondering how and when that happened. There’s no way the little loser had done that, was there? Hugging and glaring at the mirror, “maybe Fenton’s more of a freak than a loser. A freak loser, even worse than the rest of those pathetic weaklings”. Before leaving the bathroom.

Danny can’t help but give Dash a shit-eating grin as the trio spot him while leaving the school. Pausing all three’s walking and tossing up the knife a few times. Grinning even more shit-eatingly when Dash clearly notices the knife.

At first Dash smirks at seeing the noticeable bandaid, talk about embarrassing, until -due to wanting his damn knife back- he gets close enough to read it; which Fenton obviously wanted. “Why you little freak!”, chasing after the three as they all run off. Only to lose them near instantly. It was really starting to piss him off how good the little freak loser was getting at escaping him.

Danny laughs in the alleyway, patting Tucker’s shoulder, “Tuck, you do realise I was insulting his ‘wit’ earlier and you put on a bandage that insults a persons wit!”.

Tucker smirks, knowing full well he’s about to be an asshole, “well you know what I realised? You could kill or destroy everything just by bleeding everywhere”.

Danny smacks him over the head as he stops laughing, “fuck you, you’re right and that’s horrifying, but fuck you”.

Sam smirks, “maybe you should get dePhantomed again so I can add a radioactive symbol to your back as a warning”.

Danny blinks and tilts his head at her, “you know...that would actually look kind of cool”.

“...I was joking”.

Danny just gives a shit-eating grin.

“Danny no”.

Danny gives the most shit-eating smug smile he can possibly manage. Effectively making it clear he won’t actually do something like that while also being a Jack ass.

Over the next few days, Danny wore an assortment of different insulting bandages and wound up getting a mild amount of respect for getting cut and stabbed but seemingly shrugging it off. While Danny just made a point to clean up after himself more and his two friends always had industrial-strength gloves on hand.

End.