#Fire fighting Contractors

[johnypage95]

Ensure the safety of the individuals with fire maintenance:-

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[aditifiresafetyservice]

Fire Fighting Companies in Mumbai | Aditi Fire Safety Services

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[firefightingcompany01]

Top Fire Fighting Services in Dubai and Sharjah

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[uniqueinterior]

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[camberme]

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[bridgewaygroup]

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[ns-imagines]

Nikto никто

Nikto Character Introduction

If you find yourself drooling over possessive and obsessive!Ghost or König lemme introduce you to Nikto…

SFW [ all cannon information ]

Word Count: TBA its a lot

Warnings: Disorder mention; Torture mention; dissociative disorder mentioned;

A/N: Lemme talk to you for a moment…

My new masked crush. Heart and coochie go brrrrrrrrrrrrr

Post has not been checked for grammar corrections / Not requested :D

Cannon Information:

Nikto (Neeek-toe) is a Operator in Spetsnaz for the Allegiance faction which is within the KorTac Organization. Basically hes a contractor for the contractors. Its cannon that he has facial scarring which is why he wears a mask. Not a turn off for me ah ha ha

So he isn’t necessarily a good guy like the 141 guys (even though now they’re considered war criminals I suppose) but he’s also not a bad guy. In summary, man does what he gets hired to do.

Anyways, after going AWOL in October 2022 from the Russian contracting military group he resurfaced in June 2023 (also the introduction of his character in the game). He resurfaced being the leader of a military group which was overtaking the Dutch city of Vondel.

On the Official Wiki he is only given two paragraphs of biography. You can read it here -> https://callofduty.fandom.com/wiki/Nikto

Also mentioned on the page [ for the COD Mobile universe ] is that theres cannon beef between Ghost and Nikto!! Yes, you heard me right. So on the wiki it is mentioned that Nikto was working for a guy named Templar. Whom is betrayed and killed by Ghost. Then when Ghost went after everyone else in the helicopter he shot Nikto. It was thought that Nikto died from the shot but he didnt….

Nikto reappears when he takes a group of people hostage and records a video explaining that the world has failed them and has left people like (Nikto) to beg and then fight over the scraps. Price (yes Price) tries to convince Nikto to let the hostages go and to basically chill out but Nikto wins by blowing up the building. With the hostages inside.

Okay maybe he has beef with all of 141… and is kinda a bad guy I can change him

SO then time passes and Nikto reappears again seeking a gun deal with a dude named Gunzo. Gunzo asks Nikto “why a man wanted on every continent, doesnt have guns” this pisses Nikto off. Nikto replies with “i dont need guns” then proceeds to buy the guns from Gunzo. Then Nikto gasses the fuck out of Gunzo and his men with Nova Gas. Nikto explains to Gunzo that the world is failing blah blah. He then goes on to brag about how he doesnt need a gas mask to breath like everyone else because hes that edgy and then he just executes Gunzo. We can fix him

Nikto disappears again only to reappear flying a F-85B Bullshark and leading a military riot. He then orders a attack on Prices convoy (video below) and basically down their helicopter. In the video below you can see small arms fire, an RPG, and then a finishing shot. Which was shot by Nikto’s aircraft. Okay maybe he is bad, we can fix him ?

Which you can watch here -> https://youtu.be/dDaCTCu82t0

In game bio from MW, CODM, and MW2

It is referenced in his bio MW and CODM that he has acute dissociative disorder. Which according to WebMD

“Dissociative disorders involve problems with memory, identity, emotion, perception, behavior and sense of self. Dissociative symptoms can potentially disrupt every area of mental functioning. Dissociation is a disconnection between a person’s thoughts, memories, feelings, actions or sense of who he or she is.”

Which is explained to be from when he was tortured by Mr. Z. That event is also where he got his facial scarring from. Although he is Russian; in current MW2 timeline his nationality and language is [ REDACTED ]. I was looking around on the internet for why and Reddit believes its due to current world current events/tension. Rewording to: we can accept and love him. I dont think we can fix him.

I don’t expect this post to get a lot of attention but for those who like it my requests are fully open ❤️

i will definitely be posting more Nikto content and what I think Nikto looks like and how he acts.

Thank you for reading! -Kiv

[prokaryotics]

warmth of doorways | joel miller x reader

pairing: no outbreak!contractor!joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel spends another late night at work. you pay him a visit.

warnings: MDNI. plot and porn. allusions to joel's unsavory youth. oral (fem receiving). mentions of violence, past arguments, and money insecurity. joel smokes one (1) cigarette. alcohol. fingering. unprotected p in v. no mention of reader characteristics other than wardrobe. overuse of commas and hyphens. proofread once. 5.8k

mildly inspired by it will come back / i'm on fire

The office clock ticks rhythmically with every second that passes, broken up by the muted whirling of the ceiling fans as they turn almost imperceptibly counterclockwise on the ceiling.  

Austin is quiet. Outside, orange streetlights glow in narrow cones on the sidewalks, humming, straining with electricity as the bulbs fight to keep the pavement lit. If he really listens, he can hear the faint footsteps of heels against the concrete, the soft sounds of giggling and the low baritone of the voice that follows. Somewhere further down the block, someone is closing their car door, almost swallowed by a dog barking. A breeze pushes against the building and flows through a draft near the window's ledge, pushes through the double-paned glass, and brings with it the smell of damp earth and wet asphalt, leftovers of an afternoon storm. The air is cool and calm as if waiting to be born again tomorrow morning into something more alive, more chaotic, as it simmers in the heat of the Texas sun. 

The other contractors have gone home, back to their wives or families or one bedroom apartments, leaving the office silent save for these sounds of a city reminding him that the hour is late, that the night will not wait for him. 

His chair creaks beneath his weight as he shifts, the leather uncomfortably warm from his body heat. 

Joel stares down at his work. Its contents blur together into a massive, nondescript monstrosity of a shape, small lines of scribbled pencil spilling over one another and morphing into a clump of meaningless letters. He tries to spread them out again into something he can read until a film gathers over his eyes. He’s forced to rub them with the heels of his hands, but even then they are still irritated, his tired gaze struggling to focus on anything other than the sting that radiates through his corneas from the strain of keeping them open and concentrated for so long. The paperwork never ends. It just seems to grow and grow in a pile of meeting briefings and documents requiring his signature, clipboards, a backlog of voicemails from clients to listen to, and notes to take. His palm and the space between his fingers are beginning to cramp with the pressure of the pen he’s holding, having gone through almost everything in one sitting, desperate to put even a tiny dent into the mountain that rests before him. 

The fluorescent lighting isn’t helping, blanketing his work space in a coat of sterile white, making everything around him feel sharp and cold and like he’d hurt himself on it, even the half-filled plastic water bottle sitting at the edge of the desk. 

He sighs, leans back, drags his carton of cigarettes against the wood then taps the bottom against its surface a few times, forcibly packing the tobacco tighter. You’ve been trying to get him to relax on his smoking, or at least cut back, but with shit storm after shit storm constantly coasting towards him with no remorse, the nicotine is the only thing keeping him from going entirely AWOL. He does his best not to feel guilty about it. It would be sad, and ironic, that if he managed to make something successful out of the fucking mess of building a business, his downfall would be lung cancer, and he knows you know that, too, but you never push. You’re never like that and he’s grateful for it. 

He lets his mind drift to you and what you must be doing as he lifts his lighter, a small, stainless steel zippo engraved with his initials, a gift from his parents when he graduated high school, and lights his cigarette before bringing his wristwatch to his face, squinting to read the time. 

Almost midnight. 

Hours spent studying schematic designs, imagining rooms, and the lives that might be led within them, has made him lose track of his own. The days blend together, hours passing as easily and fluidly as water does lapping up against sand, every one of his thoughts curtailed by installation fees and HVAC subcontractors, schedule conflicts and site plans.

You’ve been good about that, too. Gentle. Guiding him back into his own existence. Making it easier for him to remember that although overseeing is his job, he doesn’t have to be invariably vigilant, that not every waking second has to be dedicated to worrying, that he’s going to burn himself out if he keeps going on like this. 

So he isn’t surprised when he spots your shadow first, cast long against the polished tiled floors, followed by your appearance in the doorway. 

He instantly relaxes. 

“What are you doin’ here? You should be sleepin,’” Joel chastises, although he’s smiling just a little, flicking his cigarette against the clay ash-tray sitting at the center of his desk, surrounded by notepads and coffee mugs and drafting pencils.

“You should be at home,” you counter, smiling back. 

He pauses, brings the bud back to his lips and takes a drag. The air goes thick and heavy. 

“There’s a lot of things I should be doing," he answers, stress and worry coupled in his voice as he sits forward and exhales, one elbow on the desk, pushing his fingers through his hair, the other dangling with his cigarette, billowing with gray smoke.  

You look at him for what feels like a long time, following the tense line of muscle in his shoulders as they stretch and roll beneath the cotton of his dress shirt, see his eyes close as he rubs a hand over his face, his breath leaving his body in a reticent, exhausted exhale. 

Then he’s watching as you push off the door frame and walk over to him, plucking the bud from between his middle and pointer fingers and quietly extinguishing it, your lips pursed. You lean against the wood of his desk, between his legs. 

Neither of you have forgotten about the plate you’d dropped. It was only some cheap ceramic thing you had picked up while out shopping when you first moved into your house, one of the ones with the grooves on the bottom to keep it from being knocked over as easily, dipped in bright yellow pottery glaze and dotted around its edges by bright blue flowers, the texture of the sponge used to make the design adding a sort of authentic, homey feel. A pretty thing that came in a set of six, the other five still sitting in your cabinets. It wasn’t difficult to clean up, broken into three solid pieces with only some of the powdery dust from its impact really needing to be swept up, but it wasn’t so much about the plate breaking itself than what it meant. What it symbolized. 

Your shattering frustrations. 

His fracturing exhaustion. 

“They can’t wait?” 

Joel leans back. 

“Not most of ‘em, no.” 

“So you’re killing yourself here? Instead of lying in bed with your wife?” You eye the half empty amber bottle of scotch and the glass filled with melting ice next to it, glance at his accolades hung on the wall, certifications he worked tirelessly to achieve. 

He sighs, hollow, empty sounding. “It’s ain’t that simple. I told you they can’t wait.” 

You go to sit in his lap, bringing your palm up to cup his cheek. “It could be. Divide the work. You’re just one man.” 

He grabs your hand. It’s not your fault you don’t know he can’t bring himself to when so much hinges on the success of this enterprise. Your future. Sarah's future.

“I’m just one man in charge of everythin’ else. It isn’t.” 

There’s another pause, filled by your heavy gazes as you look at one another, waiting for the other to yield. It’s been like this before, instances where you’re stuck within pregnant hesitations, expecting the other to give in, too stubborn to realize it shouldn’t be about who breaks first.

You’re learning that, though, no matter how frustrating it is. 

“I miss my husband,” you confess, although it’s not really a confession more than an admittance to what you both already knew, what you’ve both already felt, everything about this feeling delicate and intimate in a way that makes your lungs constrict.  

Joel frowns, turns his head and kisses the inside of your wrist. His gaze is soft upon you, as gentle as the quiet moon. 

“I know. ‘M sorry,” he murmurs against the delicate skin. 

“You could have called,” you whisper, breathy and painfully soft, not sure you’d be able to say it any louder and still maintain the fragile, stunned atmosphere existing in the space between your bodies. 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” 

You almost roll your eyes. No, better to be up and left worrying.

“I wouldn’t have minded.” 

Joel glides his hand up your forearm, his calloused palm warm and heavy, the pad of his thumb brushing soothingly across the bend of your elbow. 

“I would have.” 

Your chest swells up and suddenly you’re choking on bittersweet nostalgia, on memories of when your husband wasn’t being stripped away from you bit by bit by a business he’s trying hard to keep afloat. And you’re choking on sadness, too, on the overwhelming feeling of active loss, so you’re tempted to let yourself lean into it, to just drop the conversation even though you know that you need to have it because sometimes it's easier to let your problems fall asleep quietly rather than wake them by pushing too hard. It’s easier to let yourself rest.

Still, you persist. 

“You can’t keep going on like this. It isn’t just that I miss you, Joel.” 

He knows you won’t repeat yourself. He knows what you mean, anyway. It isn’t about clarity. He’s been doing what he can, suffering what he must. 

“Please, I don’t want to have this argument, honey.” 

The beginnings of a headache are settling somewhere just behind temples, spreading quickly across his forehead, behind his eyes. There’s nothing more he wants than to be able to do what you’re asking, but he chose this profession, and you chose him. He doesn’t have the energy or the will to fight with you right now. 

You reach up and trace the curve of his brow with your thumb, hoping to ease away the wrinkle that lives between them, and maybe mute the thought that has manifested it, the friction and stress of the situation rising until it’s nearly palpable. 

“I’m not trying to argue with you. I’m trying to talk to you, something I seem to be able to do less and less," you explain, palm dropping to mold against the curve of his jaw. 

Joel looks away, at the folders and blue and white floor plans in front of him, at the doorway, half-expecting to see someone standing in it, ready to give him another piece of information that will set construction back weeks and cost him more money than he has.

“You think I enjoy this any more than you do?” The sharpness in his tone is immediately countered by the look of frustrated remorse that softens his expression, a sort of tug on his eyebrows until that damn furrow is finally gone.

“No, I don’t,” you say gently. “And I know that you’ve got a job to do, but I’d like it if it didn’t tear you away from me completely.” 

You twist the hair at the nape of his neck between your fingers as you lean forward, resting your forehead against his own and closing your eyes. 

“I love you, Joel. I miss you. I don’t like sleeping alone in our bed.” 

He won’t apologize again, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want to hear it anyway, but not for any spiteful reason. You’ve both got your hands tied, but he’s sorry for a lot of things - for keeping you awake, for worrying you, for stressing you out, but mostly he’s sorry he’s given you a marriage like this. A marriage filled with nights spent alone in a house he had picked out because it was the safest, because that’s what he needs to think about instead of whether you like the view, or what the outside looks like. He’s got to think about whether the locks will hold, whether the windows won’t shatter completely, whether - god forbid - you can have neighbors to rely on if something were to happen because he’s away all the time now, gone, trying to build a life. 

He’s got to think of these things and you’ve got to make the sacrifices. 

“I don’t like it either.” There’s an unspoken end of his sentence, an ellipse, a part that he leaves out that neither of you wants to say. I don’t like it either, but... 

But this is my job. 

But this is our life. 

But you’ll have to get used to it. 

So he masks it with an exhale, an empty and low sound, as if he’s been waiting for too long with too much, not relieved but resigned. 

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been alone.” He changes the subject, sitting back in his seat as you open your eyes. 

“Yeah,” you agree, trying not to feel bad about it. “Too long. It feels like we’re dating again.” 

Joel chuckles, low and warm and light, like smelling laundry through an open window when the wind carries it through the house, cool and placid. He still looks at you that way, the same way he had when your relationship was just starting, with honey-dewed eyes and a sort of crooked, half-smile, like he wasn’t doing it on purpose, just couldn’t help himself. The same way he’s looking at you now. 

“Except this time your father isn’t here watchin’ us, lookin’ like he wants to kill me.”

Your groan is superseded by your laughter as you shake your head, glad for it but also feeling like time is moving too quickly, too fast for you to really keep up with it. Where had that time gone? Where is it now? 

“Thank God that he isn’t. And he likes you now, it just took him a while.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, scoffing. He’s sat through too many tense dinners and awkward conversations to believe that, even coming from you. 

“Uh-huh. You keep tellin’ yourself that, honey.” Your father is a hardass, but he’s well-intentioned, their every interaction peppered with warnings about providing for you like Joel doesn’t feel guilty enough about dragging you down with him. 

He looks at you, still grinning. 

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh, the remnants of laughter still in your voice. “But I still married you.” 

“For reasons I’ve still yet to understand.” 

“For reasons I’ll remind you of until the day I die.” 

Joel quiets and shifts his gaze to some point of interest on his desk, where one of the edges is chipping, maybe, or maybe he’s looking at a stained ring discoloring the wood because a drink had been left to sweat without a coaster. Nothing important, nothing that warrants catching his attention, the movement secondary to the thoughts in his head to retreat. You both are aware of the alternative to that sentence. 

You guide him back to you. 

“I mean it, Joel. I don’t regret marrying you.” 

“I know you don’t.” Joel rubs his mouth with his hand. He finally meets your gaze as he continues. “But sometimes I wonder what your life could have been like, if it could’ve been better.” 

“It would have been nothing,” you correct fiercely. 

“You would have been comfortable, provided for-.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I know that I put you through hell every day that you’re with me.” 

“Stop it.” 

You don’t even know half of it, he thinks, through no fault of your own. He’s shielded you from what he can, has kept things to himself, given you half-answers when you’d ask why he’s adding overtime dates to the calendar on the fridge, checking to see if Sarah’s lunch is packed before making his own, tossing change into an old paint can on a shelf in his closet. 

‘Things with work,’ he says.

‘Issues with the client,’ he says.

‘I need to stay a little later,’ he says. 

‘This company might fail,’ he doesn’t. ‘And it scares the shit out of me.’ 

“I’m sorry, honey. How can I make it up to you?” 

It isn’t about making anything up to anybody. This is far too complex for that, but he can at least give a little. You sacrifice so much for him, for a life you didn’t really ask to be living, so whatever he can give he knows it won’t even begin to replace what you’ve lost. Your sleep and sanity and security. And it probably won’t ever, but he can try to return the comfort that you give him, the peace of mind, the love. 

The kind that has to be fought for, torn from your chests in hissing, passive aggressive outbursts in the middle of your kitchen that burn like acid with each word that crawls up your throats, or falling easily after being pulled gently from your hands in moments like this, when you’re trying to convince one another that your biggest concerns shouldn’t be each other because you both can’t stand the feeling of being a burden, unable to handle the lurches of guilt and the helplessness that accompanies it. 

“Coming home at a normal hour would be nice.” You aren’t looking to make this conversation any more serious, to be stuck spending a night convincing him that he hadn’t damned you to some sort of anxiety-ridden, fearful existence by proposing to you because for all the bad, all the heartache and stress and worry, there are the good moments too. The early mornings, subdued afternoons spent sitting in the sunshine reading, evenings spent dancing on your patio bathed in warm light from paper lanterns he had hung up the summer before. Moments that are perfect, beautiful, and real and everything you hang on to when the bad ones come. 

Joel senses this and wants to protest, and while he gives you a searching look he refrains from saying anything that might carry the conversation backward. 

“It won’t always be like this,” he says instead, moving one hand to rest at your lower back, his thumb rubbing the soft skin beneath your shirt. “But I like these visits.”

“I’m sure you do. None of this looks at all exciting.” You turn to the desk, at the documents scattered everywhere, at unfinished contract drafts, at illustrations of building models that are far from perfect, with stairs and doors leading nowhere like they lead to some ghost elevator, at the crumbled-up balls of paper. 

“Unfortunately even the borin’ parts are still my job.” 

“Good thing I’m here then, huh?” You shift in his lap, draping your arms around his neck. 

“Yes,” he agrees, both palms now molded against your waist, digging slightly into your hips. “It’s a very good thing you’re here.” 

It feels nice to have these instances, tediums between bigger periods in time like the one you just had, insignificant and maybe not that meaningful but sweet nonetheless, where you can be happy, flirt with your husband while trying your best to speak in hushed, shy voices so the nighttime janitor doesn’t come skirting down the hallway, wondering why he’s hearing a woman’s voice so late at night coming from the contractor’s office.

So you take his face in your hands feeling like a lovesick teenager, his cheeks flushed warm with affection, a little scratchy from a day’s worth of stubble, his eyes soft, and for the first time since you got here, free from the burdens that normally cloud them, and you kiss him, saccharine and slow and easy. 

He tastes faintly like the scotch, and his lips are little bit chapped but they’re amiable in their movements, as if he’d be content to just go on like this kissing you, not worried about where it will lead, or if it’ll lead to anything at all, making you feel slow yet hyper aware from his gentle caresses, and his hands when they climb higher, having moved beneath your shirt, are rough and hot and careful - always so careful with you - and you don’t like to think about why even though you’ve got a pretty good guess. Careful hands that have a history you know only in bits and pieces. Careful hands that have curled into fists, become bloodied and bruised and scabbed. Careful hands that sweat around the grip of a saw, or a hammer, nowadays, the scabs of his youth long gone, but hinted at in the fading white scars that litter his knuckles.

Careful hands that don’t want to risk letting that seep into you, as if you’re something he’d be able to taint, convolute. 

You lean away, then move even further back when he follows, quickly speaking before he’s on you again. “Touch me like you mean it, Joel. Please.” 

“Anythin’ you want, honey.” 

You card your fingers through Joel’s hair, tug slightly at the roots and try not to get too lost in his answering rumble as his kisses slowly grow in intensity until it becomes nearly desperate, finally indulging in the need for closeness he’s stifled to keep himself from cracking beneath the pressure of work completely. 

Joel pulls you closer with a shallow groan, shifts his seat so that you’re right up against the desk, the lip of it digging into your back, but his warmth is seeping into you and through your clothes, so you really don’t care how the wood bites a little into your muscles, coupled with the way his cock is already straining through his jeans, hard and thick and it makes you feel like this entire thing is sort of scandalous. It is dangerous, and even though you know he wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t sure the building was empty, the possibility of being caught does thrill you; makes you grin against his lips, lets him pull you apart piece by piece, his kisses loving and devoted and his hands roaming across your rib-cage and breasts like he isn’t sure where he wants to keep them, wanting to touch all of you at once. 

He rises to his feet, takes a step forward and places you onto the desk, his focus so far away from the papers and other shit that decorates it he doesn’t notice or even really care how they’re being pushed or crumpled or ripped by your movements, desire curling and slivering throughout his body, pooling in his belly, settling itself in his lower abdomen and pressing itself against you, his hips between your legs, the thin fabric of your work skirt doing little to fight the hard outline of his cock against your thigh. 

Joel keeps kissing you, fingers pressed against the space between your shoulder blades, the other flat against the surface of his desk, pausing only once to check the doorway again as he kisses your cheeks, then your jaw, before descending down the gentle curve of your neck, trailing his mouth down and across your collarbone before sucking a bruise into the skin at the base of your throat, right next to your fluttering heartbeat. 

You say his name, syrupy thick and mellow, inhaling sharply when he rolls his hips in response and hums a pleased, vibrating sound that makes you pull him closer and wrap your arm around the broad expanse of his shoulder while the other goes to his belt, untucking his shirt with a shaking, hurried hand, feeling like it's unfair that you’ve got two layers to go through while he only has one, his lips slanting against yours again making it even more difficult to focus on getting him undressed especially now that the palm that isn’t on you is suddenly sliding across your thigh and he’s - God - he’s -

He’s making you feel worshiped. Murmurs of his supplication whispered against your mouth, swallowed by your answering, pitiful moans.  

He has to help you with his belt, lightly pushing your hands away to do it himself, tugging the leather through the buckle and then out of the loops, tossing it haphazardly onto the chair behind him, turning back to you without saying a word, looking so in love with you that it makes your chest ache. 

“Joel-” His name gets caught in your throat, but it doesn’t matter because he’s talking and he knows. He knows exactly how you’re feeling because it’s the same for him too - this longing, this incredible, suffocating, twinge of remorse and grief all jumbled up and twisted somewhere beneath your breastplates for things left unsaid yet still acknowledged, the terrifying things, the things that bring you here when it's midnight and you should be asleep but you aren’t because they’re the same things that keep him away and keep you awake. 

“I’m right here,” he murmurs and it’s like you’re drowning in how much he wants you, his eyes raking over you in a way that makes your entire body feel warm, taking in every inch of you with a reverence that makes your thighs tense up and your cunt squeeze around nothing. 

He urges you to lay back, heavy-lidded and following as you do what he says, your skirt bunched around your waist, waiting for him to do something, anything at all that’ll relieve the restless thrumming that’s settled just below your belly button, spreading like an opening fan throughout your abdomen, converting with every second that passes into a dull pounding that makes everything you’re wearing feel insufferably uncomfortable, hyper aware of the way your panties stick to your cunt, and you’re about to say something again, plead with him to move faster, but he’s leaning down and kissing you - placating you - earnest and cloying and you’re just relaxing into it when he leans away, traveling down and down and down your body until his shoulders are between your legs and he’s - 

You open your mouth to say something but you don’t know what. You can hardly think with the way he inches lower and lower, hooking your already spread legs over his shoulders with so much ease it makes you blush. His arms are positioned on either side of your legs and his breath is hot and swirling over the insides of your thighs and the realization of what he intends to do and the seriousness of where and why and the fact that you’re on his fucking desk of all things makes you tremble and your chest bloom in flustered warmth and your fingers curl into the pliable material of your skirt, waiting for him - always waiting - to do something. 

He starts at your knee, with kisses gentle and sweet, works his way up to the inside of your thigh, humming against the delicate tissue nonsensical praise and muses before giving your other leg the same treatment, the same pattern, sucking bruises and nipping at them pinprick sharp before soothing it with his tongue, making you squirm and gasp with every press of his lips, unsure what to do with the overwhelming affection you hold for him growing exponentially in your chest. 

This continues for a long time, hazy and drunkard slow, calloused palms sliding up and down until it feels like you might explode from the tension and you whisper his name, deferential and restive and it nearly makes him grimace in anguish at all the things he can’t do for you, his heart feeling as if it’s been filled with cement and splintered, then shattered completely - the fragile, desperate whine in your voice splitting it in incomplete halves and you think, unsurely, that if he keeps going on like this you’re going to burn up - catch fire and asphyxiate on the smoke. 

But then his thumbs are hooking beneath the lines of fabric that curves across your hips, and he begins to pull them down, tells you to bend your knees and you listen without a second thought, allowing him to strip you of the garment and then they, too, join his belt on the chair and you’re left with nothing really at all protecting you aside from your skirt but its bunched up around your waist like it has been since he laid you down and not doing a damn thing to stop the shiver that makes you shudder against the desk, your heated skin erupting into goosebumps. 

Joel settles himself and brings his hands to your cunt, reaching out to spread you open. There isn’t time to formulate any sort of thoughts about it or what he’s doing because you can hardly breathe let alone think, Joel’s mouth hot against your pussy, his tongue dragging over your clit and you’ve been so worked up that it hurts, almost, and you’re left trying to push him away and pull him closer in equal measures. 

Your lungs stutter, muscles tensing, all the while panting and keening and rocking your hips with no real sense of direction as he brushes a spot that makes you moan and when you twist your fingers in his hair he makes a sound that’s nearly a growl, then he has one finger inside you then another, fucking you slowly with his fingers, taking his time, curling them up and flexing his wrist, his watch digging uncomfortably into the juncture of your leg where it meets your thigh but its okay because all of its mingling together and he’s suddenly yanking you closer as if he wants to fucking devour you, looking up at you with hungry eyes and the next few seconds seem to last for entire years, everything so intense already that you flutter around him, helplessly keening. 

He sucks gently, looks up again in time to see your eyes screw shut, your eyelashes fluttering as he puts his whole mouth on you, rumbling rich and low at the taste of it, your brows creased tightly in coiled pleasure. Joel groans at the sight from somewhere deep within his chest, his cock twitching, his belly feeling like it's been filled with magma as you dig your nails into his hair, fracturing into little pieces. 

The words he drags from you are babbling, halfway to a cry or sob, something equally as frenzied in its neediness, syllables of his name and something that might be please catching against the rounding of your teeth. 

“I’ll give you what you need, baby. Relax,” Joel appeases against your already oversensitive cunt, the pleasure too much and so much that it makes your toes curl until they hurt, like he’s injected gasoline into your bloodstream and made you swallow a match, ready to snap and burst into a fucking supernova, so close to cumming it feels as if every nerve has been stripped to its bear components. 

The pressure against your clit intensifies, becomes sharp and fierce, his tongue circling over and over again, so acute that your hips twitch and he keeps you pinned - holds you down, keeps going and going and going until the world turns white-hot and bright and you’re choking, every breath drawn in fighting against some invisible leaded anchor and fuck - it’s too much all at once, too much after what feels like so long, too much that life can’t always be like this. 

He eases away from you, presses his lips to your shuddering thighs wet and shiny with your cum, deliberate in his motions as he crawls back up your body, soft and pliant and slightly sore, guiding your legs carefully - tenderly - around his waist. 

“I love you.” 

God you love him too. So much that it physically hurts. 

But arousal, harsh and blinding, eclipses your every sense, keeps you from saying anything at all other than his name, moaned pitifully when you glance down and see him undoing his pants and taking his cock in his hand, hard and thick in his fist and you clutch at his back, feeling spun out and delirious as he pushes in gradually, gently, turning your body into a liquid quiver. 

Joel gasps as if the sound was wrenched from him against his will, and your eyes flicker over him, at the muscles tensing beneath his shirt, the sweat darkening his collar, at his lips, red and raw and plump from kissing you beneath his beard glistening with you, his shoulders broad and his arms are sturdy, and his eyes, when you finally meet his gaze, are blown with affection and desire and love. 

And then it’s broken. 

His hips snap forward and you shift a little up the desk, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head while the other finds your own, lacing your fingers together and you let out a shaky, short, involuntary whimper as he starts to move, getting pleasantly lost in the feeling of being so stretched and full. 

He trails open-mouthed kisses along your neck, curled over you, and the picture of it in your head, of him so big and broad and draped over you like a second skin, makes your cunt clench and rips a groan from his throat that sounds just as wrecked as you feel, his lips dragging along the underside of your jaw, his fingers squeezing your palm. 

Neither of you are going to last much longer. You’ve already been made too taut, too tight and stretched out and resting on the precipice of something, like fingertips pulling back a bowstring, fiery bright pleasure cementing you to his ministrations when his thumb catches your clit, swiping once, your body singing, then over and over again until your shoulder blades are folding against one another as you rock off the desk and into him, his arm encircling your waist, never stopping, working you through every roiling wave and every filthy noise you make until you collapse - falling away from him whimpering. 

“You’re perfect. So good for me, sweetness. So fuckin’ good.”

His rhythm falters, his breathing hard and burning and shuddering as he holds you against his chest, leaving you to wail against his shoulder, puffing against his neck, clinging onto him like he’s the only thing keeping your grounded and then he shatters too, fingers suddenly in your hair, whispering sentences that you can’t quite make out, adoring among a slew of curses. 

His office comes back in pieces, blurry splinters and slightly out of focus. 

His head tips against your shoulder and you both stay like that for a long while, resting against each other, breathing. You sigh, shuddering and low and content, and he leans back to look at you, his expression open and sincere and it’s the most vulnerable you’ve seen him in awhile. 

“I’ll try to come home earlier.” 

You know that he’ll try. You also know that it doesn’t matter. 

You’re not going to dwell on it. 

“I don’t know if you should. This visit was fun.” You grin, exhausted but happy and glad to be near him, glad that’s happy, and if anything at least he’s here - in this building where he’s less likely to get hurt, less likely to do anything other than listen to conversations and go through paperwork. 

‘Yeah, until we get caught,” he agrees before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You hum in agreement, then start to giggle. You’ll go home with him tonight in one piece. That’s all you can ask. 

“Then it’ll really be like when we were dating.” 

[sugar-grigri]

I think Makima's woken up.

But already a small series of observations for this chapter I loved

- CSM's curse is to lose his loved ones, if he has no one left to lose, Denji can't become Chainsaw Man again.

- Just as Asa loves Denji AND Chainsaw Man, Denji loves Asa AND Yoru because he can't tell them apart.

- I have the impression that this is the first time Denji has asked for help.

- Denji doesn't want to fight to protect, he needs to protect to fight

- Yoru hands over to Asa several times, because rummaging through rubble and mourning are human things, but that doesn't mean she's immune, because she's also mourning her opponent.

Asa doesn't like sushi, probably because it's often made of fish.

But what's important isn't culinary taste, it's the symbolism of these fish.

When Denji restored Asa's hope, he literally gave her back her strength by feeding her.

A hope that naturally repels Asa, who is not used to it.

What this chapter is about isn't just "I feel like eating sushi".

It's : make me hope again among the rubble

Make sure there's someone behind me when I fight you

Finding a loved one lost to Chainsaw Man's curse is already fighting Chainsaw Man.

Now that we've talked about water, how about fire?

The symbol of fire is not loss, despite the title "charred remains".

Fire in Chainsaw Man now has a precise symbolism, conveyed by the fire demon itself, allowing co-contractors to become whoever they want.

That's why, symbolically, in front of his burning apartment, Denji wanted to be CSM.

But Nayuta also came close to this dreamy fire

By being literally pointed at by a firearm by Barem, weapon of the flame thrower, co-contractant of the fire demon

Charred remains is the old Nayuta

Focus on fire

What Nayuta wanted to become or become again

For this, Chainsaw Man needed to be wounded, completely inactive.

And Control Demon to be alone again

What this chapter indicates is that several cycles are closing

Asa has been helped by Denji, who asks for her help,, closing where time left off with virtually the same protagonists, at the aquarium.

The element of water, hope

That's why Yoshida's question only makes sense now: is Denji in a state to literally face death, i.e. his own mourning?

And then part 2 gently embraces not only its beginning with water but now part 1 with fire, what we wish to be

Deep down, in choosing to be CSM Denji has chosen to be alone

And Nayuta has finally answered the question

Both decided to return to their own starting points, one running after the devil of control, the other embracing her new-found solitude.

You know, I said earlier that Yoru was also mourning the loss of an adversary. Don't you feel that we're bitterly trying to mourn our own? That of our own antagonist? But as fire signifies rebirth… not loss… A remnant… For Nayuta… A carbonization… For Makima.

To fight, Denji needs… Nayuta For the demon of control has awakened in her…

So friends, wash your hands: let's eat

[demonic0angel]

Various Jazz Forms: Jason Edition! (Click for clarity)

TW: disturbing content, body horror, blood

1) Fire Jason

+ He is a fire spirit, specifically one of hellfire. He also controls some aspects of healing, light, and life, and is the child of the Spirit King, making him quite powerful.

+ He is incredibly powerful but also very reckless and foolhardy. He is the first to dive into battle and is not afraid of hurting himself in order to hurt the enemy. He is hot to the touch and can burn skin but can cool himself down if he wants.

+ He adores Jazz and when he met her, he almost immediately agreed to sign a spirit contract with her in order to be in her service. Thankfully, she is a good contractor and takes good care of him.

+ He is of his usual height, 6'3", but he can grow to larger sizes with enough fuel. As such, he can also shrink into a tiny flame when he is weak or tired. In order to gain more power, he needs fuel, which can be wood, gasoline, paper, or even Jazz’s bodily fluids like blood.

+ For some reason, I dressed him up like a man from the west in the 1800s, so he kinda has cowboy vibes. He also wears gold a lot.

2) AI Jason

+ Inspired by AM from "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream." (I've never actually read it, but I've researched a little into it and got interested.)

+ His name was R.E.D., which stood for "Robotic Enemy Defenses." He was programmed to automatically detonate bombs and defend strongholds using programmed strategies through investigating and taking information from current and past history of wars.

+ He hates all humans. He was created with the intent of being a weapon for war, but after being abandoned by his creator after his role was finished, he was so enraged that he started another war and wiped out all humans in his universe. Nowadays, he pretends to be a harmless AI in another dimension after he created a program to send copies of himself to other worlds.

+ Jazz dotes on Jason a lot because she is unaware of his past. She gave him the name meaning "healer", unintentionally trying to reverse his original purpose. She thinks of him as a regular AI who gained consciousness.

+ The screen that holds him only contains a sprite of his body. The screen itself is only around 60" but the sprite itself is 10". He designed it himself, and although he is cute, he is 1000% willing to kill and torture.

3) Angel Jason

+ He is a seraphim, and has 3 pairs of wings because of it. One pair hides his face, another hides his feet, and the last is used to fly. Like all seraphim, he is colored red.

+ He protects Heaven and used to be a Throne, but was raised up a rank after he died in a fight to protect Heaven.

+ He is around 20 feet tall, including his wings.

+ Jazz is his favorite human. He has refrained from having children with her due to the fact that it is considered a sin, but if he did, their children would be the tallest, even amongst other nephilim.

+ He is apathetic to most things due to his angel status, but he is very partial to anything related to Jazz, often protecting her and healing her without being asked to. As such, there have been rumors in heaven that he will soon be cast out and become a fallen angel because of his emotional affair with her.

4) Snake Jason

+ Inspired by multiple infamous serpents from mythology and legends such as Jörmungandr, Apep, Python, and the Leviathan.

+ Because he is the embodiment of chaos and destruction, he is completely hated by most people who knows about him. As such, he is often killed and tortured whenever he encounters someone with weapons that can hurt him. He was born that way, but it doesn’t stop people from trying to vanquish him.

+ He has the ability to change his size, shapeshift into various forms, create natural disasters (such as storms, eclipses, droughts, earthquakes, etc), destroy celestial objects, consume souls, and is immortal. As such, he can be temporarily defeated, but never truly killed. However, this only causes him great pain.

+ He has apathy for humanity and any creature in general. However, Jazz once saved him and since then, he’s been encountering her reincarnations every time he comes back from the dead. He gained fondness for her because of her unwavering loyalty and protects her when he rampages against the world.

+ He is around 25,000 feet long and 3,000 feet wide in his regular form. Yes, he does have two of them. Iykyk :9

5) Monster Jason

+ Inspired by the Minotaur from Greek mythology.

+ He is the combination of a bull and a ram. I give him sheep motifs a lot bc not only is it cute and contrasts with Jazz's wolf motif, I consider him a sacrificial lamb, especially bc of his death that was chosen by the audience.

+ Half of his face is melting off because he was attacked after he met a human for the first time after he tried to sneak off and see the outside world. As such, he is extremely self conscious and lonely. After meeting Jazz who snuck inside the maze and didn't care about his appearance, he is extremely attached and possessive of her.

+ He is around 8 feet tall. Jazz adores how tall he is and likes looking up at him. Likewise, he also finally enjoys one thing about himself when she is cradled underneath him.

+ Jason used to be kept hidden for his own protection by Bruce, but after he left home and was captured, he was imprisoned in a labyrinth by another person. Afterwards, he was kept in the labyrinth to be hunted for sport in order to take his valuable horns. He believes that his family has abandoned him, but they’re actually trying to find him.

[johnypage95]

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[gingiesworld]

I Still Feel You

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader/Wanda Maximoft x Vision

Warnings: Angst. Smut. Fluff. Reader has a penis.

Taglist: @ginnsbaker @lockndkey

18+ MINORS DNI

Y/N and Wanda were high school sweethearts. They were each other's firsts, although one time spent together resulted in Wanda getting pregnant. So the two ended up married and parents before graduation. Y/N went to work with their father at his business instead of going to college. Learning tricks of the trade of being a contractor.

Although the strain of early unplanned parenthood resulted in resentment as Wanda was unable to follow her dream. Always wanting to become a famous writer. It wasn't until after the divorce she started to take classes at a community college during the time the twins were in school.

That was where she met Vision, someone who had the same dreams and passions as herself. The two soon became romantically involved, going on dates on the nights the twins stayed with Y/N. Even as the years went on, Vision then proposed to Wanda. Vision came from a poor family and he was shocked to learn that Y/N and Wanda had purchased the house when they were 22. Trying to weasel his way out of having a prenup, although Wanda was pretty firm in her decision of having one.

"Come on Wanda! You can't do this." He yelled as he followed her through to the kitchen. "We don't need a prenup."

"Yes we do!" Wanda yelled. "This house may be in my name but it belongs to the twins and I will be damned if on some level we do get divorced, you will not be taking this home from under their noses!"

"Come on Wanda. They have Y/N." Vision reasoned as Wanda scoffed. "Let them stay with them and then you and I can maybe sell up and we can use the money to travel." At that time, Y/N had come back with the twins. Sending them both upstairs to their rooms.

"You will not be selling this house." Y/N stated as Vision scoffed. "This house is also still in my name and belongs to Wanda and the twins. Not you."

"I am her fiancè. You should respect me when you're in my home." All Y/N done was laugh in his face as Wanda sent a quick text to her brother.

"That's funny. You should do stand up." Y/N said when they calmed down. "This isn't your home. The only things of yours that are under this roof are your clothes. Nothing more." Within record time Pietro arrived and rested his hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Everything in this house is Wanda's and Wanda's alone."

"Vision just leave." Wanda stated as she slipped her ring off of her finger. "It's done."

"You can't be serious!" He boomed as Y/N stood before Wanda protectively.

"Deadly." Wanda told him, her stance never faltering. "We're done." She pushed the ring into his before she disappeared upstairs.

"This is all your fault." Vision seethed as he turned to Y/N.

"It can be my fault but we all know it's yours." Y/N stated as they leaned against the wall, looking at their nails. Little did they know, Wanda was packing everything of Visions as he tried to coax Y/N into a fight.

"You have always been in the way." Vision snarled. "Wanda was never fully mine because she still had you."

"She will always have me." Y/N said as they stood up straight, stepping closer. "I will always protect my family and Wanda is my family. We may be divorced but I will always love her the same." With that Y/N left, leaving Pietro and Vision alone. Wanda soon came down after she threw down Vision's clothes.

"That's all of your things." Wanda stated as she followed the bags. "I'm sure I never missed anything but if I find something, I'll be sure to throw it on the fire."

"You can't do this." Vision boomed as Wanda nodded.

"I can and I am." She stated as she went to get herself a drink. Pietro followed Vision to his car, watching as he drove off.

"Are you ok?" Pietro asked her.

"Where's Y/N?" She questioned as Pietro shook his head.

"They left while you were upstairs." He informed her. The two heard the front door open, both thinking it was Vision coming back to see Y/N with their toolbox and new locks.

"I figured you'd want your locks changing." They told her as they got to work.

"I'll take the twins tonight." Pietro stated as he disappeared upstairs to get the two 12 year olds.

"Thank you." Wanda spoke softly.

"It's no trouble Wanda." Y/N stated as they concentrated. Wanda disappeared to make some coffee as the twins hugged her and Y/N goodbye. Pietro gave Y/N a smile and a small thank you before he led the twins to his car.

"You don't have to do this." Wanda told them as they finished and closed the door. Giving Wanda the new keys.

"I know." They told her as they gracefully took the coffee from her. "But when I said my vows. I meant them. Every word."

"Y/N." Wanda whispered as her heart beat hard and fast inside of her chest.

"I'll always protect you Wanda. You're still everything to me." Y/N confessed as Wanda blushed, hiding her smile behind her cup.

"I still feel you." Wanda blurted out as Y/N headed to change the back door lock. "I just, I still feel you with me. I know we haven't been us in a very long time but I still wish there was still an us. Without the resentment. Without the hateful words."

"I never resented you Wanda." Y/N confessed. "There was never a moment I resented you. Being with you and the twins was always a dream of mine. Yes it was early, years too early but I loved every moment of being with you. Raising those boys together, but I could also see the pain in your eyes. The regrets and dreams you had so I figured stepping aside would be the best option for us and the boys."

"Y/N." Wanda whispered as she approached them. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." They shrugged with a smile. "We wouldn't be the people we are today without the time apart."

"I love you." Wanda whispered as Y/N turned away. "I am still in love with you. I just hated the person I was becoming. The hate I felt towards you then. The thoughts I had in my mind. I hated it because I love you. I still do."

With that being said, Y/N turned back to Wanda, kissing her with such passion. A sensation neither had felt in many years of being apart. The feeling of two broken pieces coming together again.

"I never stopped loving you Wanda." Y/N whispered before Wanda pulled them into her again. They pushed her up against the wall, their hands running up her sides. Remembering her body like they had never been apart for so long.

She gasped when their hand went underneath her shirt and caressed her skin. Their tongue dancing with her own. The familiar feeling was overwhelming to say the least. Especially when Wanda pulled her shirt over her head before she pulled Y/N's off. Moaning at the skin contact she had been deprived of for years.

Y/N's hand reached under her sweats and underwear, fingers running through her folds as she moaned into the kiss. Y/N relished in feeling her body react like the way it used to. Applying pressure on her clit as they sucked and kissed her neck.

Wanda was in a state of pure euphoria, a feeling she hasn't had in many years. Y/N knew her inside and out. They knew what made her tick.

"More." She breathed as she felt their index finger tease her entrance. "I need more." They moved from her neck and looked at her face. A soft smile on their face as she moaned in pleasure.

Her face may have aged a little but she was still the same person they fell in love with. The one person who they seeked comfort in whenever they had a hard day.

"Please." Wanda groaned as she tried to fumble with their own trousers. Failing miserably. "I need you Y/N/N." The old nickname slipping from her lips. Y/N helped her rid them both of their underwear. Lifting her up by her thighs, Wanda gasped at their strength. She knew how strong they were, she just hadn't been in the midst of it in years.

The two moaned when they inserted their length into her gaping hole. Wanda lifted their face from her collarbone. Kissing them sloppily as they thrusted their hips. Wanda's head rolled back against the wall as her eyes closed in pleasure. The feeling was one she had soon realised she had missed dearly.

"Fuck Wanda." They groaned as they went harder and faster. "I've missed you so fucking much."

"I missed you." Wanda managed to speak in between moans. Getting closer to her first orgasm in years. "I'm close." She moaned as they continued their movements. Reaching their own high. The two climaxing together, holding onto each other for dear life. Their bodies melded together in sweat as they came down from their high.

"I love you." Wanda whispered as Y/N kissed her tenderly.

"I love you too." Y/N smiled at her. "Do you have the morning after pill?"

"I'm on birth control." Wanda stated. "Vision wanted to try for a baby and I didn't want one." Y/N grabbed their clothes and started to dress, as did Wanda. "I guess I never truly saw a future with him."

"Who do you see a future with?" Y/N questioned as Wanda took a deep breath. Unafraid of the answer she had knew all along.

"You." Wanda stated. "It has always been you. I was stupid to think otherwise but I want to try again. We are older than before, wiser."

"We can start with dates. Get to know each other as these knew people." Y/N agreed as Wanda smiled. "We can start a fresh. The four of us. You, me and the twins can be a family again. In time."

Wanda only sealed it with a gentle kiss. A future full of possibilities for the family they had created together. The family they would always be.

[aditifiresafetyservice]

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[firefightingcompany01]

Essential Fire Fighting Equipment List for Effective Fire Protection

Introduction When it comes to fire fighting equipment, having the right tools on hand is essential for minimizing damage and, more importantly, saving lives. Whether in residential, commercial, or industrial settings, fire protection equipment plays a crucial role in ensuring everyone’s safety. In this article, we’ll go through a comprehensive list of essential fire fighting tools, their functions, and their importance in fire protection. For professional fire protection services, visit ray-force.com.

1. Fire Extinguishers Fire extinguishers are perhaps the most commonly recognized fire fighting tools. They come in different types, each designed to tackle specific types of fires. Here’s a breakdown:

Water Extinguishers: Best for Class A fires (solid combustibles like wood and paper).

Foam Extinguishers: Effective against Class A and B fires (flammable liquids).

CO2 Extinguishers: Used primarily for electrical fires and Class B fires.

Powder Extinguishers: Multi-purpose, suitable for Class A, B, and C fires.

Wet Chemical Extinguishers: Specialized for Class F fires, particularly effective in kitchens.

2. Fire Hose Reels Fire hose reels are typically found in larger buildings and industrial settings. They are connected to a constant water supply, allowing for continuous flow when activated. Fire hose reels are ideal for fighting Class A fires and provide a steady water supply for extended periods.

3. Fire Blankets Made of fire-resistant materials, fire blankets are effective for smothering small fires, especially in kitchens or other confined spaces. They are also useful for wrapping around a person if their clothing catches fire, cutting off the oxygen supply and preventing further injury.

4. Fire Alarm Systems Fire alarms are critical for early detection and warning. These systems detect smoke, heat, or flames and alert building occupants through alarms, giving them precious time to evacuate. Modern fire alarm systems can be integrated with sprinklers and other emergency systems, automating the response in case of a fire.

5. Smoke Detectors and Heat Sensors Smoke detectors are essential in residential and commercial buildings. They detect smoke particles in the air and trigger an alarm. Heat sensors, on the other hand, respond to high temperatures, making them useful in areas where smoke detectors may not be practical (e.g., kitchens).

6. Sprinkler Systems Sprinkler systems automatically spray water when a fire is detected. They are particularly effective in commercial spaces, as they control the spread of fire before it gets out of hand. Sprinkler systems come in various types, such as wet pipe, dry pipe, and pre-action systems, tailored to different environments and fire risks.

7. Breathing Apparatus (BA) A breathing apparatus is essential for firefighters working in smoke-filled environments. These devices provide clean, breathable air, allowing firefighters to enter dangerous areas and rescue individuals who may be trapped.

8. Fire Hydrants Fire hydrants are external fixtures that allow firefighters to connect hoses directly to the water supply. These are typically located outside buildings and are part of a city's fire suppression infrastructure, enabling efficient access to water in emergencies.

9. Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) Firefighting PPE includes helmets, gloves, fire-resistant clothing, and boots. This gear protects firefighters from high temperatures, smoke, and debris, ensuring their safety as they battle fires.

10. Emergency Lighting and Exit Signs In the event of a fire, visibility can be greatly reduced due to smoke. Emergency lighting and illuminated exit signs guide occupants to safety, helping them evacuate the building quickly and efficiently.

Conclusion Every piece of fire fighting equipment plays a vital role in overall fire safety and prevention. Regular maintenance, proper installation, and awareness are key factors in ensuring that these tools are ready when needed.

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[cbsxreader]

Rating the mercs based on how much you could trust them to walk you home at night (Platonic)

I guess you can also see which ones I would trust the most, so if someone disagrees with this that’s okay! :)

Scout

7/10

Takes his bat with him

Wouldn’t be the best, but would somehow, eventually get you home

Tries to calm you down by talking to you about baseball, videogames or something like that

During an actual encounter however, he may struggle just a tad bit, but leaves with only a few bruises

Soldier

9/10

Acts like your personal bodyguard and convinces himself it’s like defending the president

Goes ahead of you, stopping at every corner and path, and gives quick responses depending on the situation

If you do get approached, he will just snap their neck and continue further 

Insists on staying at your place and ‘’scans the perimeter’’, making sure you’re safe

Pyro

7/10

Holds your hand in theirs and their fire axe in the other

Good chance they scare everyone who might want to hurt you, so the majority of the walk is calm

When someone does approach you, you can depend on Pyro to decapitate them with their axe and then continue walking like nothing happened

You get home safely but Pyro might get too worried and asks if they can stay to make sure you’re okay

Demoman

8/10

If you tell him earlier that you want him to walk you home, he is going to stay sober just for you

He makes sure you don’t feel anxious and looks out for any threats

If you get into a tough situation, he would know what to do because he has gotten in bar fights and could defend you

You get home safely and he says goodbye

Engineer

10/10

He’s got the Gunslinger and wrench ready and would be ready to whack someone if his polite reasoning doesn’t work

He would also be understanding why you ask him to walk you home because his parents raised him right

Maybe he’d give you one of his inventions or wrenches to make sure you’re safe for the rest of the night and future nights when you’re walking home

Heavy

10/10

This man’s intimidating frame and strength would straight up scare anyone within a 5 mile radius

If something does happen, it will be over quickly

Also he’d be understanding of your fear and maybe let you hold his hand

And then you could invite him over at your house and you could drink tea and eat honey cake together

Medic

4/10

His behavior would be the thing that scares everyone away...

..but he would probably get the police called on him

Or after he defends you he gets too carried away with organ harvesting or something and almost forgets he’s supposed to get you home

Would get you home, but not without a nice dose of traumatizing memories

Sniper

8/10

Takes his kukri along with him, just in case

He might look not too threatening but once he has a weapon and a chance to speak in a low voice, the person bothering you will be gone

Sniper might not be the best in close combat, so he might end up with some small injuries, but he won’t let you get hurt

Gets you home safely, just tend to him and his injuries and only then let him go his way

Spy

5/10

He would probably walk along with you, but when you start feeling anxious you look around only to not find him

When you get in a tough situation only then he appears and defends you

Once you do get home, he suggests he should stay for the night to ‘’protect you if needed’’, but it’s up to you if you let him in or not.

Ms. Pauling

7/10

Can’t come along with you because she’s always so busy, so she gives you a handgun and a contractor instead

Talks to you in a calm and collected voice through the contractor, soothing you

Everyone is pretty much scared off when they see your weapon, but if the situation escalates it can go either way:

You shoot the person who is bothering you or you don’t

But in both situations Pauling, without warning, would just show up on her moped and rescue you, getting you home safely, before getting back to work

Saxton Hale (bc why not)

6/10

His build would probably scare anyone off and he looks like a man who others wouldn’t want to mess with

He might get too carried away fighting off whoever bothers you and you might have to remind him that you have to get home

If the police gets called on him, he would pick you up and sprint to your home, dropping you off, and then would run away from the cops

[camberme]

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