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beyondspaceandstars · 7 months ago

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Date Night

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: slight frustration but mainly fluff Summary: Nothing seemed to go right with your date night plans... A/N: This is an older one shot (from 2020, omg) that I published on ao3 but never on here! (At least, I hope I didn't! I can't find it if I did, haha) so I edited it a bit and decided to release it into the wild here. it's really short and simple but I think it's sweet :)

You wanted one nice night in with your fiancé. Just one. A simple dinner with a fresh, home-cooked meal, couple glasses of wine, some shitty romantic comedy, all follow by bedtime at 10 p.m. It was all you wanted. It should've been so simple.

But your dream was crumbling to pieces as the minutes, the seconds, went on.

It started with Bucky calling to say he was running a bit late and wouldn’t be home until later than expected. You wanted to scream and remind him that you’d had this date night planned for weeks but you, luckily, kept your cool and just asked him to come home safely. This was just one little fluke, you could manage that.

So, you started the meal later than you had originally planned. You just really wanted everything to be ready and on the table for when Bucky got home. He deserved that and it should be manageable, right? You could still have a nice dinner together but the movie might have to be skipped.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly until you got to cooking the main entree: steak. You hadn’t always been the best at cooking much above pasta but hours of watching cooking shows and a couple of YouTube videos gave you just a little bit of confidence... But confidence doesn't always equal skill and next thing you knew, the steaks were burnt. Completely charred and horrendously burnt. Smoke filled the kitchen and the smell was overwhelming. Both pieces of meat were well past saving and it made you wanna rip out your hair. You didn’t even know how it got to this point. The mashed potatoes needed your attention for one second and it all went to hell.

The only thing you could successfully salvage were the side dishes which consisted of a salad and mashed potatoes. But even those had turned out slightly wrong. Your salad was somehow bitter and the mashed potatoes were runny. Although, yes, they were both edible… But it just wasn’t right.

Nothing was right.

You groaned as you tried fanning out the smoke from the kitchen, praying the smoke alarm wouldn’t go off. It was literally the last thing you needed on top of how everything else was going tonight.

You threw the burnt steaks into the trash and filled the greasy, darkened pan with hot water for it to soak in the sink. Scrubbing that was just gonna be the perfect ending, you thought as you ran your hands down your face in frustration.

You scourged through your pantry, praying you had something to replace the meal as quick as possible when you heard the front door open and shut. You stood at the pantry, staring angrily at your dry goods. You felt a presence creep up behind you and your eyes began to water. You didn’t want to turn around.

"Doll?" Bucky muttered, confusion evident in his voice.

"Hi, honey," You replied, trying to fight back any tears. "How was the mission?"

"Um, fine." He said. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

You sighed and closed the pantry door. You turned to face him, folding your arms around yourself in the process, trying to find some comfort. You couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed. A night you had been looking forward to seemed completely ridiculous now. You bit your lip, still trying to fight back the tears as best as you could but it was turning out to be useless.

Bucky’s eyes filled with concern when he saw the state you were in. He reached out and caressed your cheek. The metal of his hand contrasted pleasantly with your warmth. It was a familiar comfort you leaned into. He fully welcomed you in and wrapped his arms firmly around your shoulders. You buried your face into his chest as you wept.

Bucky was silent as you let your emotions finally run through you. He learned that was the best way for you to eventually calm down so he never seemed to mind just holding you when you were upset — so long as it made you feel better.

When you seemed to be slightly settling down, he broke the silence. "Can you tell me what’s wrong?"

You pulled yourself out of his grasp and let your eyes meet his. "I ruined date night."

Your fiancé’s expression morphed into shock. Without saying anything, you knew he completely forgot about the date night. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset.

"Date night… Oh, crap, I..."

"Don’t even worry about it," You sighed and walked over to sit at the kitchen island. The area still reeked of burnt meat which just made you wish you were in bed and finished with the day.

"No, honey, I didn’t mean to I just got caught up-," Bucky fumbled over his words as he raced to follow you.

"Seriously, can we forget about it?" You pleaded as tears threatened to come back. "I ruined it all anyways."

Bucky sighed. "What do you mean?"

You sniffled as you averted your eyes to the counter top. You traced the marble pattern as you spoke, "I burnt the steaks. Like completely black, charcoal, killed-the-cow-again burnt. Then the mashed potatoes were too creamy and the salad turned out bitter, however the hell that can happen-,"

"Doll…" Bucky cut you off when he saw you begin to ramble. You looked up at him, actually thankful that he cut you off this one time. You could take a breath.

"I just wanted to make a nice meal for you. Like a real meal. Meat, potatoes, the whole nine-yards," you explained. "But I couldn’t do it. I couldn't do something so simple. Are you sure you wanna marry me?"

He let out a low laugh at your question. "Honey, I’d still wanna marry you even if the only thing you could make was cereal."

You sniffled but managed a smile, feeling a bit better at his stance on the situation. He didn't appear to be upset and you were so grateful for that.

"Look," Bucky began, "how about we reschedule date night? I’ll mark it on every calendar and we’ll cook together, okay? Does that sound better? It'll be a real date."

Your heart warmed at the suggestion. You reached out and took his hands in yours. He gladly accepted the gesture as his eyes wandered over you, looking for some sign of approval.

"That sounds perfect," you replied, your voice getting caught in your throat. Tears were making a comeback but this time, it was happy crying. Your whole body warmed with love for your fiancé and you couldn’t get enough.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel fic #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #mcu fic #writing*

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blues824 · 2 years ago

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aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa do you watch vtubers? i saw the requests were open and was gonna request housewardens with a reader like vox akuma but i was hesitant because i didn't know if you watched vtubers or not. twst and nijisanji(en) are my big hyperfixations rn and I put vox's streams on in the background while im playing. (you don't need to watch vox's streams to get his persona down if you wanna do this request actually. watching 'the vox akuma experience' on youtube would be enough ;-;)

I do watch VTubers! Ninomae ina’nis was the first one I’ve watched since I had a request a while back, and that brought me into the world of Vtubers. Gender-neutral reader.

Riddle Rosehearts

When he heard that you were a voice demon, he thought you were something akin to a siren, but in demon form. He appreciated how you dressed very formally, and how you remained polite in all of your interactions.

Then you started getting comfortable with being in Twisted Wonderland. That’s when you busted out the lewd and crass jokes, the flirty comments, etc. and he was just so freaking flustered all of the time. You even once got close to his ear and said that his shoelace wasn’t tied in a very seductive manner just to mess with him.

He would’ve collared you by now if you weren’t a demon who could easily overpower him. You had battle experience that he has only read of, so you were nearly indestructible. You never took your amusement too far, though. After all, you didn’t want your beloved queen to get too angry.

You and Trey team up to make meals for Heartslabyul. Riddle tries to help you both (because he’s jealous whenever you two hang out by yourselves in the kitchen), and he’s not all that bad. You don’t play pranks on him like the Vice Housewarden. The Housewarden absolutely loves every type of food you make.

Leona Kingscholar

At first appearance, he thought you had a stick up your ass. I mean, you had a very formal way of speaking, plus you dressed in a suit every single day. However, he eventually found out that you were the exact opposite person he thought you were.

You both got to a point that you flirted with each other more than you just casually talked to each other. One thing that became apparent was that you both were very competitive in charm and seduction and would always try to make each other flustered.

He doesn’t mind the fact that you are a demon, as long as you don’t do anything that annoys him or disrupts the productivity of his dormitory. The chances of that happening are very slim because you’re usually napping with him.

He loves the dishes you cook for him, even if it contains vegetables. You somehow make the veggies taste so good that his mouth waters when he smells the food. You have essentially replaced Ruggie in the Savanaclaw kitchen with your awesome cooking.

Azul Ashengrotto

If you weren’t a voice demon, he would have tried to find a way to get you under a contract. Unfortunately, your magic was demonic and therefore not the type of magic that can be taken away like that. He also appreciated how you dressed formally no matter the occasion.

When you started bringing out the flirting and the lewd jokes, he was more flustered than he has ever been in his whole entire life. He couldn’t even imagine returning the behavior since he stuttered trying to talk to you in general.

He also doesn’t mind that you are a demon. In fact, with your permission, he uses it as a threat to other customers who don’t comply with the rules of the Lounge. It tends to scare off unwanted people, and helps profit stay stable.

Azul asked if you wanted to try cooking for the Mostro Lounge because your food was really good and could probably sell. You made gourmet food, which is much different than they originally had on their menu. So, your cooking went on a secret menu.

Kalim Al-Asim

He wasn’t wary of you at all. He thought your clothes were interesting because surely you must get hot in that suit. Then he grew worried whenever you visited Scarabia since it was always hot in the desert that was the dorm.

He absolutely had no idea what you were saying or trying to do when you were trying to flirt with him until Jamil explained it to him. That is when his face just goes completely red and he feels so dumb. He mentally beats himself up for not getting what you said at the moment you said it.

This continues and he is just so flustered all the freaking time. You were just flirting with him over and over. He eventually uses his innocent charm to compliment you and ‘flirt’ with you in return, but he always fails to make you blush.

He wishes he could eat your food, but he doesn’t know if it is poisoned or not. So, you offer to have Jamil watch you cook so that everyone is sure you didn’t sneak anything into the meal. He is so happy, and when his Vice Housewarden gives the ‘ok’, he digs in and is in love with all the different flavors.

Vil Schoenheit

He almost squealed in excitement when he saw how good you looked. You knew how to dress very well, you did your makeup well to accentuate your features, you were basically his dream significant other. He praised any higher being above that you walked into his life.

You both tend to flirt with each other since it proves to boost self-esteem. Everyone besides Rook gag at how lovey dovey you are. The hunter volunteers to be the flower girl at your wedding (reminds me of when Hercules Mulligan was the flower girl at Hamilton’s wedding, iykyk).

He also doesn’t mind that you are a demon. It wasn’t like you would go ballistic and slay everyone out of nowhere, so he was relaxed around you. You often play as his voice of reason with all the wisdom you’ve accumulated over the years.

You both work to promote healthier eating, and you try to cook for the dorm and have a few of the Pomefiore members help out. You refuse to cook fish since you don’t like the smell or taste, you just incorporate more of other foods to replace it and Vil is okay with it. He can tell that the entire dorm is just a bit healthier as well.

Idia Shroud

He most definitely squealed because you looked and acted like his favorite VTuber Koe Daemonium. Mans worshiped you. He considered himself as one of your kindred, and when you told him that he was your lover after a while, he nearly died of joy.

Idia gets nose-bleeds whenever you act more seductive or lewd. Ortho always thinks that he’s having a brain aneurysm and tries to perform medical aid only for you to tell him that he was just a tad flustered.

He also doesn’t mind that you are a demon, what he’s worried about is you taking a liking to someone else and leaving him for them. He is insecure and shy, so he wouldn’t be very surprised if you picked someone over him, and this worries you. So you make a vow to him to always make him feel loved.

One way you do that is you make him food, and good food at that. You were aware that he didn’t get adequate enough nutrients in his diet, so you fixed that problem for him. Idia reported feeling better than he had in a long time, and you were glad that you could be a part of the process.

Malleus Draconia

Oh, goodness. We have a demon and a dragon; in my mind, they are both very possessive creatures, and it shows with you and Malleus. You like to make sure that you both will be safe when one of you is going somewhere without the other.

He doesn’t understand what you are trying to do when you flirt or say something lewd to him, so Lilia kind of has to act as a translator. Of course, he tries his best not to get flustered when he finally understands what you were trying to say. Instead, he reciprocates your affection.

Lilia absolutely adores having chats with you. You both have past battle experience, you enjoy gaming, and you both dress well. Silver likes hanging out with you and sparring against you. Sebek absolutely despises you, and it’s mostly because you are a demon and therefore “aren’t a good example for Waka-sama”. You didn’t care, though.

Everyone became grateful for you when you took over cooking, saying that Lilia deserved a break. The old fae didn’t mind being treated by his future child-in-law, and the food you made was heavenly (get it?). Malleus makes a big deal, saying how the future co-ruler of the Briar Valley shouldn’t have to cook for anybody, but you laugh it off and say that it’s fine.

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fruitalike · 14 days ago

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OBVIOUSLY || Trans Elliott x Male Reader

RATING: Explicit, 18+ obviously

PARING: TRANS Elliott x Male Reader

TAGS: TRANS ELLIOTT, as always, you're married, 2nd person, oral/p.i.v. sex, multiple orgasms/positions, pwp, maybe mirror sex, spit as lube/spit kink a little bit..., HHHHAFU (House Husbands Have Heart Aprons Fanfic Universe)

WORDS: 3476

SUMMARY:

“How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still. “How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring. “Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.”

READ ON AO3

OR...

(genital words: cock/head/tip, chest/nipples, lips/cunt/walls/g-spot)

You arrive home at your expected time, but your husband greets you as you walk up the front steps regardless. He opens the door as you make it onto the porch. “It’s not done,” he says, he’s flustered—you’re not sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed or because he’s been rushing, maybe both. “I… I just need, like, fi- ten minutes. Ten minutes and you can come in. It won’t be done but you can come in.”

You can tell by the look on his face that you should probably hold in the chuckle you feel in your throat. Elliott is a bit of a mess, more comfortable clothes replace his usual formal attire, his hair is all over his face, and his eyebrows are a bit furrowed, and he’s red in the face. Any desire you have to laugh is solely based on how cute he looks; but you refrain anyways. “I’ll just wait out here. You let me know when you’re ready for me to come in, okay?”

Elliott breathes a sigh of relief. “I swear it won’t take long,” he says, though even he doesn’t seem convinced, “it’s just- I lost track of time, and… y’know. It’ll be fine.” You go to reassure him, but he just repeats himself, “It’ll be fine,” he whips around and slinks back into the house. Though you’re sure that you can hear him repeat it to himself again as he closes the door.

Once you’re sure he’s too far inside the house to hear you, you do finally chuckle to yourself. He’s just too sweet. Taking a seat on the swinging bench on the front porch, you resign yourself to waiting indefinitely for whatever Elliott had planned. It seemed like he was cooking something, judging by the heart apron he wore, and the various foodstuffs all over it. You rub your eyes as the fall breeze relaxes you. You could use a nice, home cooked meal.

You’re awoken from your near slumber as Elliott opens the front door again. He smiles at you and beckons you inside. It takes you a second to gather yourself enough to follow him in, but once you do, it’s obvious he’s cooking something. “Don’t look too hard at the oven.”

“How about I just go take a shower?” Again, he seems relieved by your offer. Elliott kisses you as you head for the bathroom.

Given the state of the kitchen, you figure you can take your time in the shower. You try not to spend too much time thinking about what Elliott’s cooking for you. Of course, you do wonder. But you try to put it out of your mind. The water is almost viciously hot, but that’s what it takes to soothe you at this point. Your skin grows tender as you scrub all of the farm’s grime down the drain. It doesn’t bother you, though. Better to actually feel clean. You make sure to put on plenty of lotion afterwards, anyways.

You lose track of time in the shower, but years on the farm have made you painfully efficient regardless—it’s barely been half an hour by the time you’ve finished. You still head for the kitchen once you’ve dried off and put clean clothes on. Evidently, half an hour was all that Elliott needed to get the kitchen back under control. He was too considerate to run any water while you were showering, but all of the dirty dishes are stacked neatly in the sink. The counter tops are wiped clean of any of the detritus that had accumulated there as he cooked. More importantly, he seemed much calmer: he’s no longer flushed, or as disheveled (you hesitate to even refer to him that way—Elliott was always far too formal to find himself truly disheveled, well, unless… you know) as he had been before. He comes to your side the moment you enter the kitchen. He wraps his arms around your neck and kisses your cheek multiple times. “No peaking,” he says, playfully turning you away from the kitchen with his hold on you.

“I wasn’t even looking!” There’s just enough playful exasperation in your tone that Elliott laughs a little; even as you can’t help but try to smell what’s cooking in the air. Only now do you notice that he’s opened the windows—clearly trying to keep the aroma from what ever it is he’s cooking from building up in the room, what a tease.

He releases you from his grasp and you sit at the island in the kitchen. Your eyes naturally follow him as he walks in front of you, standing between the counter you rest at and the oven, shielding whatever he was cooking from your prying eyes. “Can I get you something to drink?” He asks, trying to make his appearance in front of you seem a little more natural, as wiping down the already clean counter tops didn’t quite justify it.

“Sure,” you say. You’re not particularly thirsty. You just like watching Elliott squirm, nervously wiping his hands on his heart adorned apron as he prepares a glass of hot apple cider for you. A pot of it was already on the stove, surely another one of his tricks to distract from whatever he has in the oven.

He brings it to you, coming around the side of the kitchen island, mug in hand. Elliott sits up on the counter as you drink your cider, ever the distraction. You were wrong before—you definitely needed this cider. The warmth soothes you more than a shower ever could. Perhaps your husband knows you a little too well. He reaches for your hand and you intertwine your fingers. You pull on his hand and he scoots across the counter so that he’s in front of you. He carefully spreads his legs so that sitting in front of you is easier for him. You’re sure that that’s all there is to it.

Both of Elliott’s distractingly long legs dangle to either side of you. You gingerly place your mug between his legs, looking up at him. The warmth from the cup radiates between his legs, you can tell by how red his face continues to get as your mug rests between his thighs.

Finding yourself parched, you reach for your cider again with your free hand. Of course your other hand is still delicately intertwined with your husbands. You choose to ignore the embarrassed glances that Elliott shoots your way. His face reddens still as you continue to sip your delicious drink so thoughtfully prepared for you by your loving husband, who shifts restlessly on the counter as you make a show of ignoring him.

There’s a twitching in the front of his pants, and Elliott squeezes his thighs together, seizing the opportunity to do so while you still have your mug in hand. He carefully places his feet between your thighs, his own legs pressed together in a slight embarrassment. It’s obvious that his feet don’t really have anywhere else to go (as long as keeping them off of the counter was a priority), but you can’t help but see it as yet another distraction.

You finally release Elliott’s hand to place it on his left foot where it meets his ankle—acknowledging his distraction as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. He turns away from you, to look at the oven, of course. You trace your fingers up and down the back of his ankle, smirking to yourself as you feel him get chills. “How much longer?” You ask, and Elliott whips his head back around to face you, face even redder still.

“How much longer for what?” He’s flustered again; but it’s different now than it was when you’d first come home. You watch him chew his lip nervously, but he stops when he notices you’re staring.

“Until the food gets out of the oven,” you say, your eyes still on his lips until you see them quiver, then you look up into his eyes instead, tilting your head just enough, “obviously.” His breath hitches on your slightly snarky tone. He turns away from your gaze and wets his lips trying to find something to say; he’s already so caught up in you.

“Not long.” Is all he can manage. You’ve finished your drink, so you set your mug on the counter top. The light clatter startles Elliott. “Really?” You ask, calling him on his bluff. You’re tracing your thumb up and down the top of his foot as you speak; the rest of your fingers still, now.

He squirms. “I’m… not giving specifics,” he hesitates, “obviously.” Elliott seems proud that he’s turned your snark back on you but all you do is smirk; and move your hand up to his calf. “Is there time for anything?”

“… Like what?” He asks, as if he hadn’t just squeezed his thighs together. You move your hand further up his calf. “You know.”

“Maybe… it’d have to be quick.”

“Can you be quick?” He huffs but spreads his legs just enough to slide down into your lap, you kiss him immediately; he reciprocates desperately. “Yes.” He says quietly after you’d pulled away. You can tell by the way he’s trembling he’s telling the truth. He’s always so excitable.

You can only kiss him so long before you begin to really question the integrity of the bar stool you’re sitting on; the metal creaking with every sudden movement. You stand and usher Elliott back up onto the counter top. He pulls you to him and you grind against him. You can feel how eager he is through his sweatpants.

Kissing him again, you’re able to slide his sweats and underwear down with ease. You elect to still leave them on, just in case he needs to quickly slip away to cater to whatever he’s cooking. Of course, you hope that he won’t need to; that he’ll be at your mercy until you’re done with him.

You ease him onto his back and crouch between his legs, too weary of the bar stool to use it. Some of your limited time obviously goes to kissing and delicately nipping at Elliott’s inner thighs, much to his chagrin. He whines as you tease him. “Please,” he begs, your kisses inching closer and closer, teasing out more and more of his desperation, “just… please.”

Your tongue slips between his lips with practiced brevity; tracing right up to where his cock aches for your attention. You kiss around it a little at first, just enough to tease him a little more before you allow yourself to fully give into your carnal desires. Elliott gasps as you finally lick him. His hips try to buck up into your mouth, chasing the friction you expertly provide.

You pin Elliott’s legs to the counter top: leaning forward you rest an arm on the back of each of his thighs; using one hand to hold him by the ankles and keeping his feet in the air; the other rests on his pubic mound, and you use your thumb to pull him taught. His little cock is even more exposed to you now, his tip peeking out of his foreskin. He whimpers as you focus the tip of your tongue on his head.

Soon, even you have grown tired of your merciless teasing. “Behave.” You warn before taking Elliott into your mouth completely. You can feel the muscles in his legs flex—desperately trying to keep himself still. He cries out for you as you suckle his tiny cock, letting your teeth graze his head.

Motion in your periphery causes you to look to your right. You can’t help but notice both your and Elliott’s reflection in the screen of the television in the living room. Obviously, you’re awkwardly half-way crouched between his legs, but Elliott’s the main event. He’s sprawled out on the kitchen island, his lower back flush with the bar top, beloved husband folding him in half. His shoulders make contact with the lower part of the counter and his hair billows all over it. You make a mental note that his head is hanging off the edge of the counter top. Occasionally you can hear his nails scratch against the underside of the bar as you continue to suck him off, but his other hand shamelessly gropes at his own chest through his heart apron. You don’t need to consult his reflection to know that he’s teasing his own nipples, you can feel it in the way his cock twitches in your mouth.

Elliott won’t last much longer like this, so you pick up the pace a little. You swirl your tongue and bob your head a little faster, and make quick work of your beloved husband. He’s crying out for you and cumming on your face within seconds. His thighs tremble as you continue to tease his aching cock, and you can feel your own cock twitch in your pants. You need to be inside on him.

You kiss him a few times before pulling yourself off of him. Standing back up straight makes your back crack, so you take a second to stretch it out. Once you’ve gotten comfortable again you let your hard cock rest against his ass. “You want it?” You ask, and Elliott seems to shift a little, checking the oven, again, undoubtedly.

“Please,” he begs, again, “fuck me.” As much as you’d love to hear it, he doesn’t have to beg you twice. You shove your own pants and underwear down to around your knees and let your cock out. You spit on your cock out of habit, but Elliott hardly needs it. You rub your spit up and down your cock as you watch him quiver; if he hadn’t been wet enough for you after his orgasm, he would be now. He whimpers when you rub your cock up against his. He stops holding onto the counter to reach down and jerk your cock a couple of times, you thrust into his hand. “Put it in… put it in.”

You oblige, angling your cock with Elliott’s cunt, but letting him push your tip in since he was so eager. He hisses at the feeling, and you can’t help but snicker a bit as you slowly thrust in. He always wants more than he can take. But it doesn’t take long for him to get used to you, especially as he continues to masturbate openly—still rubbing his nipples and jerking himself off, too.

He only stops when you thrust into him a little harder, causing him to lurch forward and grab onto the counter top between his legs to stabilize himself. You hold onto him a little firmer and trace your thumbs across his sides. “I’ve got you,” you say, leaning forward a little and spitting on his cock, “you can touch yourself as much as you want.”

Elliott whimpers at your taunting tone, but follows through nonetheless, rubbing his little cock in time with your thrusts. You’re careful with how hard you’re fucking him, not wanting to concuss him as his head continued to hang off the lower counter top. But, you’re still picking up the pace. You only have a little while longer to fuck him until dinner’s ready, after all.

Carefully, you fuck him faster still, Elliott hanging on your every movement. As much as you’d love to, you don’t even have to fuck him particularly hard to have his cunt desperately squeezing you with every thrust. Perhaps you know your husband a little too well. You tighten your grip on his sides when you feel his muscles start to tense, and you position your thrusts towards the angle you know he likes the most.

He doesn’t last much longer. His toes curl and you feel compelled to watch him in the reflection of the television again. He cries out for you as he struggles through his orgasm, jerking himself rapidly even as he tries to control his own movements carefully, still in such a precarious position. You keep a slower, gentle pace to ease him through his orgasm, holding onto him for reassurance; your own end far ahead.

Once he’s come down a bit, you pull out and he sits up on the counter. Elliott kisses you sloppily, wrapping his arms around your neck. All care for any mess on the kitchen counter long gone. He’s leaning into you and running his fingers through your hair; swaying ever so slightly, you imagine it’s from all the blood rushing back down from his head. He pulls away from the kiss and just looks at you, excess desperation in his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “Is there time for just a little more?”

His fingers stop moving in your hair and just hang there instead. He gives a meek nod. “…Maybe.” He says, as if to hide his own desire.

Once more you usher him, this time down from the counter top. He kisses you again but you pull away, kissing his cheek and then his neck. He moans for you, overstimulated but still desperate for more. You have him by his biceps, so it’s easy for you to turn him around and press his chest to the counter top. He whines softly as you rub your cock up against his cunt.

Elliott’s leaned over the bar part of the kitchen island, his fingers naturally wrapping around the edge of the counter, holding himself still. You gather his hair up in one hand, wrapping it around itself for a better hold. “Just keep an eye on it for me, okay? I’d hate for all your hard work to go to waste.” He only whimpers in response, so you tug on his hair. “Okay?”

“I will, I will, just… please.” He’s looking back at you, moving hips trying to push your cock back inside of him. You oblige, pounding into him rather harshly. Elliott lurches forward and cries out for you in the best way. He squeezes down on you when your balls smack against his cock, you can feel it twitch, too.

You’ll never get used to how sensitive he is inside once you’re in the second round. His walls can’t help but quiver around you with every thrust. He’s in a better position now, so you can thrust into him as hard and as fast as you both would like. Elliott continuously begs you for more, and you can only provide.

His thighs quiver with every thrust, and the island itself seems to creak a little when you really pound into him. You ignore it. You can’t possibly pay any mind to something as unimportant as the structural integrity of your home when your husband is crying out for you like this. You’re ratcheting up the pressure, constantly aiming for and pounding into his g-spot. All Elliott can do is punctuate every thrust with a cry of “please, please, please!”

He’s barely coherent. But you can feel his orgasm drawing closer and closer—the way he’s bearing down on you makes it hard for you to keep a steady pace. Your grip tightens on him again as you feel your orgasm building as well. You pull on his hair again, and you swear you can hear his fingernails scrapping against the underside of the counter top.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There’s something so special about shredding Elliott’s eloquence with your cock—it makes your toes curl. You keep the same hold on his hair as you feel him tense up all over. “I’m going—fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

His cunt squeezes you hard and you feel him gush with his orgasm, coating you and trickling down your bare thighs. You’re not far behind him, careful not to tug on his hair anymore than you already had, lest you begin to rip out his delicate mane. Thrusting as hard and as fast and as deep as you can manage, you release deep into your husband; crying out for him just as he had for you. There’s no discernible rhythm to the last of your thrusts, all that’s left is your desperation.

You pull him up from the counter, your cock still inside of him even as you begin to soften. Your hips still pistoning slightly as you pull his back to your chest; hands roaming him all over to soothe the both of you. His chest heaving still, he reaches for your hand.

You intertwine you fingers again, just as you had before. “Elliott…” you drag out his name dramatically, tracing his jawline with the pointer finger on your free hand, “how much longer do we have to wait for the food?”

Elliott glances at the oven. “Just a little longer,” he says, “obviously.”

#sdv fanfic #sdv smut #stardew valley fanfic #sdv #stardew valley #sdv elliott #sdv elliott smut #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #stardew valley smut #stardew valley elliott #stardew valley elliott smut #elliott x reader #elliott x farmer #elliott x male reader #elliott x male farmer #havent heard from me in 7 months and drop a fic out of nowhere!#would you believe there was a second where i genuinely considered kinktober again...... theres something wrong with me #i havent even LOOKED at ANY prompts lmao #NEVER AGAIN NEVER AGAIN NEVER AGAIN...... just thinking about it as a joke just gave me a migraine....#anyways maybe i'll do something for halloween???? whos to say..#ok love you bye #hhhhafu #house husbands have heart aprons fanfic universe #.....having to put those *after* my little melt down..... hmm doesnt feel good.#FUCK I DIDNT EVEN PUT THEM ON THE FIRST ONE #whatever...............

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wrencatte · 3 months ago

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mini fic 10! Fallen Order - Pre Dathomir - Cal & Greez Greez decides Cal needs to learn how to cook. Cal POV - 1.1k ao3 minific link - chapter 9 (hearing)

Awake earlier than he rightly should be considering the bantha shit he dealt with yesterday, Cal shuffles out of the engine room still drowsy, hair sticking up to really show how not ready he is for the day. BD-1 nearly trips him on his wobbly way to the caf maker, the droid pattering over to Cere to tell her about something or other. Cal’s not really listening, focused solely on the near future that has sweet hot caf in his system. He’s thwarted not even halfway there by Greez shoving his hand in front of him. Cal screeches to a halt and stares at the object in the latero’s palm.

“That’s an egg,” Cal says slowly.

Uncooked he knows because it’s speckly blue now, but the shell turns grey-ish when boiled. Why Greez is showing him an uncooked qiqirn egg, he has no idea, and he doesn’t really care because it’s not caf. Please, sweet caffeine, you are needed.

Greez rolls his eyes. “Take it, longbean. You’re helping with breakfast.”

“I am?” Cal looks longingly at the caf maker. It’s mostly filled which means it’s fresh and hot and he doesn’t have to wait. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Too bad.”

Greez lets go of the egg without as much as a by your leave, causing Cal to scramble before it gets scrambled – and he’ll have to be the one who cleans it up. He cradles it carefully, still thoroughly confused as to how he ended up in this situation. He doesn’t remember ever hinting that he wanted to learn. And he knows for a fact Greez never brought up the idea before now.

Cere sips her own caf nonchalantly, focused on her datapad and whatever research she’s deep diving into this time with BD leaning over her arm to read along. Cal narrows his eyes. She looks pretty absorbed so that focus could be real, sure. Cal almost believes it. Almost. There’s a hum in the Force, one of amusement, that gives her up too quickly. The fact he notices it means she’s not trying very hard.

Case in point – Cere’s eyes flicker up to meet his, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Cere should help too,” Cal decides. Her grin widens.

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m only allowed to touch the caf maker,” she says.

“I had to replace my counter tops because of her. She is in no way allowed to help in my galley. Forget it.”

Cere raises her mug in acknowledgement.

“Maybe she should learn?” Cal tries.

Greez sighs – unnecessarily loud in Cal’s opinion. “Get over here.”

He throws one last longing glance at the caf maker before shuffling over. “I know how to cook,” he mumbles as he tries to hand the egg over. At Greez’s doubting expression he slumps, face growing warm, and clumsily cracks the egg into a little bowl. “I can boil water. That’s the first step, right?”

“Sure, yeah. And I bet it served you well in the hellhole that is Bracca, plenty of fresh water that’s not gonna destroy your sensitive human stomach, right?” Cal grimaces. “I thought so. Boiling can only get you so far. You’re gonna learn how to cook and I’m gonna teach ya.”

The eggshell, including the bits he may or may not have accidentally added to the bowl, get traded for a knife and a cutting board of greens. Cal angles the knife, at least chopping is something he can do. Greez clears his throat. He angles it another way. Greez lightly knocks his wrist to bump it to the right spot. Ah, okay, he remembers seeing him cut them this way before. Cal gets to chopping. The echo on the knife prickles pleasantly under his palm. A savory sort of happiness that he feels on a lot of Greez’s cooking equipment. He lets it guide him into cutting Thavnaririan onions and Shaaloani peppers.

He doesn’t rely on them though. If Greez wants to teach him how to cook, he’ll let Greez teach him how to cook.

Cal can’t help but wonder. Without looking, he asks, “Why do I need to learn when I have you?”

They’ve only been a crew for a few months, sure. He’s still relearning how to be a person who trusts, who is a Jedi, who may actually be worth something. But Cal can’t imagine not heaving Greez’s food waiting for him when he wakes up, when he comes back after a hard day of feeling like he’s made zero progress on their quest for the holocron. He even gets snacks and a packed meal shoved into his arms when he’s heading out.

He shouldn’t be so used to it now. Shouldn’t be looking forward to the happy echoes every time he’s in the galley.

The ones that make every meal even better because love and care and joy are etched into every plate and bowl and utensil. It’s something he’s missed. The Temple’s kitchens were overflowing with the care the cooks put into their craft, the determined happiness of Initiates learning their ways around the workspace, the joy of the people who partook in the meals so lovingly made. It was hard to get that in a war. Even harder on Bracca.

A hand rests on his forearm and Cal realizes he stopped chopping; the vegetables are a little blurry. Greez carefully takes the knife from him and sets it to the side. He doesn’t press his hands to his eyes, he at least has that brain capacity, but he tucks his face into his elbow for a second, his exhale a little shuddery.

No one says anything while Cal takes a second to compose himself, and he is so very grateful for it. Crying over cooking. Wow. Not even cooking, just chopping vegetables and remembering.

When Cal’s breaths finally settle and he drops his arm, face flushed in embarrassment, Greez silently hands him the knife again. He finishes up the peppers, focusing a little more than he needs to.

“Cooking with someone makes the food taste better,” Greez says eventually when the first omelet is sizzling. Only Cal’s will have the Shaaloani peppers, both Cere and Greez find them too spicy. Cal hums, keeps his eyes on the browning edges. He should flip it. “It’s always good to know how to cook, but really, it’s for me. Cere is hopeless and I miss having a cooking partner.”

“I’m not against it,” Cal tells him softly. He flips the omelet. It’s a little browner than it should be. Overcooked, maybe, but it’s still edible, right? Greez doesn’t say anything about it. “It’d be nice to know how to make something other than heated grainmush.”

Greez shudders. “Gods, never mention that tasteless gruel in my galley. Is that what you ate on Bracca?”

“Among other worse things.”

“I’m going to teach you so many dishes you’ll forget that one was ever an option, got it?”

Cal smiles as Cere slides a cup of caf over now that the more finicky bits of prepping are completed. “Got it.”

#cal kestis #greez dritus #jedi fallen order #gestalt jfo #my writing #not beta'd

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months ago

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Our Umbra of Life

Chapter One of Fire and Fury Series

Pero Tovar x Calista (fat/plus size OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Word Count: 2784

Summary: We meet our mercenary and dragon, both on their last legs. How will they survive? What is the cost?

Warnings: References to death, graphic descriptions of injuries, arguing, Sassy Pero, trying out enemies to lovers trope (long way off everyone), a little Spanish?, colors, time period misogyny

Notes: I wanted to try writing a fantasy Pedro character fic and figured Pero was the perfect man for the job! Thanks so much to @tinytinymenace @604to647 @fhatbhabiee and @megamindsecretlair for beta reading my first chapter for me. ☺️

Let me know what you all think! 🤭

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Two flickering flames

I share the same sense of urgency and finality that the creature does. Can I find it in time? Do I even know how to fuse two spirits together? Are we even compatible? I may still die despite trying. But I must do something, my soft carmine glow is being replaced with pallor. That arrogant libertine believes me dead, yet I’m only two steps away from it. The smoldering one, reeks of that colorless creatin - devoid of even the kindness to kill the thing outright. He left it to suffer the same as me. It is human. No matter, it is injured, and I will need to bargain with it to keep the eternal night at bay. It will claim my soft green and slate access to the heavens, maybe I can reclaim it after this ordeal, I have lived through worse. From the human’s anguish, conviction can bloom in revenge. I may yet become we.

This means there’s still hope.

Mierda (shit)! I survived a war, countless battles, fell hundreds and men and this…being killed by a fucking dragon and now knowing that the damn things are real?! This is bullshit! What other life was I supposed to live? A sword has been in my hand since I was five years old. The coin I’ve earned, the scars my body bears, the small group of villages I finally feel welcome in. I’ll lose everything. To hell with it! I can smell my flesh cooking in my armor. That white dragon’s flames aren’t extinguishing, I still feel my insides burning. This forest’s greenery is all the same except…dammit my vision is starting to wane…water. I hear the rush of water. If I can get there and submerge myself in its healing embrace, I may be able to make it back.

Everything will not be in vain, I will live.

Iron, burnt flesh, leather and…desperation.

Two souls are on the brink of death. When they meet, is it just for survival? Can differences be bridged upon a common goal?

We wonder if they may collapse from the strain on the essence of one’s core. A soul is meant to only be tethered to a body, not stretched across two and mingled with another.

The Fall

Animals scurry away from the clear waters of the rushing river. They know that stench and it hangs in the air, growing nearer. An unknown’s demise is happening now.

The lush emerald grass crunches under his heavy boots. With each step he becomes more encumbered, dripping fresh crimson down his armor coating the green with the dark red liquid. Pero Tovar is dying. Alone. His trusted friend William is nowhere to be seen, nor is his horse for that matter. Maybe he should have given the damn thing a name. It’s not important right now. He’s within ten feet of the water’s edge. If he can just jump in, the burning to his chest and stomach will cease. It has to. He didn’t force himself from beneath the shadow of the rock that bore scorch marks from that bastard dragon’s white-hot breath just to fall short of his goal. Tovar had lived a violent life, one that began young and grew increasingly dangerous as he aged. He’s not a young man anymore. He should have been retired at this point, in his mid-forties. It’s ancient for a mercenary. A small plot of land with a house that he planned on fixing up himself waited for him. Beckoned him back to make it into a modest home. Tovar might even be able to find someone to share it with. He would need to be alive for either of these things.

With heavy eyes stained with scarlet Pero creeps toward the water, extending his sword arm. The echo from his body’s thud two feet away from the river makes him groan. He’s so close, yet, he has not the strength to pull himself forward. Tovar’s left arm remains under him, limp and burnt as he had tried to block the flames with his non-dominant hand. It was in vain. Strangely his armor only had some light burns, it was his skin that broiled underneath his supposed protection. It now caged in the heat and Pero needed both hands to remove its pieces.

��Human. Can you hear me?” It’s a soft soothing voice. Pero knows it’s either a ploy for a demon to have him sell his soul or Death mocking him for not stopping at the brothel before taking this extermination job in this village. “Human. There shall be no eternal rest for you yet. I have need of you.” He’s needed? Bah, the voice is lying. He failed to report back that the monsters are dead so what good is he now? Someone else can easily take credit, maybe William. No, he’ll come looking for him. Might he run into the white dragon too? That dumbass would and he’ll die too. Hopefully quick, not agonizingly slow like this.

Darkness is beginning to take him as is the cold. Pero cannot feel his limbs nor tell if he’s moving them. “Hmmpf, you care nothing of your life? Just to let it slip away like this. You appeared to be a warrior of some sort. Do all human warriors lay on their belly and wait for their final breath? Such a pity.” This voice, such torture before death to be mocked like this, couldn’t he have died in battle?

“I’m already in hell only hearing this voice before I die. Goddammit.” The mercenary laments.

“Are all humans fools like this? Why will you not heed my words? I am not trying to reach you for simple vexation.”

“Stop with your flowery words then. Say what you actually need. I’m not going to listen to you the entire time before I leave this earth.”

“Such arrogance from a lesser being. Had I had any other option, but I do not. I can keep you alive long enough to complete the process. It will be painful, the combining of essences. But we will both hold fast to our mortal coil yet and seek our shared purpose of revenge.”

“What do you know about my need for vengeance? Silly voice. If it means I can live, then I can find you and shut you up in addition to killing that fucking white dragon. I’ve done worse than ‘combining essence’ in my life. Whatever the hell that is. I’ll agree. I need to see, move and fight. I will not succumb without another chance at battle.”

“Counting on your need for spilling its blood was the right call. You’ll feel me enter you. Do not resist me. I shall call your name. What are you called?”

“Pero Tovar. Make it quick. There’s a bright light. I’m trying to avoid it, but it’s getting closer.”

“Do not rush me. It is my first time attempting this. Pero Tovar.”

“Just my damn luck, an amateur silly voice.”

“Call me Calista you weak mortal. I shall not suffer being called names. Once you are revived, I will teach you who is more powerful, Pero Tovar.”

“Call me Pero, silly voice Calista. Do you not know what last names are?”

“I think I shall make it hurt more just for you Pero.”

“That’s provided you can revive me and not mess up whatever essence you mentioned. You best not kill me Calista. I’ll find your idiotic voice in the afterlife and stab the throat that creates it.”

“Big talk for a mostly dead human Pero. Enough. I will begin.”

Tovar felt pressure, his entire being is forced down into the ground. He is still in the shadows and cannot see. A presence is near, that much he can tell. He notices that the aching burns from before no longer bother him, they’ve been replaced by throbbing bubbles that are pushing against whatever is pushing him down. His body feels like it’s contorting, and he screams, cursing and agreeing with some faceless voice in his final hours. Pero figured with this much pain, he could have been torn in half and not know yet. “I’m being made into a filthy demon’s plaything! Fuck!” The scar on his left eye begins to simmer, tingling before growing, setting itself ablaze. His fingers touch his face, he doesn’t feel anything causing the pain in his scar. That same voice asked how he felt with glee, this asshole was enjoying his pain. “You bastard! Kill me or revive me but hurry it the hell up!” The bubbles tingled in the shape of a hand; it was pulling at something in Pero’ chest. It didn’t feel like an organ but something even more critical.

It’s wrong that it’s being touched and bent. Kneaded with something foreign. A wave of rage and disgust washed over his body briefly before he was able to regain control of himself.

A Fighter’s Rise

His body becomes still. He isn’t sure when, but now he’s on his back and wrenching to vomit. Sitting up, Pero dry heaves before coughing. Wait.

The mercenary is sitting. The wind is on his face. He no longer smells his burnt flesh. Dull aches from head to toe, but his legs and feet are attached to him and so are his arms. The rippling waters tickle his ears as he takes in the sights. He can see everything. Out of both eyes. “Dios mio (My God)!” The gruff mercenary exclaims, slowly rising to his feet. He can stand and he doesn’t feel heavy, no pressure. “Qué pasó (what happened)?” The grass that he had been laying on is covered with different flowers. Some he could identify, others he had never seen. “Why are all of these here?”

The soldier of fortune was alive and that was the focus right now.

“I told you I could bring you back. It appears things went mostly as planned, simple Pero.” The same voice he’d been hearing ringing in his head was further away, but closing in on him. Drawing his sword, Tovar readied himself for battle.

“The flowers symbolize what has happened here. They all have their own meanings, though I doubt a brute such as yourself would appreciate their significance. Lower your weapon. Do not bite the hand that brought you back from the brink of death.” A rush of air is all that Pero’s eyes are able to capture before he’s flat on his back again, pinned by his arms with what looks to be a large woman standing on each forearm. His broadsword slices the ground next to his head, cutting a curl or two of his dark locks and drawing blood from his cheek.

Warm chestnut skin adorns her legs as a silver and mint green dress wraps her body. It’s lightweight and seemingly has no protective value. Underneath the dress he notes different shapes to her body, similar to a woman who is well nourished. Many places to hold and most appear soft. She looks to have thick thighs and legs as well, but her undergarments are smaller than what he’s seen human women wear. The skin of her thighs are completely exposed to him. Her shoulders are exposed and her fingernails are a deep crimson, almost as if they have been dipped in blood. Her eyes remind Pero of warm honey fresh from the comb with hair that calls upon the midnight hours. As she speaks, he watches her raspberry lips with shock and amusement, “Do you not see who is the greater of our pairing Pero? You will remain beneath me as the creature who is controlled by his desires.”

The mercenary grinned and licked his bottom lip, “I would say you are the one with base instincts you reptile. Pinning a man like this when speaking of desires only leads to one outcome. Whatever great being you’re supposed to be and not aware of what human men think of when a woman has her legs open in front of him.” Was he really interested? Mildly, he hadn’t been to the brothel for a warm cunt since before this latest job. Pero was trying to unnerve her since she was acting ‘mightier than thou.’ He hated those types, looking down on everyone. She is literally looking down at him though.

“You disgusting ingrate. You will not move me Pero.” Pressing the soles of her feet into his forearms, she squinted her eyes. “I am called Calista. You will show proper reverence to a dragon! Should count yourself blessed to even meet me, let alone be essence bonded with me.”

At this, his signature scowl is on his face, “I was nearly killed by a dragon and now I’m partnered with one! You damn crazy woman!” Calista drops her hips and uses her shins to continue to pin his arms. Leaning over Tovar, one hand is wrapped around his throat, her nails dug into his skin. Gripping a handful of his hair with her other hand, her breathing was beginning to quicken. The honey of her eyes became a deep jade and flames of the same color puffed out of her mouth with each exhale.

“Damn humans…degenerate, reprobate humans. That I have to lower myself to someone like you to survive…We will be together until our goal is met and Acanthus is dead - the white dragon. Be prepared lowly Pero. I shall use you until completion of my goal.”

Tovar ended up laughing at her words. He’s sure she’s serious, her claws are around his throat but the woman dragon or whatever she is, will make whatever journey this will be a funny one for sure. Huffing, Calista gets off of Pero and waits for him to stand before tossing his sword at him. The scratches on his throat heal and she clicks her tongue.

“We must discuss our predicament so you understand what I am doing for you and the both of us. Sit by the river you sought out. I will come to you shortly.”

Pero spat on the ground at her feet and nodded, claiming a seat on a large rock next to the river.

The Dragon’s Lament

Calista stood, peering up at the sky. She would miss it. She was grounded now, stuck in this human form with such a body. And tethered to this lewd and foul man. She needed to survive, but at what cost? “Great Elder Bahamut, what have I done to deserve this? Why did you only exile that vile serpent? They should have been burned to ash.” She looked at Pero’s wide back, his hair was dirty but soft and his voice was a dulcet tone that made the scales she had left vibrate.

Taking steps toward her new other half, Calista felt unfamiliar sensations. Pero made her stomach churn, she spat in the same manner he had, except blood came out with it. She wipes her mouth as her once booming voice has lightened. Still rich in its depth, but didn’t vibrate the very air. “Dammit. My wings, my voice. Does this mean my magic as well? Just to survive, just because I wanted to remain my own dragon.” The short walk toward Tovar appears endless to her, each step heavier than the next. “Weak, shifty human. Pero you must-“ Her voice cut off as she fell forward as the mercenary had in the same spot. Shivering in the resentment at how frail her body was now, Calista gasped. A boot was next to her head.

“Who is above who now, you haughty dragon? You look sick. I would be stuck with a half-dragon that can’t move.” Pero heard the thud and rose from his seat next to the water. The creature did appear to be posturing to cover for something. Now he knew, whatever she had done to keep them both alive had grave consequences for her. What did it mean for him?

“Vamos la arpía pequeña (Let’s go little dragon).” Pero slipped his arms underneath her body and turned her over. She may have been exceedingly prideful as a dragon - something to have pride in, but she was also beautiful, there were scales dotted along her skin that varied from silver to magenta. He lifted her and surveyed his area, they’d need shelter for the time being until she woke up or nightfall came. His eyes seemed sharper than they had been, he didn’t remember being able to see that far, spying a cave about three thousand feet away. “Maybe there might be something to this. Not telling her that though.”

Measured steps toward the cave gave Tovar ample time to think and consider next measures.

One who might pin Pero down…for reasons:

@tinytinymenace @604to647 @jessthebaker @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone

@rav3n-pascal22 @iamskyereads @sherala007 @morallyinept

@soft-girl-musings @readingiskeepingmegoing @bishtrouille @yorksgirl @inept-the-magnificent

@avastrasposts @perotovar @connectioneverywhere @alltheglitterandtheroar @all-the-things-2020

Chapter Two

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar x ofc #dragons #Fire and Fury #A Nerdie series

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cellythefloshie · 8 months ago

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;; Baggage Chapter Two of Cool for the Summer

Table of Contents Chapter One «« 🤍 »» Chapter Three

Summary: Andrei arrives in Winnipeg for what he intends to be a summer of training. That is until he finds himself distracted by the girl next door, Harper. TW: No triggers apply. Word Count: 4k+

This chapter to be read in conjecture with @hockeyboysimagines I Loved You Three Summers Chapter One.

Winnipeg, Manitoba, was one of seven Canadian cities that an NHL team called home. Many players formed their opinions about the city: it was too cold, the hotels and accommodations were often less than satisfactory, and the city was too boring with little to do outside hangout with your teammates in the hotel room or at dinner. And after only a few years in the NHL, Andrei knew that all to be true. The winters were cold. The waters at the hotel had run cold. If it hadn’t been for his brother playing for the Winnipeg Jets, there would have been nothing for him to do during their one-night stay during the regular season. But in the summer, Winnipeg seemed different.

The golden glow of a golden hour that he had seen as the place descended over acres of farmer’s fields that building by building became the small city still lingered as he loaded one back, and then the next into the trunk of the taxi that was waiting for them at the airport. Andrei followed Seth’s lead, climbing into the back of the cab and watching as the city evolved around him on their way to Seth’s childhood home on the opposite side of the city.

The airport became factories, factories became shopping centers and apartment buildings that grew in height until they were towering office buildings in the heart of downtown. Hiding between it was, was the arena he had played in, and then it was all left behind as they were driven to the communities on the south side of the city.

The houses there were stout, humble, and not quite new enough that one was a carbon copy of the next. Each house had character, with sprawling yards in the front, and Andrei was sure more in the back. It was the kind of neighborhood that kids played street hockey in, and mothers grouped together in walking groups with their dogs and babies before going back to the porches for a glass of wine while husbands cooked on the barbeque. The thought made him smile, even if just a little. It wasn’t home, and it was only temporary, but it would do.

“That’s it, on the left,” Seth pointed out the window towards one of the larger homes on the street, one with two stories and a long driveway that sat side by side with their neighbors. Two vehicles sat fender to bumper, rusty and in desperate need of a replacement, but his eyes only lingered there for a moment as he got out of the car and rounded to the trunk to grab his bags.

Andrei was much more interested in what was going on next door. Crammed into the narrow driveway was not one white Jeep Wrangler, but two, and they were both blocked in the driveway by a large U-Haul box truck. Its large frame blocked out the hot, setting sun, but the shadows of the two young women that stood at the back of the truck still stretched across the pavement. Both blonde, and both pretty, they seemed to be conversing there as they unloaded the boxes - the taller pointing into the back of the truck while the shorter was gathering something - a box - from inside. The pair exchanged the box, and it gave Andrei a good enough look at them to conclude one thing: they were sisters. They had to be. They looked too alike not to be.

Before he could ask Seth about them, the taxi door was slamming, sending his gaze snapping back towards the road before a cheery shout of, “Seth’s home!” had his neck snapping back to the truck, but now, the taller of the blonde’s stood alone, with the smaller nowhere to be seen. Putting the box down at her feet, she jogged down the driveway - her blonde ponytail swaying back and forth against her shoulders with each stride - and she didn’t stop until her arms were thrown around Seth’s shoulders.

And Andrei just stood there, one bag held in his fist while the other sat on the ground at his own feet, and he watched them. At first, if only because of the smile Seth wore as he welcomed her close, Andrei thought that maybe, just maybe, this was a girl Seth had used to date, or at the very least hook up with. But they hugged and spoke like family.

“Look at you, mister NHL superstar,” her tone was teasing as she drew back, a bit of a hop in her step as she sunk her hands into the pocket of her hoodie.

“Hardly,” Seth laughed, a single hand reaching up to push through the tangles of his dark hair. He was grinning, but his shoulders slouched - a little embarrassed, maybe. “Where’s Maddie?”

“Uh?” the blonde hummed, her body turning to look back towards the U-Haul and the front door. “I don’t know. She was just right here.”

Andrei’s eyes fixated on her mouth as she spoke, her lips full and caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, as if each corner would downturn the moment he looked away. He shouldn’t have starred, but he was captivated by the complexity of her expression. Her smile spread so widely into the fullness of her cheeks, but there was no light in her eyes. Only a heaviness in the hazel hue that had Andrei’s shoulder slouching and neck craning forward as if he could get a better look at them. As if he were imagining the storm in her eyes that clouded over the radiance of her smile.

“Ah,” her smile altered, her nose wrinkling as she took a step back, “who’s this?”

Seth brought an arm around, his hand patting up against Andrei’s back firmly as he made the introduction, “my teammate Andrei, he’s going to be staying with me for the summer.”

“Lucky him,” there was an uncertainty in her tone, her eyes looking him up and down once and stopped once their eyes met again.

“Luckier now,” Andrei spoke after a moment, a hand reaching out into the space between them. He had a tightness in her stomach, one he couldn't shake. He had made her uncomfortable with the staring, he knew it, but he couldn’t look away, not as Seth gave him a nudge and questioned him silently with a thick raised brown. “Seth didn’t mention having a sister-”

“No, no, not my sister,” Seth spoke quickly, raising his hands, almost as if the mere idea offended him, “Harper and Maddie grew up next door. She was my babysitter.”

“I don’t believe it, you look so young” Andrei grinned wide, his words laced with a low laugh.

“Babysitter, not his mother. I’m not ancient,” Harper countered, her hand reaching out to shake his hand as it waited for her to hold between them.

Her delicate fingers slid along his, meeting calloused palms and his careful but firm hold. Her touch left him holding his breath, hiding the excitement that sent his heart racing in the depths of his chest behind a calm smile. Andrei shook her hand long and slow, the thought of letting go not once crossing his mind until she leaned him, offered a soft smile and spoke, “you think I could get my hand back now?”

“Yes,” Andrei’s eyes went wide, his hand letting go of Harper’s as if it were now suddenly as hot as flame. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” she spoke, taking a step back, her first step of her accent up the driveway, “I’ll ah-” she hummed, her hand reaching up to rub the back of her neck, and Andrei watched it all still staring, shameless, “I’m going to go check on Maddie, let her know that you’re home. I’m sure she just ran inside to get something-”

Andrei’s eye didn’t leave her once as she stumbled back over her sneakers towards her front door. And he smiled a dopey grin as he took in the full sight of her. Harper wasn’t just a pretty face. She was petite and lean, but not in a fragile, feminine way. Harper was strong. He could see it in her muscles as she picked up the box she had abandoned in the driveway, and in the hop in her step as she jogged towards the house. Then she was gone, lost beyond what waited for her beyond the front door. It was then, with her out of sight, Andrei felt the force of Seth’s hand knocking him against his chest.

“What was that man?” Seth was grinning as he reached down to grab his own bags and began to lead the way to his own front door.

“She is very pretty,” Andrei smiled, following in his path, all the while looking back towards the door of Harper’s house.

“Yeah, well,” Seth pushed open the door, his own words interrupting their conversation as he shouted out, “Mom, Dad? We’re home!”

Seth kicked his shoes off in the doorway, nudging them to the side with the toes of his dirty socks. Andrei did the same, tucking his sneakers to the side on a free space on a cluttered shoe rack before taking quick strides to catch up to Seth who was leading the way to the quest room that Andrei would be calling home until they went back to Carolina in September.

It was small, with nothing more than a queen sized bed and a dresser for him to pack away his things. It wasn’t much, but it would do - especially with a distraction like Harper next door. He wouldn’t need much else.

“Well?” Andrei pressed as he threw his bag down at the end of the bed, making himself at home. “Harper…”

“Last time I heard? She’s getting married in August-”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Without a hand to reach back for it, the front door slammed into its frame, leaving Harper to jump away from its firm rattle as it set her on course for her sister’s bedroom. One the way, she abandons what she considered the final box of her moving trip at the top of the basement stairs, and she doesn’t waste her time taking off her shoes - not when she will still need to run boxes to the storage locker she was renting on the outskirts of the city. But first, she needed answers.

Taking the stairs going up two at a time, Harper hopped onto the landing and called out to her little sister, “Mads?”

She paused, waiting for her to call back to her. Madison said nothing.

Brows furrowing, she craned her neck to peer through the door that was left open just a crack. Anyone else would have considered it closed, but to Harper, it was an invitation to let herself inside. Looking one way, Harper looked over an unmade empty bed, and looking at the other, she found her sister seated at her desk, one leg brought up to hug it against her chest, while she appeared occupied. But Harper knew her better than that. Madison was just trying to look busy.

Harper sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest, her lead leaning to rest against the door frame. If their father was home, she would have walked right in and closed the door, but it was just them in the house and he wouldn’t be back until the early hours in the morning. They would have more than enough time to talk; “What was that all about?”

“What?” Madison didn’t look up from her desk, instead she reached out for something Harper couldn’t quite see, and toyed with it in her fingers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Madison,” Harper’s tone was firm, caught somewhere between concerned sibling and mother. It was one of the harsh traits and realities of growing up without their mother - and growing up the eldest of two daughters.

“Harper,” Madison countered, the smile in her voice almost enough to leave Harper groaning.

Did she really have to be so difficult? Though, was Harper really in the position to push her way back into her sister’s life? She had been living on her own since she was eighteen, and was only now moving home almost a decade later because of her own mistakes. Mistakes Madison had not one clue about. They had grown so far apart there were parts of her life Harper was sure Madison couldn’t even fathom. Maybe that fact went both ways.

“You can’t hide shit from me, you know that,” Harper reminded. Before, when she was still at home, and they were still close, they told each other everything. And even when they didn’t, they always found out. “I know something’s wrong.”

Pushing off her desk, Madison swiveled in her seat. “You always were the smart one.”

“Smart?” Harper raised a brow as she pushed up from where she propped herself against the doorway and moved to sit at the end of Madison’s bed. “Sure, but that’s got nothing to do with it. I know you, and what happened outside, that’s not normal.”

Seth and Madison, they had been inseparable since they were in diapers. There were pictures on the walls and buried deep in photo albums to prove it. Harper knew that better than anyone - hell, she was the one that was stuck babysitting them both until they were old enough to be trusted alone. Even then, her father - and Seth’s parents - often had her chaperone. She had attended too many middle school dances in her lifetime to admit and even more hockey games. But Harper would do anything or her sister - and Seth, but only if he asked nicely.

“Fine,” Madison sighed, “Can we keep this between us, though?”

Harper only nodded, scared that saying anything else would leave Madison second guessing her decision to tell her anything.

“Last summer, things got kind of…” Madison sighed, her head hanging on her shoulders and sending her long blonde bangs into her eyes. A single hand raised to fix them as she spoke. “Weird I guess? We were at this party right before he left for camp-”

Harper’s stomach sunk, her head spiraling with every worst possible outcome, and every protective instinct sent her nerves raw.

“He was with some girl. It just pissed me off, and we had a fight.”

She shouldn’t have been relieved by what she heard, but Harper was letting out a long sigh of relief all the same. Then, she sat there for a moment, her fingers picking at her own nail beds as she worried that Madison might not like the conclusion she had reached with the little detail she had offered her, “was that fight with Seth because you were jealous.”

“No,” Madison scoffed, “I was just mad he was with another girl?”

Harper’s head cocked and her eyes narrowed. “That’s what jealousy is, Mads.”

Madison blew out a breath and let her gaze fall to her feet. “Whatever, so yeah,” she spoke quickly, “I’m just not ready to see him yet.”

“Holy shit, Mads,” Harper couldn’t stop herself from letting a smile spread over her features, “are you telling me that you like Seth?”

“I think so. I mean, why else would I get upset like that if I didn’t? Right?”

“Right,” Harper nodded, “I baby sat both of you for such a long time, and I would have never guessed it’d come to that. But maybe I’m not as good of a sister as I thought I was…” There were a lot of things Harper wasn’t good at anymore. She wasn’t a good daughter, a good sister, or a friend. Most days, she wasn’t even good at being herself. “Do you think he likes you?”

Madison’s shoulder shrugged, and Harper couldn’t help but to smile. Suddenly, she felt like a teenager again. A teenager just trying to help her little sister through the mundane pressures of middle school and puberty. When the troubles were nothing more than getting a bad grade on a test, what jeans were in fashion and crushes on boys.

“Last time I checked, the answer was no,” Madison sighed, but was quick to turn the table on Harper. If there was one thing the Alexander sisters were, it was supportive of one another. “And don’t say that. You’re a great sister.”

“That was last summer. Could be different now. He’s had a whole season away, and a lot of time to think about how things ended between the two of you.”

“Maybe-”

“Talking to him might help things, or at the very least put things at ease between the two of you. And if he doesn’t know how you feel, he can’t act on any feelings he might also have. You know?” Harper smiled, but it was quick to waiver. She was the last person that should be giving any kind of relationship advice. “I’m sure you don’t want my advice, though. I’m not exactly a love expert these days.”

Madison’s frown mirrored her own, but for a different reason. “I always want your advice. You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re my big sister. Don’t ever think for one second I don’t value what you say, or want your opinion.” It was the heart to heart they needed, and it was punctuation with a mischievous smile and a playful, “bitch.”

It was the very word they needed to break out into laughter. Harper lay back on her sister’s bed with open arms. She welcomed her sister from her perch on the chair, the two of them laying together in the bed for a moment as Harper stared at the ceiling. Her eyes burned with the emotional acid that were tears. Refusing to look at her own sister was the only way to keep her sister from seeing them. She had missed moments like that. She had missed what it felt like to have someone for support. Harper had missed her sister more than she had realized.

“You’re smart, kind and beautiful, Mads,” Harper did her best to keep her voice calm, “if a guy can’t see that, then he’s dumb and not worth your time. And that still applies, even if it’s Seth. The guy should know how amazing you are by now.”

“You’re smart, kind and beautiful too,” Madison reminded her, “and someday a guy will see that… Like that hottie in the driveway! WHO was that?”

Nope. Was the first thing to cross Harper’s mind at her sister’s words, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t feel beautiful, kind nor smart, or if it was that she didn’t want to talk about the very awkward encounter with Carolina Hurricanes forward, Andrei Svechnikov, in her driveway. He had stared a little too long, and maybe so had she. His voice was so deep she could feel it in her bones as he spoke, and her hand? She swore she could still feel it wrapped around hers as she flexed it even then, as it was empty.

He had left her feeling more than she had in the last month, though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she was feeling. So she settled on being confused, and not saying a damn word about it. “He’s Seth’s teammate, Andrei I think-”

Kissing her sister’s hair, Harper peeled away from the hug and began to move for the door before she could feel her sister’s pressure to divulge any further. What could she divulge? Harper didn’t actually know. Their encounter had been brief, but she had seen enough to support her sister’s question: he was very attractive, albeit young. But she wasn’t going to admit that. Not Maddie, not to anyone.

Andrei was far too young to have her thinking anything like that.

“Anyway, I have some boxes I need to unpack,” Harper hummed, her hand grasping at the door frame to whip herself from the room while calling out behind her, “and I’ll be ordering pizza for dinner. My thank you for helping my dumb as move back in!”

Then, before her sister could question her on it, Harper raced down both flights of stairs and was forced to stop in her tracks at the bottom of the second flight. What was once the basement she and her sister performed self-written plays for their father in, and also doubled as a mini-sticks rink was now a collection of piled boxes, and a new IKEA bed built and shoved awkwardly between furniture that has been around since the 90s. This would be her new bedroom. There was still much more to be done. Table to move, her boxes to unpack, and sheets to wash. It all seemed like too much, it all an overwhelming, suffocating feeling on her chest as Harper stood there surrounded by it all.

Her palms began to sweat, and a hand raised up to pull at the collar of her shirt that was nowhere near her neck. It was the new beginning she needed, even though she hated that it had to come at the ripe age of twenty-seven. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be, living in her father’s basement, but it was where she needed to be.

Harper had accepted that.

But Darren hadn’t.

Her phone vibrated in the tight pocket of her rights. It had been buzzing on and off throughout the evening as she had unpacked the U-Haul, but it was only as she stood surrounded by the mess that was her life that Harper had the time to answer it. Even then, she almost didn’t when she was her ex’s name on the call display, but she wanted to give him the closer he seemed to so desperately need.

“Hey,” her voice croaked, “what’s up?”

“I just got in. You left your keys on the counter? And I can’t find the-”

Harper’s eyes shut tight, a single hand raising up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. Darren knew this was happening. She didn’t know why he pretended he didn’t. It was only going to make it more difficult for the both of them.

“I moved out the rest of my stuff today, Darren.” Harper did her best to keep her voice firm. They were over. That needed to be clear.

“Harp-”

“Don’t!” Her grasp tightened around her phone, her heart racing in her chest, and her stomach on the verge of lurching. At first, going back home was just to get space. Harper had spent weeks sleeping on the sofa, trying to work things out, but there was no healing for Harper. Their problems were only solved temporarily, or only seemed to exist for her, not for him. She was tired, living each day in resentment while Darren lived each day, loved and taken care of.

Harper wanted that same respect.

Darren promised it.

It never came.

“Don’t call me anymore. Goodbye, Darren.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Winnipeg was cold until it wasn’t. Even in the early days of summer, Andrei could feel it. The heavy sweat on his skin that came with the thick humidity in the air. It should have reminded him of Carolina nights, but his place back home had a temperature control that didn’t rely on an old, rickety air conditioning unit that was wedged in his window. It rattled and stalled before roaring to life again when the heat became unbearable. It left Andrei tossing and turning on what would have been a comfortable bed if it weren’t for the heat that surrounded him.

Blankets were tangled between his legs, shoved to one side of the bed and then the other before joining the pillows on the floor and leaving Andrei laying in nothing but his boxers in the bed. It wasn’t enough. He needed to cool off somehow.

Groaning, he pushed himself up from the bed and moved quietly into the kitchen. Andrei moved through the cupboards quietly. Opening one after the other until he found a glass and filled it up with tap water when he couldn’t find a pitcher in the fridge. He filled it until it overflowed, drank it dry, and filled it again. It was cold, but wasn’t cold enough. It left him cursing under his breath as he placed the glass down on the countertop. His head hung low on his shoulders, his eyes shutting for a moment as he contemplated messaging his brother to sleep on the couch in his condo for the remainder of the summer.

But when his eyes opened, they fixated on the blue bin below, and a photograph that was buried among empty beer cans and old pizza boxes. Usually he wouldn’t have looked twice, but there was one face prominent on the glossy image, the pretty neighbor, Harper.

Crouching down, Andrei pinched the picture between his fingers and pulled it from the recycling bin. He winced as the box tumbled, clamoring as they fell to the ground, but the house remained silent. He was the only one awake. Letting out a heavy sigh, Andrei stood up straight, and held the photo in the moonlight that streamed in through the kitchen window.

Harper wasn’t alone in the photo. She was embraced by a handsome, apparently older man with his hair cut short and stubble covering his jawline. In elegant cursive it read, you’re invited to the wedding of mr darren fletcher and ms harper alexander. The save the date was for the August long weekend, just under two months away - but when Andrei moved to the large calendar that Mrs. Jarvis hung up on the kitchen wall to keep track of deadlines for the school year Andrei noticed one thing: the wedding date on the calendar was scratched out.

Taglist: @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @mp0625 , @misunderstoodwerewolf , @callsign-denmark , @puckmaidens , @xciciix , @cixrosie

#andrei svechnikov #nhl fanfic #real people fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #andrei svechnikov x original character #seth jarvis #collaboration fic

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artzysyam · 1 year ago

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TKAHRK Fan-Snippets

Snippets from @xysidhequeen AU. Based on part 12 after Dick felt asleep

"You're older this time. Never thoughts I'd see you grown up, Little Wing..."

Dick's last words before he succumb to exhaustion reverberated in Jason's mind as his brother lay before him. His legs trembled beneath him and he slumped down, pressing his forehead against Dick's chest. He could feel the faint thud of his brother's heartbeat, and hear the shallow breaths entering his lungs.

His fault

He abandoned him

He hurt him

Danny stepped forward, tenderly placing a hand on Jason's burly shoulder. "Jay...," he said, gently pulling him out from his own thoughts, which had nearly swallowed him up.

"I..." Jason said weakly, glancing at Danny for help. "I can't leave him again, Danny. I-I can't." His voice quivered as feelings of deep protectiveness overwhelmed him, threatening to drown him in despair and guilt for leaving Dick once already.

A sad smile spread across Danny's face as he knelt down next to Jason, wrapping his long arms around the younger man's shoulders. "Then we won't. He's your brother Jason, that makes him family." Jason felt the dam break as hot tears streamed down his cheeks, never seeming to stop until Danny held him close and spoke gentle words of comfort.

Jason sobbed for the little Robin who died too soon, for the boy he could've been, for the man he was now. He cried for the hero who he looked up to, full of light and life. And for the broken shell left behind. He cried for a brother he never knew he cared so deeply for him.

Joker took me away from him

Batman never saves me

Batman replaced me

Batman saw me as a tool

His mind spiralling again but Danny managed to ground him by his core humming the wave an aura of comfort, safety and reassurance that he's no alone and he always will be here by his side.

As tears subsided, Jason pulled his head away and scanned the manifestation of his brother's grief and depression.

"What do you want to do now, Jaybird?" Danny asked, leaning back and looking at Jason with a patient smile, ready and willing to follow him to hell and back. His heart and core filled with the gentle warmth to his body.

"First," Jason wiping the remnants of tears and snot from his face. "We need to clean up this pig's den." Danny nodded, looking around.

“And then?” Danny asked, not pressing and ever patient. Jason then looked at the bundles of takeout containers and pizza boxes with the sentient molds ready to takeover this apartment. He assumed Dick don't have energy to buy groceries and he knew Dick can't cook for shit even cause the water to burn fire for Ancient's sake at one point.

“Then we make sure Dick eats some real Ancient’s damned food.” Jason groused as he stood, moving towards the take out containers that had definitely reached biohazard status, with his fire, and disposed their carcasses into the trash bag.

“I’ll let Sam and Tucker know we won’t be back tonight.” Danny said brightly, but his voice had a trace of pride in it that Jason wouldn’t admit, even on pain of death, filled him with warmth to rival his flame core.

“You don’t have to stay, or help. It’s not your fucking problem.” Jason grumbled as he rifled through Dick’s cabinets for a trash bag or ten. Thank Ancients his brother bought cleaning supplies or he will have a talk when he wakes up.

But, he don't want to burden Danny of his problem, it's his fault after all and he wants to fix it, he have to.

“I don’t have to, no. But I want to. Because it’s you, Jay.” Danny said softly, causing Jason paused what he doing and stare at him, agape. There was something more in his tone that he couldn’t interpret, but it sent heat to his cheeks and made his undead heart beat a little quicker.

“I’ll always be there when you need me.” Danny finished with a shrug, skin dusted a light green that somehow made his freckles stand out. Jason would swear he could pick out the constellations Danny so adored scattered across Danny’s skin.

“Thanks, Danny. For. Everything.” Jason stared at the trash bag in his hands, unsure why the air felt too thin, and his heart was beating so fast.

Or. He knew. But it was one of those things he wasn’t willing to examine too closely. Especially not today, not right now. It's too much for him.

“Let’s make sure Nightwing wakes up to the cleanest apartment ever. Courtesy of his very own undead cleaning crew!” Danny cheered, brought Jason back to the present and he felt the mood lighten from the heavy emotion he felt for the past few hours.

“The King and his Red Knight, glorified goddamned maids.” Jason snorted as Danny snickered. He was glad that Danny is here and... and he was thankful for it. Then they set to work cleaning Dick's apartment.

It didn’t fix the pain in his chest, in his core. But every inch of space they cleaned settled something inside of Jason. As if he was finally mending something he hadn’t even realized was broken.

From what Jazz had said plenty of times, one step at a time.

#the king and his red knight au #dcxdp #dead on main #snippets #Jason todd needs a hug #Lots of it #Danny being there for Jason when said Furry goes off do what #Jason's POV

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titanplumbingauservice · 7 months ago

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A Step-by-Step Guide to Hot Water System Replacement

Hot water is an essential component of modern living, whether it's for a refreshing shower, washing dishes, or doing laundry. However, when your hot water system starts acting up, it can quickly disrupt your daily routine and comfort.

If you find yourself in need of a Hot Water Replacement Point Cook-wide, fear not! In this comprehensive guide, we'll walk you through everything you need to know to ensure a smooth transition to a new hot water system.

Understanding the Need

Over time, hot water systems can wear out, leading to decreased efficiency, increased energy bills, and, eventually, complete failure. Signs that your hot water system may need replacement include

Age: Most hot water systems have a lifespan of around 8 to 12 years. If yours is nearing or surpassing this age range, it's likely time to consider a replacement.

Rusty or discoloured water: If you notice rusty or discoloured water coming from your taps, it could indicate corrosion inside your hot water tank, signalling the need for replacement.

Leaks: Any signs of leaks or pooling water around your hot water tank are cause for concern and may necessitate replacement to prevent further damage.

Inconsistent heating: If your hot water isn't maintaining a consistent temperature or takes longer to heat up, it could indicate a failing hot water system.

Choosing the Right Replacement

When selecting a new hot water system, there are several factors to consider

Type: There are various types of hot water systems available, including traditional tank-style heaters, tankless heaters, and heat pump water heaters. Each has its own advantages and considerations, so it's essential to choose the type that best suits your needs and budget.

Size: The size of your new hot water system should be appropriate for your household's hot water demands. Consider factors such as the number of occupants, daily usage patterns, and peak demand times.

Energy efficiency: Opting for an energy-efficient hot water system can help reduce your utility bills and minimise your environmental impact. Look for models with high Energy Star ratings and consider factors such as insulation and recovery rate.

Installation requirements: Depending on the type of hot water system you choose, installation requirements may vary. Tankless heaters, for example, may require additional electrical or plumbing work compared to traditional tank-style heaters.

Professional Installation

While some homeowners may attempt to install a new hot water replacement Point Cook-wide themselves, professional installation is highly recommended. A licensed plumber will ensure that your new hot water system is installed correctly and safely, minimising the risk of leaks, malfunctions, or safety hazards.

Maintenance and Care

Once your new hot water system is installed, proper maintenance is key to ensuring its longevity and efficiency. Regularly flushing the tank, checking for leaks, and scheduling professional inspections can help identify and address any issues before they escalate.

Final Words

A hot water replacement may seem like a daunting task, but with the right knowledge and guidance, you can navigate the process smoothly. By understanding the signs that indicate the need for hot water replacement Point Cook and beyond, choosing the right system for your needs, opting for professional installation, and maintaining your new hot water system properly, you can enjoy reliable hot water for years to come. Say goodbye to cold showers and hello to comfort and convenience!

Source: A Step-by-Step Guide to Hot Water System Replacement

#Hot Water Replacement Point Cook #Plumber Point Cook

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peachy-panic · 1 year ago

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This Could Be The Moment

This is it. The chapter I’ve been fist-fighting for weeks. This was one of those moments that was in my brain since the original conception of Do No Harm, so naturally there’s a lot of internal pressure to get it right. I hope I’ve done it some justice for y’all.

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, ongoing sleep deprivation, nightmares, PTSD, the most fucked up of headspaces, whumpee fearing caretaker, noncon kissing, nudity, two survivors of trauma navigating some messy, messy waters

Jaime wakes in a cold sweat.

His first instinct is, as always, to look toward the bedroom door. Where moments ago there was a vivid silhouette against a backlit hallway, lurching toward his bed, there is now only a closed door. The house beyond it is still and silent, and Jaime is alone. As always, the only looming monster in the vicinity is his own imagination.

He closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. It’s routine by now, but even after so much repetition, the physical toll never seems to lessen. The bed sheets beneath him are soaked through, his hair matted to his forehead in clumps. Jaime sits up, peeling the soiled nightshirt from his body and tossing it into the laundry basket.

He rolls out of bed, knowing there is no point in trying to steal a few more hours. Some nights, he gets lucky enough that the exhaustion wins out over the lingering anxiety and knocks him out. But most nights, his only solace is a hot shower while he waits for the sheets to dry. It doesn’t do much to quash the crawling sensation under his skin, but it’s a few less minutes spent tossing on a mattress and watching the slow approach of daylight through the curtain.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he drags himself silently to the bathroom. He cranks the faucet to the hottest setting and forces his body under the flames.

As the water runs through his hair and scorches lines down his back, Jaime finds himself swaying. Crumbling. He doesn’t cry easily these days, but he feels the burn of frustration building behind his eyes. How long can he sustain this? How long can he wait out what feels like the inevitable?

It feels so much like those first few terrifying weeks at the training facility, where sleep was a commodity earned through acts of submission. The deprivation was torture then, and it’s torture now. This house is nothing like the cold, cement walls of that prison, and Sebastian is nothing like Handler Smith, but the fear is the same. He can’t seem to separate the feelings in his head.

At least in the facility, and even with the Keepers from his past, Jaime had learned what to expect. And he never had to wait long to find out for sure.

In the daylight, things with Sebastian have begun to crawl, slowly, toward a better place. The two of them have found routine in the small things: morning runs around the neighborhood, cooking sessions in the evenings, movie binging on the weekends. It is, objectively, the best living situation Jaime has had in years, and beyond what he could hope to have again. He recognizes this as fact. But Jaime can’t control his subconscious mind. He can’t help what comes at night.

The nightmares about Sebastian—about Sebastian touching him, hurting him—haven’t stopped. They haven’t even slowed down. If anything they’ve increased, and a vicious cycle has ramped into a hurricane: the more nightmares he has, the less sleep he gets, and the more difficult it becomes to discern reality from fiction. The nightmares get worse. The sleep becomes more sparse.

Even after a good day, Sebastian (or the shadowed version of him that exists in Jaime’s worst fears) finds him in sleep. The warm eyes that Jaime has come to recognize in the light get replaced by a cold leer, the gentle touches turned rough and demanding. The ghosts of those memories follow him into the daytime, whispering in his ear that everything Jaime so desperately wants to believe is a lie.

It’s the anticipation that suffocates him. The not knowing, but the suspecting. The when, not the if. Even when Sebastian has done everything he can to make Jaime feel safe, the guess work that goes into trying to brace for the moment when the rug gets ripped out from under him bleeds him dry of all his energy. No one has ever signed his contract with pure intentions. All kindness comes at a price.

Every day, Jaime stares at the black and white “rules” posted on the refrigerator door, listing out a dozen iterations of promises not to hurt him. Every day he watches Sebastian from the corner of his eye—when they’re in the kitchen, on the couch, in the car—and wonders if this will be the moment it happens. The moment he finally reaches out, lets his skin make contact, lets his hand linger the way it always begins in his nightmares. Jaime knows, sure as anything, that he won’t fight him when it happens. Even if his position as a Companion allowed him the space for resistance, Sebastian has been so good to him. And Jaime has done more for less deserving men.

This is the thought that plants the seed of an idea—one Jaime has never entertained. He has never been the one to initiate sex, and he wonders: if it’s going to happen anyway, would it be better under the illusion that the choice is his? He doesn’t know how he would go about it, if he ever gathered the courage to try. The thought floods him with nausea that he can’t seem to shake, but so does the waiting. Sometimes he just wonders if it would be easier to get the first time over with.

Then, at least, he will know.

He takes as much time in the shower as he can allow himself, but eventually the thought of wasting water forces him to shut off the faucet too early. He shivers in the sudden absence of the spray, but he doesn’t think it has much to do with the temperature. In a daze, he wraps himself up in one of the soft towels that Sebastian bought specifically for him. He makes his way back toward his room, but a light from the end of the hallway freezes him in place.

Sebastian is awake.

He doesn’t know what compels him to walk toward the living room, but he feels his legs moving beneath him, operating several steps ahead of his mind. He sees Sebastian before Sebastian sees him. He is on the couch, hunkered over the computer that rests on his crossed legs, and Jaime’s heart begins to race, because there it is again: that small voice in the darkest corner of his mind whispering, This could be the moment. Something has to give.

He tries to fight against it, to swallow it down, because he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to do this. He could turn and pad back to the relative safety of the bedroom that Sebastian has never once entered without Jaime’s explicit permission and sweat it out until daybreak like always. But then Sebastian looks up, noticing him for the first time, and the voice in Jaime’s head gets louder and louder.

This could be the moment.

“Oh. Hey there.” Sebastian smiles at him.

Something has to give.

Jaime’s fingers tighten briefly around the towel at his waist, and before he can process his next move, the idea crystallizes into a plan.

****

Sebastian scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, but it only seems to dry them out further. He’s been staring at his computer screen for the better part of the last two hours, and that’s on top of the work day behind him. Not that he’s complaining. The work he’s doing now is entirely voluntary, and he doesn’t regret taking it on for a second.

Aria had helped set him up. It involved a secure VPN, some protective softwares that, ironically, look like they might infect his laptop with a virus at any given moment, and a long vetting process; though Sebastian suspects it might have been a little more rigorous if their need wasn’t so urgent.

There are less than fifty doctors and registered nurses in the database who take on Companion cases across the US, and now Sebastian is one of them. It’s a fairly new system, and thankfully a growing one, slow as it might be. Mostly, the cases are a matter of remote visits: giving medical advice, diagnosing where they can, and—at the discretion of each provider—writing prescriptions. Always in the name of the unmarked person helping them. By design, it’s nearly impossible for a Companion to seek assistance or gain any amount of freedom without depending on someone on the outside.

He was surprised to find out that there were others like him; people who have purchased a contract with the intention of helping someone for as long as they can. There are others—fewer, rarer—who are like Ezra. People who have somehow broken free of the system altogether and exist under the radar. The details of those cases are always lock-and-key. Sebastian doesn’t ask, and no one seems eager to tell. Probably safer for everyone that way.

Sebastian’s patients tonight have been fairly simple ones. He was able to provide antibiotics to a young woman with an ongoing infection, sleeping pills to a man with debilitating sleep anxiety, and advice to someone else on managing their chronic pain. For the first time since graduating with his medical degree, Sebastian feels useful.

And still, it never feels like enough.

When he pulls his hands away from his face, he nearly launches out of his skin. Jaime is standing in the mouth of the hallway, hair dripping and wrapped in a towel. Sebastian hadn’t even heard the shower running through the music in his headphones.

He settles himself with a hand over his heart and smiles up at him. “Oh. Hey there.” He starts to take his earbuds out, but he is interrupted by the world abruptly shifting on its axis.

It takes a few seconds after the towel hits the floor to process what happened. What is actively happening. And then he still doesn’t understand.

Because what. The fuck.

Jaime is standing—naked—in his living room, still as a statue, with a towel pooled at his feet. Sebastian is fairly certain Jaime isn’t even aware of the silent tears tracking down his cheeks.

Calling upon every conceivable ounce of composure he can muster, he removes his headphones the rest of the way and sits forward, setting his open laptop on the coffee table. He unfolds his legs and stands, each movement pronounced and broadcast.

“Hey.” His own voice sounds far away, and far more calm than he feels. He keeps his eyes dutifully trained on Jaime’s, refusing to dip away for even a second. “Let’s just… Why don’t we just talk? Okay? Let’s… here.” Acting on the instinct to cover him up, Sebastian reaches for the zipper on his hoodie.

Across the room, Jaime’s breath hitches. His eyes pinch shut for just a second, fists clenching at his sides.

“Hey. No, no, it’s okay. I’m—” Sebastian pulls the zipper down as quickly as he can, only jamming it twice on the cloth. As soon as it’s free, he extends his arm, not daring to take a step closer, and shakes it in his direction. “It’s for you.”

But Jaime doesn’t move to take it. His pale chest heaves with breaths that are coming too fast and too short, and the glassy look in his eyes tells him that Jaime might not be all the way with him. He needs to tread lightly.

Sebastian takes a cautious step forward. “Jaime?” His eyes snap to him, wide and wet. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” When he’s within arm’s reach, Sebastian holds his sweatshirt out again, and Jaime’s gaze falls to it for a moment, before flashing back to him. He still doesn’t take it.

Sebastian is about to reiterate his assurance that Jaime is okay, that he is safe and that he is not in trouble, but before he can speak—

Jaime—

He—

Jaime’s mouth is on his.

Their lips only touch for half a second before Sebastian jerks back, but the brief contact sends a shockwave of horror through his body. It’s so much happening at once: the heat of naked skin through his clothes, wet hair dripping onto his chest, the tremble in the arms draped around his neck, but Sebastian can’t afford to panic right now. They can’t both be falling apart at once.

With all the deliberate gentleness he can manage, he reaches up and wraps his hands around Jaime’s wrists, pulling his arms from around him. They stand painfully still for several long seconds, Jaime’s arms suspended between them. The whites of his eyes jump as he searches Sebastian’s expression, utter terror written all over his own. Slowly, Sebastian lowers his grip, releasing Jaime’s hands at his sides.

“No,” the word stutters out of him. “Jaime, I… No.” He needs to find the words to elaborate, to tell him he’s not in trouble and that Sebastian’s rejection isn’t meant as a chastisement, but before he can formulate them, Jaime sinks to his knees, and a fresh pit opens in Sebastian’s chest.

“Please,” Jaime says—the first he has spoken since coming into the living room. Fresh tears leak from his eyes. “Whatever you want to do, I… it’s fine. We can do it. I… I want to.”

Unable to tolerate towering over him right now, Sebastian sinks down to one knee, then the other. Carefully, he takes the sweatshirt in his hand and drapes it over Jaime’s shoulders. “Jaime,” he says finally, “you’re crying.”

In a desperate, childlike gesture, Jaime swipes at the tears running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t have to be sorry. But it’s very clear to me that you don’t want this.”

“I can,” Jaime insists, fixing his wide, brown eyes on him. “I can learn to want it. With you. Please, just tell me what you want.”

“I…” Sebastian’s mind is speeding past him in circles, unable to land on a singular thought except the resounding question of How the fuck did we get here? Because genuinely, Sebastian had thought things were getting better. He thought things were, if not ideal, at least okay. But this… This is the furthest thing from okay.

“Did I…?” Sebastian clears his throat and starts again. “Can you tell me—did I do something? To make you think that I wanted this?”

He remembers the stilted half-conversations they had once upon a time. In the clinic, when Jaime was brought in for testing after each contract. Sebastian knows what happened to him with past Keepers. His tests may have come back negative, but Jaime had confirmed in the only way he could that he had been sexually abused. He had hoped that Jaime knew he never had to fear that from him. He realizes now how selfish that assumption was.

Jaime’s gaze breaks away momentarily. “No, but I…”

“What?” he prompts gently. “If I did something, I want to know. I’m not going to be upset with you. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The inquisition seems to press him further into himself. He curls over, retracting into a ball before he can reach out. The notches on his spine protrude through the shirt in a trembling arch. His fingers are twisted through his hair, pulling so tightly at his roots that Sebastian has to restrain himself from tugging his hands away. Then the noise. At first it sounds like he’s choking; a desperate, clunky gasp for air where there is none. And then the sobs erupt, almost completely silent but heavy enough that his entire body convulses with the force.

And Sebastian is absolutely fucked. His heart is thumping against his ribcage like it wants to escape, his fingertips have gone numb, and the spot where their lips had briefly touched buzzes with the intensity of a fresh wound. But he can’t fall apart right now. After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian places a palm over one shoulder blade, and when he is not shaken off, he begins to rub a slow, steady circle.

“Jaime,” he tries as soon as he is sure his voice will withstand it. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. I don’t… I don’t know what to say to you to make you feel okay, but you are safe. I can promise you that. I am not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you while I am here.”

It goes on for as long as it takes Jaime’s body to exhaust itself to silence. Over the next several minutes, the sobs whither to raspy pulls for breath, and then eventually soft sniffling. Sebastian doesn’t remove his hand. When he has gone nearly silent, Sebastian makes a decision.

“Can you sit up?” he asks softly. “Please? Can you just… look at me for a minute?”

Jaime obeys the request a little too quickly. When their eyes meet, Sebastian takes a deep breath, willing his own tears to stay where they are.

“I want to talk about this,” he says. “We absolutely should talk about this. But before we do anything else… Do you maybe want to put some clothes on? We can just… we can take a minute.” God knows he could use one himself. “If you want to keep talking after that, I’ll put some coffee on and we’ll stay up and talk, for as long as you want. If you would rather go to sleep, that’s okay too. I’ll still be here for you in the morning. It’s your call. Sound okay?”

Jaime hesitates, then nods.

“Okay.” Sebastian picks up the towel between their knees and extends it to him, already turning away. Once Jaime takes it, Sebastian shuffles around awkwardly on his knees until his back is to him. “I’ll wait out here. I won’t look. Just… take your time.”

Sebastian listens to the brief silence of his hesitation, then the quiet rustle of cloth and clicking of joints behind him. He counts the soft pad of footsteps retreating down the bedroom hallway and waits for the door to latch shut before he breaks. He pulls his knees out from under him and puts his head between them, taking slow, even breaths.

Slowly, his heartbeat recedes to a sustainable pace, but his mind buzzes with the prospect of the conversation ahead of him, and his lips still burn from a kiss that never should have happened.

***

TAG LIST: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world @inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump @the-whumpers-grimm @thebirdsofgay @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort @termsnconditions-apply @cyborg0109 @whumplr-reader @pinkraindropsfell @whatwhumpcomments

#do no harm: jaime & sebastian #whump #whumplr #whump writing #bbu #like bbu adjacent?#this is the very chapter that inspired my now famous writing advice list #you know the one #i think i've finally wrestled it into submission tho #maybe #anyway hope you enjoy

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happy--birthday--kiddo · 1 year ago

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Silly Lil ATSV Headcannons

Miles Morales:

Always burns his tongue on foods even when people warn him it's hot

Hops on one foot when putting socks on

Had eczema as a lil kid

Used to absolutely love those marker dot stamps and made a ton of pictures with them (Rio has them all ofc).

Never liked classical music until he saw Gwen perform Swan Lake (but if you accuse him of liking it he'll adamantly deny it)

Snorts when he laughs

Dreams in colors and shapes rather than images

Secretly spends forever in front of the mirror doing impressions of the other spiders when he's supposed to be getting ready

On Mothers' Day he always wakes up at the crack of dawn to cook Rio a meal 🫶 He's a pretty good cook and likes to experiment with her recipes to make her something special

Always has a million bruises at any given time cuz he's so clumsy

Wears contacts

Can root out snacks from a mile away. If you have a bag of chips in your bag, it'll be found and gone in 5 minutes. (HE'S A GROWING BOI OKAY)

Had like 10 fish as a kid because they kept dying and his parents felt bad so they kept replacing them (also they were probably named Bubbles)

Was definitely a gullible kid and when someone at school told him "gosh" was a bad word he solemnly believed it

Gwen Stacy:

Vegetarian

The first time she dyed her hair she had her dad do it and she ended up with really uneven coloring. Her dad felt so bad but she thought it was hilarious.

Fidgets with her tongue on her tooth gap when she's swinging

Always wanted a dog but she's allergic

Has an extremely low spice tolerance but loves it anyway

Prefers cold over hot (probably why her suit is white to reflect heat)

She was lonely as an only child and had a lot of imaginary friends until she met Peter

Loves scary movies and forces Miles to watch them with her

Blushes red when she laughs (not bashfully, she's just really pale)

Terrified of deep water

Hums when she showers

Joined the band as a joke but realized she had a talent and enjoyed it

Loves to scare Miles by waiting for him on his ceiling or on the inside of doors (bonus points if she'd just forced him to watch a scary movie)

Actually cackles when she bullies Miles

Drinks a ton of water for like, no reason

Miguel O'Hara:

Needs reading glasses but stopped using them in public after Peter B. made fun of him for it. Now he just squints and uses them when he's alone (or alone with Lyla: she knows he's sensitive about it so she doesn't comment for once)

Has insomnia due to nightmares so he's always tired

Drinks a lot of coffee but doesn't eat much

He's ticklish like it's NOBODY'S business, especially around the hip area and ears

He excelled at math in school because numbers always made more sense to him than people

Stubs his toe unnaturally often and one time he got so pissed that he threw the offending table into the wall (Lyla filmed the whole thing and showed Peter B)

His back gets really itchy but he can't reach it so he either suffers an existential crisis or scratches his back on his wall like a bear

Used to have an intense phobia of needles

Has special gloves he sleeps in to help protect his sheets from being torn up by his claws (they come out with the nightmares)

Compulsively exercises when he can't sleep

You're welcome 💥 Also I have a shit ton more where that came from so lmk if anyone wants more <3

#atsv #atsv headcanons #headcanons #miles morales #gwen stacy #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #lex says wise things

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totallyexhausted · 8 months ago

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No Title Yet

Snippet of the Hirano sickfic with his parents that i promised and am NOW working on.... along with the Kagi one where he calls Hirano to ask him to come get him.... basically i need motivation and to force myself through his writer's block so, pleasssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeee halp....

...

“Are you sure you feel okay, sweetheart?”

“Hm. Yeah, sorry… just tired,” Hirano said softly, glancing down at his meal, picking through the contents slowly. He normally loved his mother’s cooking, but right now, right now, Hirano was sure if he put anything else in his stomach, despite the minuscule amounts he’d eaten, he’d vomit. And vomiting wasn’t something he wanted to do – his parents had been looking forward to him visiting, his father taking off work in order to spend time with him; they had plans, things to do… and ruining that by getting sick… well, that would just make the teenager feel like a bad son.

But it was getting harder now. So fucking hard to concentrate, to see the food on the table clearly, or keep his head up. Everything felt way too hot; and even though the 17-year-old planned on excusing himself to turn in earlier for the night to fight off whatever the hell was wrong with him, he was pretty sure he was reaching the point where he’d no longer be able to stand properly. Everything felt like jelly; weak and shaky… his stomach in his throat every time he caught a glimpse of the food in front of him clearly. His head killing him, the bright lights hanging over the table piercing his eyes. Everything was spinning.

Hirano groaned, dropping his head against his hand, closing his eyes briefly as his mother asked him something. Something moved to his right before a firm hand pressed against his cheek, sweeping over his forehead, brushing the bangs away from his face. Hirano groaned again as the cool touch wiped at the dampness across his forehead, and he felt the chopsticks slip through his fingers. He tried opening his eyes again, but the second they met the harsh lights above, the teenager clenched them shut, breathing lowly as someone pulled him back.

“Taiga,” His father’s voice gentle against his ear as more things were shuffled and another hand ghosted across his forehead. His mother’s voice suddenly next to him, her hand running through his hair, “Sweetheart, you’re ill…”

Hirano shook his head slowly, the movement jarring and difficult, as an arm braced behind his shoulders, a hand on his chest, pulling him up slowly. The teenager groaned as everything shifted, “M’f’ne…”

Everything was hot. Nauseating and dizzy. The environment was moving around him behind closed lids, and Hirano forced them open as his father called him again. The moment light touched his eyes, the 17-year-old gagged roughly, having no warning before lurching forward, vomit spewing from his mouth as he struggled to remain upright. Whatever happened next was a giant blur. Nauseating and hot… everything felt wet and gross… and the smell was enough to make him gag.

He wasn’t entirely aware of where he was until his head smacked against his father’s shoulder, a wet rag pressed against his forehead, another on the back of his neck. He felt warm water wash over his back, the smell of soap hitting his nostrils, and the 17-year-old whimpered. Soft fingers running through his hair, more water running across his back, and the sound of his mother humming softly.

A calloused hand removing the rag from his neck before replacing it a minute later, and Hirano opened his eyes slowly as his head was tilted back gently, warm water poured over his hair. He squinted as the bathroom tile met him, bright and painful. He glanced towards his father, leaning over the bathtub… (puking in bathtub.)

“It’s alright, Taiga. It’s alright, son. Your mother and I will clean you up… you’re okay. Just get it up, Tai.”

Tai. A nickname Hirano only heard when his father was worried about him. One that the teenager had come to associate with the idea that something was wrong...

Basically Hirano gets WRECKED, and we learn where Hirano gets his caring side.

Then with Kagi, Kagi gets really ill, and Hirano takes care of his sweet Kouhai... until he takes him to the hospital.... Snippet below:

...Since Kagiura came from a big family, he was probably used to having someone stay or sit with him while sick… Hirano always wanted to be alone when sick, but he never minded if someone was in the same room either. Whenever he felt really bad, he’d fall asleep to his mother holding his hand and stroking his hair or his father rubbing his back softly. But that had only happened a few times, the last being a year ago when he got really ill while visiting his parents over break. They wound up taking him to the hospital, and Hirano’s pretty sure he remembered puking in their car, and his parents bathing him at one point. Not really something the teenager tried to remember given how horrible he felt and how much he scared his parents...

The same feeling washed over Hirano as Kagiura grabbed at his shirt, threading his fingers through the material slowly. The older swallowed, pulling Kagiura closer as the younger groaned, his head smacking against Hirano’s chest.

The same protectiveness Hirano felt earlier. The need to shield him from the bystanders at the station, or the on-lookers on the train, or the people passing by the convenient store… the same feeling now, wanting to hold him close, and protect him from a sickness the older couldn’t prevent or from anyone who might barge into their dorm room. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling, almost like panicked anger… but it wasn’t one Hirano really wanted to go away. Not right now. Not when Kagiura was relying on him in more ways than one...

“You’re rather good at taking care of people it seems, Hirano,”

“Shut up, Hanzawa. Kagiura! I need you to open your eyes and look at me.”

“H’no?”

“Hey, yeah. It’s me.”

“…S’hot…”

“I know. Hanzawa and I are gunna take you to the hospital. Your fever’s really high, Kagi-kun.”

“Such a sweet little nickname-”

“Are you going to help or are you just gunna talk all night? Grab his jacket, will you?”

“Kagi, I’m gunna help you up, okay?”

The younger groaned as Hirano moved his arm around his shoulders gently, pulling him in a sitting position, Kagiura’s head smacking against the older’s chest. He gagged roughly, spit trailing from his mouth along with the pitiful amount of water Hirano had gotten him to drink. (pukes on bedsheets - Hanzawa changes them while they are out).

“You’re okay, Kagi-kun… It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

(Hirano cleans him up as Kagi clings to him)

Kagi - “…dn’t… feel w-well.”

“I know. When we get to the hospital, you’ll start to feel a lot better, okay? I-I promise, Akira.”

#hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #sickfic #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #sasaki to miyano #manga #miyano yoshikazu #sasaki shuumei #anime #sasaki and miyano #sasamiya #hirakagi #Hirano sick while visiting parents #He has to get his gentle side from somewhere #sick hirano #sick kagi

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snugglesquiggle · 3 months ago

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Tines of the Devil's Fork

Storm-veiled stars, frozen city ruins, knives in the sky. Railgun finished early, Uzi hunts.

here's something short and experimental. what if uzi repaired her railgun with Something Else?

i'd appreciate kudos and comments, but this is short enough i can put it all here on tumblr

Stars, the few times Uzi saw them, shined all sorts of colors. Blue, yellow, red. Beneath the streetlamps, acid-tinged snow-flakes glittered, bright and scattered the same way, but they were only white. Crap replacement.

Uzi keeps eyes on the sky; she was savvy, knew to stay on-guard. Two scavengers chit-chat beside her, eyes on facial animations instead. But they listened as she’d ranted railgun electromagnetics and anime choreography. Seemed interested. She thought of Doll, back when they were sleepover-sisters. Crap replacement.

No time for angst, just action. Uzi holds her railgun, and thinks of Khan.

ii.

Shadows scowl and loom. Spooky streets. Uzi knew spooky all her life. In Doll’s sleepovers they played dare-games in closet darkness. Rumors said if you shut out all light, you sometimes felt watched. Doll did every time. Uzi too.

Dark is nice, sharpens senses. Uzi’d thought her railgun needed a glowing green spare part. A macguffin. Then she brought a copper-wrapped tuning fork to a room with no lights. Completion sung to her, and the railgun felt done.

Just needs a target.

Till then, it’s scavenging.

An apartment block stands, no lights powered, but copper’s in the walls.

iii.

Crack. Quin sledghammers wall-plaster. Pipes burst, water gushing out. Cracking piñatas, copper wire candy.

Streetlamps flicker outside. The wind stops, choked breath. Transformer fails — whole block in overcast night. One lamp left, shines a vigil.

Knife-whisper. When you see yellow, he’s already dead.

Neck cut, life gushing out. Cracking piñatas like color-inverted eggs. Quin-candy.

No angst, just action.

Anime choreography. Duck under wing-sweep, copper wire lasso, gotcha.

Acid burbles — vocalsynth fries — name’s Marina.

The railgun sings. Point-blank. Core bursts, scream-roars, blood gushing out. Street’s lit anew, green light like lightning.

Still no wind.

iv.

Uzi is cold-hot. Alone like a glacier. Angry like a simmering volcano.

Fatal Error beneath bowl-cut and pinstripe suit.

Fatal Error beneath blue-dyed fringe and crop-top.

Plug a wire, mount file storage like an external hard-drive, Uzi is looking for momentos, funeral fodder or catharsis to carry back. Searching just makes her feel hot.

She looks to the victory-defeat.

Materal Collection: initialization failed, retrying... beneath afro and sweater vest.

They don’t even die like us.

Kick and smash and kick and smash and it’s action but it’s nothing.

She’s smaller even when it’s dead.

Digging through murder drone carcass, those bones and sacs, you still find electronics. Like a radio — buzzing.

Wind again, ice scratching her cheek. Electromagnetic humming — on-edge. Above glittering snowfall, that yellow glint. X marks your death.

Frickin’ cooldowns! No railgun. Detatched murder-claw? Crap replacement.

Cloud-crash, snow debris. No pouncing? Idiot ball?

“Yeesh. R got cooked by a toaster?” Wary, circling.

Shotgun-barrel jabs. “You reckon it bears the devil’s fork?” Still, focused.

“Hate seein’ a fork stuck in a toaster.”

Uzi blurts, “That’s right. My corpse-meal!”

Wary, focused – then blink. Quick as death, gone as wind.

vi.

Uzi’s frame rattled. Like digital adrenaline. Robot hormones.

Murder drones fled. She bluffed, they believed. She looked back, met eye with red error.

Better act the part, could be watching.

You wanted to carry back part of them. You wanted catharsis.

Murder drones probably don’t even taste like us. Right?

Intrusive thoughts didn’t make sense.

Uzi felt cold-hot. Ice makes stones crack. Electric voltage fries circuits. Uzi felt broken-growing. Hormones.

That was just angst. This is action. Hands cupped, plastic goblet for king’s wine. Queen’s royal jelly.

Railgun whines red overheat. Cool hands cradle it. She walks away.

vii.

Snow crested Uzi’s beanie, above icicle-feathers like an inverse crown. Her rime is undisturbed. Winds went still; clouds ran dry of false stars.

Digging through her bat-wing backback, you find extraneous electronics. MP3 player. Nightcore? Anime OPs? Not hitting. Corrupted file, howling static. That’s it.

Uzi groans loud in night, frame rattling. No one to talk to. Angst-abyss. She’s melting glaciers, she’s dormant volcanos.

Her feet crack like sledgehammers against ice-slick roads.

She’s remembering two smiling scavengers she’d left Outpost-3 with. Then thinking of Doll. Thinking of Khan.

Of her mother.

Her railgun cooled quiet.

viii.

The world’s different outside of Outpost-3. A different key, her core beating new tempos, orchestral remix.

Uzi knows how. Khan read door blueprints like bedtime stories. Never explained why Door Two, just what it was: a faraday cage. Canceling that fundamental noise of the light and iron: electromagnetism.

Murder drones use it to hunt: communication, triangulation, disruption.

Uzi runs a finger down the railgun’s barrel. Guess I use it to hunt, too.

In that dark room, watched and sung to, Uzi felt completion and it attracted her.

If she’d felt repulsed? Now she understands why.

Time to change keys.

ix.

Stars, the few times Uzi saw them, had four points. That’s how Light diffracted through lenses; squishy human eyes saw differently. They’re all messed up.

What do stars look like to murder drones? They don’t even die like us. Probably don’t see like us either.

That carcass was squishy inside. Muscles in place of servos. Crap replacement.

Last bridge back home is perilously slick. Last gust of wind tugs her hoodie. And she slips. Last moment, she ledge-grabs — with both hands.

Railgun tumbling down. One hand holding secure, the other’s thrown to reach out in a futile, dramatic gesture.

Three prongs of purple code erupt in miracle-glow between splayed fingers.

It’s mirrored ten meters abyssward, cradling the fruit of months brainstorming, months tinkering, months hoping. The railgun that sung to her (in the same tonality murder drones hummed.)

Her replacement for — what?

It rises like snow never could. When it’s inches away, she stares at the symbol.

The devil’s fork.

Did she hate seeing it? Stepping off the bridge, her electricity hummed in the gun she cradled. She sees Door Three, and a rift high above.

Stars still shine, yellow and blue-red — three-pointed and ever-shifting.

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