#Tire Chord and Tire Fabrics

[ghostarii]

arlecchino likes slow kisses -- impassioned, battling, slow kisses, full of twirling tongues and silky moans. she likes to wrap a hand around your neck to crane your head back, nibbling on your lower lip and smiling at your whines. pinning you beneath her and keeping you at her mercy -- heat building between you two with ghostly friction and desperation. arlecchino likes to kiss you slow and build anticipation- to make you want it, to make you crave it, to the point you’ll brim your eyes with tears and try to guide her hand between your legs. you’re your prettiest when you beg and so she makes you do it again and again: huffing out breathlessly in between kisses.

she never gets tired of kissing you -- licking into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and dragging sharp teeth along the muscle, nipping your lips and pressing your mouths together until they swell-- that’s priceless; and more than that, it’s intoxicating. it ignites a carnal, desperate flame inside of arlecchino’s chest to where she teeters on the edge of sanity. she’ll come to needing you so much that her touches burn, singing through the fabric of your clothes until they begin to practically hang on by a thread, perfectly falling off of your frame. she likes you completely bare: kissed by the moon’s illumination and unable to preserve modesty. she can consume you both literally and figuratively: drinking in and committing your bare purity to memory before defiling every inch of your skin in traces of her. bites and scratches and fingerprints and hickeys trail from your neck to the ends of your legs, lighting every part on fire until you burn white hot--and then, only when you’re writhing for some ounce of direct pleasure, she will fuel your fire to an uncontained blaze.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because she can taste more of you. slowly slotting her mouth with the puffy curvature of your pussy, parting the labia as her mouth opens, allowing her tongue to slip through and tangle amongst your folds. agonizing, slow, deliberate kisses have her eyes closed, completely focused and enamored in the taste of you. tonguing through sloppy, syrupy folds and drinking as much of you in as she can. nudging her nose against your clit as she swirls and spins her tongue around--acting as though she was a master player and you were her instrument, being strummed to death and eliciting the most beautiful chords of music. she takes her time in devouring you, ensuring that no inch goes untouched and untasted because when she makes her way to your pulsing, weeping entrance, her performance reaches its climax and you’re along for the song.

arlecchino likes slow kisses because they crescendo into a form of heat unfelt and time melts away between your legs. those kisses are a catalyst for an enlightening, gut-wrenching climax, that makes all the time lost so, so worth it.

[erosology]

simon riley obsessed with casual affection but too proud to verbally admit it so he just sorta initiates it when you least expect it.

pulls you into his lap when you're trying to clean and he's tired of you paying attention to anything but him. “si, i need to—” “i don't care. stay.”

gently bumps his head against yours until you get the message to run your fingers through his hair. “didn't know you were such a softy,” you coo. “i am not a softy,” he snaps, but there's far more bark than bite and he looks far too content to be anything other than infatuated.

traces the fabric of your pants during quiet moments when you both are doing your own things without even realizing how soothing it is until you shift in your seat. pulls your leg back into his reach and resumes his ministrations, his eyes on whatever has his attention but his heart in your chest.

“don't,” he whispers in your ear when you shift away from him in the morning in order to start waking up, and it's so close to a whine you find your heart collapsing in on itself.

“don’t what?” you breathe, almost in disbelief to hear the glass in his voice. “you don’t want me to get up yet?”

“no.” there’s a tremble, a shaking of vocal chords that shows you more than any straying hands and greedy arms could ever. a fragile beat of caged hope that maybe, just maybe, he can keep you with him a little longer. “please. ‘m not ready.”

i’m not ready to go back to pretending like i don’t need you. i’m not ready to put on this charade of carefully constructed callousness so i can keep you safe from corrupted heroes and unstable futures. i’m not ready to slip the mask back into place and ignore the blood staining my hands. i’m not ready to watch you live your life while preparing to not be a part of it in the slim chance that we lose this war. i’m not ready to let you go, not yet, not while we’re both still vulnerable and shielded from the world.

“okay,” you mumble back as you tuck your legs against his. “i’ll stay.”

[satorusugurugurl]

Toss a Coin

Summary: When your shows up in a full ass Geralt from The Witcher series, you’re dragging him to the nearest bathroom!

Characters: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warning: language, cursing, bathroom sex, public sex, unprotected sex, cream pies

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Kinktober Day: Thirty— The Witcher! I'm so tired, going off of three hours of sleep and I still have to finish decorating a pumpkin for work. 😩

You hummed, glancing at the clock before returning to the door. Your gaze focused back on the phone in your hand. Your sweet boyfriend told you he would be at the party soon. But there was no sign of him, which was odd, seeing that he was punctual.

Your long Yennifer dress flowed as you paced through the kitchen. The door flung open just before you could panic, and a light was strung. Gojo began strumming the strings, humming as he walked around the room.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher! Oh, Valley of Plenty

Oh, Valley of Plenty, oh, Toss a coin to your Witcher

Oh, Valley of Plenty!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you glanced back to the door, and just as you took a sip of your drink, you inhaled it down your windpipe as a tall man wearing a long white wig stepped inside the room. They were dressed in a tight-fitted Witcher costume, rippling pectorals in the tight fabric. While they looked good, that wasn't what caught your eye. No, it was the fact that your husband was in the costume! He never wore costumes!

His honey-brown eyes roamed the doom as his fingers twiddled with the prop sword in his hands before he found you. Nanami thought he would have found you rushing towards him with excitement. But it was a different kind of excitement that swirled in your eyes.

“Hey.” Nanami waved at you with a grin and approached you with a smile.

“You never wear a costume?! " But you're wearing one today! " you asked in disbelief as you ran your hands down his chest.

Nanami chuckled, shaking his head, the long strands of the synthetic hair falling over his shoulder. “I wanted it to be a surprise when I found out you were going as Yennifer. We both enjoyed the books and the television show. So it seemed fitting.”

“Ooh, the only thing I’ll be helping you with fitting is your cock inside of me.”

Even though your voice was low and barely audible, Nanami flushed as he looked around. The metal amulet rested against the leather-clad of his costume. “We just had sex this morning.” You nodded in agreement before your fingertips grazed over the bare skin peeking out from the top of his shirt.

“And?”

“Did I not satisfy your needs?” He was teasing you, but you could, too, if he wanted to play like that.

“No.” You grabbed him by the chord of the amulet he wore. “And there's only one thing that will satisfy my hunger.”

“And what is that specific thing?”

“You.” You reached into your pocket, piling out a coin, slowly tossing it in the air before catching it. “In this costume.”

Nanami looked around with a chuckle before pulling you off to the bathroom. “You're insatiable. But loud, can you promise me you’ll try to stay quiet?”

“F-Fuck!” You gasped, arching your back off the mirror in the bathroom. Kento’s hand quickly reached up, covering your mouth with his free hand while the other gripped your hip.

“Shh,” he removed his hand from your mouth, “you have to be quiet; everyone will know what we're doing.”

“I don't give a flying fuck is they hear” he dug your nails into his shoulders, winning a hiss from him. “Kento, I can’t handle the teasing; please just fuck me before they start looking for us.”

He sighed, pulling out slightly, “You have to promise to be quite tough.”

“Fuck yes, okay!” You whispered harshly, “I promise to be quite okay. Just,” you began rolling your hips, trying to get him to move again, “Please, I need you.”

“I know, Love, I need you too.” He pushed the head of his cock back against your opening and groaned softly, “You always feel so tight and so wet” He went more into you, “God knows I you so much.”

You gasped, grabbing onto his arms and fighting back a whimper as his cock stretched you, “Oh my God,” you cried out. “Kento, you feel so good, God, you look so hot! Made me feral.”

“Oh, is that what drove you mad with lust?”

“Yes!” as if your body decided to add in, it squeezed around his cock.

“Fuck you're so tight,” he growled, pushing himself further into your aching core, “you feel so fucking amazing. Your pussy clamping down on my cock.”

“Kento,” you whimpered out, feeling him continue to bury himself inside of you, “fuck.” You tilted your head back, shutting your eyes tight. You were trying desperately not to cum too fast; you wanted it to last.

He kissed along the side of your neck before sliding in and out of you slowly and gently. His hands ran down the curve of your body before resting on your hips, holding them down as he thrust. He gently took his time, making this last as long as possible.

You moaned as you threw your head back against the mirror with a quiet thud. His hands slid back up, gripping and kneading at your breasts as his cock slid in and out of you, setting a steady pace. He moaned and growled as he kissed and sucked on your sensitive skin, all while you moaned and rocked in time with his thrusts. This was amazing and exciting! Fucking in a bathroom while your friends were outside was so kinky! But, despite it being kinky, it didn't switch off the love you shared for each other.

“Baby,” you gasped out, holding his head to your neck, “fuck me, fuck me.” Grunting, he grabbed the edge of the counter for more leverage.

You closed the small gap between the two of you, shoving your tongue in his mouth. He moaned, wrapping his talented tongue around yours as he thrust in and out of you faster. You wrapped your legs around him, moaning wantonly as he pounded into you, forgetting about the party and focusing on you.

The familiar tightening in your lower abdomen caused you to rock faster against him. You were chasing your orgasm, wanting nothing more than a sweet release. “Kento, I’m close, baby.” You whimpered, nipping at his ear, “ Please baby, I need it, I need to come.”

“Come for me, Love,” he whispered, reaching down between your bodies and rubbing your clit gently in circles, “Come for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel all of you.” He rubbed faster and harder, sending you over the edge.

“Kento!” You moaned into his neck, doing your absolute best to stay quiet. The orgasm spread through your body, setting it on fire as the waves of pleasure rushed through every cell of your body. Kento grunted loudly, his cock twitching inside of you throbbing pussy sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, Darling!” he growled, milking his orgasm out, nearly sending you over the edge into a second orgasm. “Oh God, baby.”He shuddered once more before collapsing on top of you, holding you close.

The two of you remained there in the bathroom, regaining your breath. Kento’s hands lazily ran up and down your back as he peppered kisses along your neck. You chuckled, tracing mindless shapes down his muscular back, humming contently.

“God, I love you,” he sighed against your still-heated skin. You have no idea how much I do.”

“Enough to let me toss a few coins at your ass?” You pressed, flicking your eyes up and down over his body. Your husband pulled away, looking into your eyes with confusion and humor. “What Gojo told me to toss you a coin!”

“You are insatiable,” he whispered with a chuckle, kissing you as sweetly as he needed to help that.

“So, is that a no to the coins?”

He laughed again. This time, it was deep and rich with adoration and warmth. “In the spirit of Halloween, I’ll allow it.” Nanami snorted as you fist-pumped the air before slamming your lips on his.

“Best Halloween Ever!”

Forever Tag List!

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Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[ginxyy]

Melodies of our heart

My soulmate Jihoon



There’s something utterly entrancing about the way the sun filters through the tall windows of Jihoon’s studio, casting delicate rays upon the myriad of instruments strewn about, each waiting patiently for their moment to sing. It was here, amongst the gentle chaos of keyboards and guitars, that my heart first acknowledged the fluttering, teasing touches of love. Jihoon is not just a composer; he is the very melody that has woven its way into the fabric of my soul.

This day felt particularly magical, as if the universe conspired to create an atmosphere thick with possibility. I had slipped into the studio, my sanctuary, a place where creativity danced in the air, and warmth radiated from the man I adored. Jihoon was hunched over his keyboard, the faintest pout on his lips as he concentrated, his fingers gliding over the keys with an elegance that took my breath away.

“Don’t you ever tire of being this brilliant?” I teased, leaning against the wall, my arms folded, just drinking him in. He looked up, and the corners of his mouth turned upward, illuminating the room in a way that sunlight alone could not.

“Not as long as you’re here to inspire me,” he replied, his voice a low, soothing melody that wrapped around me like a well-worn blanket. In that moment, I realized how deeply he had etched himself into the canvas of my life, and a blush crept across my cheeks.

With an exaggerated sigh, I moved closer, sitting on the plush, oversized rug that dotted the floor. “Is that a compliment or a way to distract me from your never-ending lyricism?” I teased again, though my heart raced at his words. Jihoon had a surprising way of loading every interaction with flirtation and sincerity.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the room like a gentle breeze through trees. “Why not both? You know, inspiration often strikes when you least expect it.” I could see the spark in his beautiful eyes, a twinkling mischief that made my stomach flutter.

As he shifted back to his work, I watched him, enthralled by the grace of his movements the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered a chord change, or how he would occasionally spin his hair with a distracted hand, habitually curling and uncurling the silky strands. I loved every moment in this sanctuary of sound, but I loved just being near him even more.

The days blurred into a sweet cascade of memories. I often sat across from Jihoon at the grand piano while he effortlessly shaped the notes that floated between us like dandelion seeds in the wind. Each session felt both intense and intimate as we dove deeper into the creative process. There was a rhythm to our collaboration, an unsung harmony that tethered us together on a level that felt profound yet wonderfully innocent.

One evening, wrapped in the cozy embrace of dim fairy lights flickering above us, Jihoon paused mid-composition and turned toward me. “I’ve been working on something,” he said, the excitement palpable in his tone. My heart raced. I had heard countless pieces he crafted, each one a glimpse into his brilliant mind, but this time felt different.

“What is it?” I could hardly contain my curiosity.

“It’s a song,” he murmured, his gaze intense, holding mine like a secret shared between two lovers. “And… it’s about you.” His words hung in the air, swirling around us, igniting something deeper within my heart.

“Me?” I gasped, my breath caught somewhere between astonishment and a delightful thrill. “Forget that I can’t sing this is incredible, Jihoon! You’re going to make me cry,” I said, my voice trembling slightly at his confession.

He scoffed, waving me off playfully. “You have a beautiful voice. You just haven’t discovered it yet.” He reached for my hand gently, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of his touch ignited a spark between us, and the room felt charged with an unseen force.

“Will you play it for me?” I asked, leaning closer, my heart drumming an anxious melody of hope as I implored him with my eyes. The camera in my mind clicked, freezing that moment in time as he took a deep breath, exuding a charm that made the air around us shimmer.

Seating himself back at the piano, Jihoon’s fingers danced across the keys, and I was submerged in the music a symphony of notes that felt like poetry woven into sound. There it was, the rhythm of our shared moments the laughter, the unspoken words, the stolen glances that hinted at something profound.

As he played, I closed my eyes and allowed the music to envelop me. His voice was soft, melodic, as he sang the lyrics a confession that fluttered like butterflies in my chest, unveiling the depth of his feelings. Each word resonated as if he poured every ounce of his soul into the song, crafting a heartfelt testimony of how he had fallen in love.

“I never knew how beautiful love could be,

Until I saw the world through your eyes, you see.

Like a melody turning, soft and true,

My heart is a song that finds its way to you.”

My heart soared and plummeted, echoing each poignant lyric. Jihoon finished, and silence filled the room, tainted only by the gentle echo of the final chord that lingered, time suspended around us like a fragile promise. Our eyes locked, and in that moment, the world outside faded away.

“It’s beautiful,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, filled with emotion. “You’ve poured everything into this.”

“Because you are everything to me,” he replied, his words a soft caress, wiping away all doubts and fears. In that heartbeat of silence, I understood I was not merely a muse for his music; I was the song that danced in his heart, the rhythm that urged him forward. My cheeks flushed with warmth, and I didn’t need to think twice before leaning in, pressing my lips softly against his.

We were a symphony beautifully entwined, two souls captured in a moment that would etch itself into the very fabric of our existence. The studio, our sacred haven filled with endless possibilities, bore witness to our love an extraordinary melody composed by fate, played out in soft whispers and tender moments, forever lingering in my heart.

[slowd1ving]

[FANTASMAS] SNIPPET ゜・BLADE NSFW

clawing the walls

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

“You’re a damn headache, you know that.”

There’s no malice in your eyes, but he can feel you slipping from his fingers; he can hear the cogs in your brain turn with certainty as you look away with resolve. He’s going to move out—Blade realises, and it’s perhaps the second time in his life that he regrets letting his heart seep through his lips with that sort of confession. Suddenly, he’s stepping forward: hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, with less-than-bruising strength. 

Fuck. The back-and-forth from earlier reminds him exactly of the position he’s in: practically caging you against the wooden frame while you’re still warm and damp from the shower. He’s lucky he wore loose trousers out—and you’re too busy glancing at him in surprise to notice him straining against them. 

“Blade—”

“Yingxing.” He’s not quite sure why he interrupts. Like a gaping wound, he’s ripped past the scab and hit tender flesh. 

He can’t define where the firm line between you and him is. 

And maybe he’s your roommate and there’s a messy boundary constructed by both parties, but there’s something pressing his lungs tight against bone.

“—Yingxing,” you taste carefully: sampling the two characters in your poisonous mouth. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

The normally-collected engineering student has abandoned his wits—gazing at you like a man half-starved. 

“Making you stay,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to move out—don’t we work well together?”

I can treat you so right. His thigh cants against your legs, and he hears you inhale sharply. Fuck. 

Bringing your wrist to his face, he presses his lips to the skin—burning, as some would say, so utterly contrasting with his colder image that it brings about an effect of cognitive dissonance. What’s so good about Dan Heng?

“You’re such a prick,” you hiss, and he feels the words pierce right through him. He is. Objectively, he knows he’s a bastard—unapologetically, wholeheartedly—but you don’t make an effort to pull away. 

“I am,” he admits in a tired, low voice. He doesn’t know if it’s the steely look in your eyes, or the firm set of your mouth—yet he thinks you’ve rooted him in place instead of the opposite. 

Why? If he gets involved with his roommate of all people, it would turn blurry boundaries into cacophonous messes—and it’s not like he wants you to leave. It would be far simpler to let you move out; slice away the relationship cleanly before his heart tightens any further. 

“Do you find it fun fucking with people like this?” 

He looks at you. Really, he does. 

Guitarist. Physics student. Capable scholar. Then there’s that—Trailblazer. 

But there’s also that. 

My roommate. 

So many concepts to consider, when that’s only surface level. He’s never had to think so hard about someone before: preferring to not know them at all. 

“Hah.” You sound incredulous. “Are you this fucking indecisive with everyone?”

“No,” he finally replies. “Just you.”

It’s then that he releases your wrist. You’ll walk away. In line with his own predictions, he already knows you’ll barge past him—perhaps knocking a book or two off his shelf. 

But, no—

“Do you ever shut up?”

—you seem to defy his expectations each time. 

His eyes flicker to your mouth, and this time you take notice. 

Kiss me with amaranthine on your lips. How fitting. 

His eyes widen as you roughly grasp the front of his shirt: creasing the smooth fabric in your fist as you yank his face forward. It’s as if you’re about to punch him square in the jaw, yet for some reason his heart pounds faster and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. Delicately, yet he is anything but that. 

“Seriously, you’re so—”

The heat consuming him is sweltering and omnipotent. One that controls his limbs like a marionette; he’s already reaching to grasp your chin with his rough hand. You’re warm: exhaling in surprise as his mouth meets yours. 

“Mmh–” Hands worn from playing chords tonight slip from the front of his shirt and slide around his nape. He can feel your fingers entangle themselves in his inky hair, and for once he closes his eyes. You taste like the sweetest poison: traces of cherry syrup and the faint spice of liqueur. 

He should’ve done this sooner. 

[cheralith]

so tonight that i might see | hobie brown

synopsis: you can't sleep and hobie has just the trick to help you do so.

word count: 1.0k

a/n: mentioned song is based on into dust - mazzy star :)

hobie brown, despite his rowdiness and love for noise, often plays the gentlest of songs during the stars' awakening hours.

he's obviously infamously called spider-punk for a good reason, there's no doubt about that. there's something just so thrilling about drilling out the most intense of power chords amidst gritty and taunting vocals that he savors himself in—but there's also that sweet and honeyed balance of slower songs that will slow his nerves down better than any sedative.

often people think that his acoustic guitar has a hefty layer of dust after not being touched for so long, but what they don't know is that his acoustic is kept tucked away in the shadows all safe and sound. it's his first guitar after all, why would he throw away such a valuable thing like that? but because of its importance to him, hobie is always mindful of who gets to see it because despite the jokes about it being his kryptonite, it might as well be considering its value.

which is why you can't help but feel a blossom of pride embed itself in your chest whenever hobie grants you the silent permission of seeing his acoustic—his only acoustic, at that. you just say the word to him, and he's never one to back down from your song requests because he adores you and would do anything to keep you content (he'll never tell you that, though. hobie brown is not one such foolishness like love confessions.)

you're spending the night in his canal boat per usual, feeling the water gently rock you back and forth like a cradle. it has to be what? around 1am at this point? he lays quietly next to you all sound asleep with occasional snores in the small-ish twin mattress, his body warmth heating the left side of your body while your right succumbs to the soft chill of the night. it's a strange unevenness.

another layer of guilt washes over you when you turn over again to get comfortable before you huff out of frustration at your eyelids' refusal to grow heavy like the rest of your body. unfortunately, it's loud enough to wake your companion resting beside you, and you murmur out an apology when hobie props himself awake as he rubs his eyes.

"you alright, love?" he asks groggily.

you nod despite your certain circumstances. "yeah, yeah... don't mind me. did i wake you? i'm sorry."

"'s alright," hobie mutters, his neck crackling like fireworks as he stretches his muscles. "guessin' ya can't sleep."

a melancholic sigh whispers itself from your lips when you nod almost bashfully. "i don't know why, though. you'd think after today's events, i'd be absolutely drained."

"mmh, could also just be one of those nights, ye?" hobie says with a tired brow.

"you should go back to sleep," you reply soft, your hand going to tuck a bit of the shared blanket over some of his lower bare torso again; he insists on sleeping shirtless��"the heat at night gets a lil dodgy, y'know?"

hobie shakes his head, "can't really sleep if you can't."

crickets chirp softly from the distance with the murmur of the lake just breezing by. what a perfect ambience to dream to, you think, but alas, the sandman has chosen to spare his sand against you tonight. you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin between them, obviously exhausted—yet not tired.

"want me to play you that song y've fond of?" hobie suggests. he doesn't even wait for you to answer or elaborate further because he's already out of the shared bed and walking towards his closet to pluck out the fabric casing of his acoustic guitar. it's such a grand contrast to his many collections of its electric counterparts as it lacked the mayhem and destructions some of them had.

its somehow still in pristine condition; its body still amber and sleek with the fingerboards solid and sturdy. hobie settles back down on the side of the bed again with the guitar tucked safely on his lap and you blearily watch him tune it correctly.

"lay back down, darling," he instructs to you, his words not even doing much work before you fall into his command so steadily. his fingers go to softly strum a few chords at first before he asks you, "was that the one?"

"mmh hm," shaking your head you hum out a quiet and familiar tune, one that hobie was testing out a few weeks ago as a prototype that managed to catch your ear. "it was the one that was like... do duh do duh... do duh do duh..." your finger wags in the air up and down, up and down, mimicking the melody of the song.

despite your lyrical nonsense, hobie understands which song you're talking about right away. his plucking goes to match your absurd singing before he turns to you for affirmation.

"yeah, that one," you mutter and tuck yourself under the sheets again to let the song hopefully lull you to slumber.

hobie's usual singing is rather rough and a little jagged, giving his own flair to the traditional punk rock style of singing while still keeping its homage, but he's chosen to hum a wordless harmony rather than sing anything at all. it's a nice blend, you think as your eyelids grow heavier, his voice almost mirroring a cello of sorts.

the guitar riff is repeated ten times over, yet something about it seems to finally let your muscles relax for once. hobie finishes the song with a strayed sort of melodic rhythm; one that seals the knot of the song to indicate its finale. when he looks back, his fingers still a little stinged from the metal strings, the quiet pain of them is subsided when he sees your dozing face cuddled into the pillow.

too unbothered to set his guitar aside properly, hobie settles it on the ground before settling himself back into bed. this time, he oh so carefully tucks an arm under your neck while the other slings to your back to cradle you into him tenderly. to seal the night off, there's the whisper of a kiss given to your forehead by him, the gesture making you unconsciously grin in your sleep.

and suddenly—there's a balance of warmth everywhere on your body, the cold of the night forgotten with good riddance.

[kyumisyumi]

Duet

It would've probably made more sense for me to write this about Soap but there's tonnes of Soap content and I'm tryna feed the starving.

Warning: Quickly written, barely proof read

Ship: Nikto x Banshee!Reader (F)

Word count: 1k

⊱⊶Taking requests⊷⊰

It was like throwing up pins and needles, using your voice after so long. The sounds clawed against your throat as if begging to never see the light of day. Your own song fighting to return to the darkness of your vocal chords, wishing to never be uttered. But this wasn't your song anymore and that's why it needed to be sung. Needed to be released into the cool air to meet the oracles in the stars. It was an ugly tune; gargles and keening as your emotions morphed into rancid sound. Your bloodline had ended decades ago. You remember the moment the elder, happy without child, closed her eyes for the last time. The final composer of your songs laid for eternal slumber with a smile turned towards your distant figure. Her end marked the beginning of your hibernation. A solemn existence. You lied to yourself that it was a prize for centuries of dutiful work, but loneliness festered inside your core as your wondered for years without purpose.

Then came the sound; timber against timber. The click of a composer's wand. Something you never thought you'd hear ever again. Click click. You were being summoned. Called for by Death to let you know your job was not finished. Like a hound to its name, you followed it. Your apprehension and confusion weighed heavy but no force inside you was stronger than the instincts pumping through your inhuman form. Click click. Like children to a dinner bell, you followed it. The fabrics draped around your greyish body clipping in and out of reality, snagging on branches when it unfortunately caught only to dissolve into mist. Stones and twigs piercing your feet before phasing through your ethereal form. Click click. Like sunflowers to the morning rays, you followed it. Something inside you beating feverously; a life that wasn't your own cradled within your chest. Click click. Like a magazine into a gun, because that's exactly what it was. When the thrumming inside your chest calmed down, you could finally hear the sounds of gunfire whizzing through the air. Hoof beats storming the ground revealed to be the boots of man. Soldiers. They bolted through the concrete and dirt of wrecked structures, firing their weapons into their own kind. None of that mattered to you however, you had seen war plenty of times. All that mattered were the clicks that called for your song and the person holding the gun. Click click.

It alarmed him, naturally, when he began to hear the eerie melody of a woman's song. It first reached him amidst a fitful attempt at rest within his small tent. Nikto wasn't sure what to make of it. Another case of his mind playing tricks on him? That the enemy had released hallucinogens into the air? However, when he'd asked his comrades if they heard it too all he'd received were worried looks in response. It was in his head then. Was this karma? Had all the lives he'd taken conspire in the afterlife to haunt him? If so, this was an odd tactic; to sing him hymns rather than rip his soul from his flesh to drag it down where he belonged. He'd tired himself out clawing at the walls of his mind, trying to find a source within. And so he just listened, all of him. It drove him insane almost as much as it brought him peace. Words he could not decipher being whispered in a tune unknown yet somehow familiar. A song that wasn't in his memory but somewhere deeper, somewhere more him than he could ever conceptualize. No matter how much it unnerved him to hear this mysterious singing, the way it warmed his body and stilled his mind became a drug to him. If this was a new level of madness, he had little complaints.

When he heard it in the midst of battle, the effects were reversed; it riled him up rather than calm him down. Like the being was singing life into him. It diffused into his skin to settle within the nerves and muscles beneath his flesh, pushing him ever forward. It whispered truths he'd always known. That he was a harbinger of death, a machine of violence serving those who wrote his cheques. How he felt about it made no difference to what he was. Nobody. Not a person, just a weapon. It felt almost blasphemous to commit acts of cruelty to music so beautiful but his body called for it. A head he'd bashed into a wall, a spine snapped beneath his feet, this bloodshed was his offering to the being that sang for him. To the unknown creature that had decided to take up residence in his mind.

This felt right, this felt like destiny. Nikto carved his path into the enemy stars like the bullet through his chest. Falling to his knees like a man in prayer before laying to meet the Gods.

It was only then that you went to his side, looking into the confused blue eyes of your composer. They searched yours, forgetting where he was and what he was doing as the shrouds of your body filled his vision.

"женщина[woman], sing for me." His voice was much like the metal instruments he played.

You held his hand in both your own, watching the calm slip into his eyes as he listened to your ugly wails. You'd heard the lyrics he filled in. Oh, how they made your heart bleed. But now, in his final moments, you sing to him in words he could understand. Serenade him with the truth of who he was, cradling him to hide his tears. The thumping in your chest was slowing down as your song mellowed to it's end. The final verse came in the sound of a rattle.

[alwaysurvalentine]

Three Strikes and You're Out! - pt. 3

this is the final installment (for now?) of Eddie learning about baseball to help teach Steve about D&D!

wc: 1.8k - cw: nothing I can think of!

Need to catch up? pt. 1 pt. 2

Enjoy! 💛

Summer has officially descended onto Hawkins. It’s hot outside so Eddie’s pulled his hair into a bun. His bangs had been resting against his forehead before he tied his bandana around his hair line. He knows they probably look a little goofy resting on top of the fabric instead, but at least he doesn’t feel sticky anymore. A mostly new notebook is front of him, the first few pages with rough scribbles, but finally he has something easier for Steve to follow. A couple sketches still surround the edges: a beholder with a body covered in stitches like a baseball, elementals made of dirt and air, and a silly sketch of a mind-flayer with a baseball jersey on. 

Steve’s supposed to be coming over to go over the notes and maybe even make another character for the Party’s next session. They’d tried looking at them the other night but they’d only half made sense to Eddie’s brain and Steve couldn’t follow the clear spiral of Eddie’s mind when he’d made his connections. Instead they’d spent the night hanging out in Eddie’s room, Steve laying back on Eddie’s bed while he worked on a couple songs. 

~

It’d been nerve-wracking to have someone observing him and it took a little bit before Eddie could fall into his process. Play a few chords, hum an imaginary verse, and then scribble away on his music notebook. He’d gotten so into the rhythm of things that soon he was looking at a song ready to present to the rest of the band. With the song basically finished, Eddie had looked up to see Steve watching him with a small smile. The younger boy looked more relaxed than Eddie had ever seen him, shirt riding up slightly with his hair splayed out on one of Eddie’s pillows. 

“What’s that face for?” The words came out more defensive than he’d meant, but Steve’s smile just grew enough to crinkle the corner of his eyes. 

“I think I might be falling in love with you.” 

Silence filled the room. Eddie blinked at Steve. Neither of them moved until Eddie shifted to set his guitar to the side. Steve had sat up and straightened his shirt, leaning over to grab his shoes where he’d toed them off an hour ago. 

“That was stupid, sorry. I’m going to head out. I’m sorry.” 

Those words finally kicked Eddie into gear and he’d stopped Steve’s movement with his hand. His rings felt like ice compared to the warmth of Steve’s skin. All of the relaxation from before had vanished, Steve’s shoulders in a tense line with his face turned towards his lap. 

“Stevie.” A barely there exhale of his name, but it didn’t stop the brunette from tensing further. “Did you mean it?” As soon as Steve had nodded, Eddie had reached to tilt his face up. Hazel eyes met his and all he could do was smile before leaning in. “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”

~

Tires rolling on top of gravel brought Eddie’s attention back to the present and the sight of Steve’s BMW pulling up to greet him. There’s a boyish grin on Steve’s face when he parks and he even does a little wave before reaching to his passenger seat for something before joining Eddie outside.

“I brought some snacks, figured you can’t study without something to eat, right?” The bag crinkles when Steve sets it down and Eddie can see the outline of a Coke and his favorite Doritos (cool ranch) through the plastic. He thought he’d gotten bad butterflies before, but his stomach riots when Steve sits down and wraps a gentle hand around his ankle for a squeeze. The touch is fleeting at best, Steve already reaching for the bag to empty it’s contents next to Eddie, but it encourages him to slide down and sit at the bench. Now their legs are lined up next to each other, heat making them practically stick to the other – Eddie thinks it’s worth it for the flush that covers Steve’s cheeks at the motion. 

“So, tell me all about how I’m going to understand your Dungeons and Dragons game.”

Nerves crawl up Eddie’s spine and he clenches his notebook hard enough that the pages crumple slightly.

“Okay, a lot of this information is from Wayne, so if it’s wrong, pretend it isn’t.” And then he open the notebook to reveal his previous scribbling in a neat bulleted list. “Without further ado, I’m going to make your beloved baseball into D&D.”

~

“So, you know these things?” Eddie points to his drawing of the baseball diamond and watches as a softer smile lights up Steve’s face. 

“Yeah, those are the bases.”

“And do you know how far apart those are?” 

“Should be 90 feet.” 

“Exactly! So your character here, has a walking speed of 30 feet.” It’d taken some time to flatten out Steve’s previously crumpled character sheet, but it was worth it now, Steve’s finger pointing to the speed Eddie was referring to. “Which means, for your character to get from one base to another, it would take you three turns.” The flicker of understanding in Steve’s eyes made quizzing Wayne on sports worth it. 

“Speaking of turns, you know how when the bad guys show up I have everyone roll for initiative?” A nod. “It’s like making your lineup for the ones hitting the ball. Wayne said you had to tell the other team that ahead of time, so it’s different in that sense because we just put together the order on the spot.”

~

Steve’s brows are furrowed as he looks at the notes and then the Players Handbook Eddie brought. “Different weapon skills...those would be like different pitches?” There’s confusion coloring the words, and Eddie’s so glad he’s able to tell Steve he’s right. He’s sure if the younger boy got one too many assumptions wrong he’d close up again and probably never give the game another try. 

The sun isn’t quite going down yet, but it’s cooled off at least. Eddie’s coke has left a small ring of condensation on the top of the table and he pokes at the droplets of water gathered there while Steve contemplates over his character sheet. 

“Okay, so what is it called when the weapons are used far away?” It takes a second for the question to register, Eddie more focused on trying to make a lyric work about someone’s hazel honey eyes. 

“Eddie?”

“Oh! Those are called range weapons. Those would be your guns or crossbows.”

“Okay, so,” Steve glances to the notes again and bites at his bottom lip before continuing. “Those would be more like the outfielders, since they sometimes have to throw the balls back from the other side of the field to get someone out. But my character doesn’t have range weapons, so they’re more like a catcher?” 

Eddie would love to tell Steve that he’s right again, but he doesn’t actually remember what a catcher does. His confusion must show on his face because the furrow in Steve’s brow lessens and a tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“A catcher is the person behind the current batter. They squat down behind the current batter and catch anything the batter doesn’t hit. They’re also there to try and tag out someone running to home plate.” It’s weird to hear Steve talk about sports and actually follow it, but Eddie does nod in confirmation which makes Steve small smile turn into a full grin. 

“Seems like you’ve got a hang of things now. Maybe even enough to give another session a try?” Eddie cuts the pressure off of Steve by clasping his hands in front of his chest in a pleading motion and flutters his eyes to seal the deal. The tips of Steve’s ears turn pink and he feels his own grin widen at the sight of Steve ducking his head towards his chest. 

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know if I’m going to be let back at the table though. I didn’t really leave in the best way last time. I know the guys definitely didn’t appreciate it. Not a good first impression I can imagine.” Steve’s right, Gareth had been irritated about him standing mid turn to leave the room, but that doesn’t mean Eddie wants to hear Steve beat himself up over it.

“Hey. Quit that. Everyone makes mistakes. So what if you left the session in the middle of the big fight? It wasn’t like the party was very welcoming either. I know Gareth hasn’t been the nicest, but you’ve won Jeff and Grant over.” 

Won over is putting it simply. As soon as Jeff had found out that Steve had carried Eddie to safety despite injuries of his own, he’d had nothing mean to say about the other boy. When Steve had left the table clearly flustered and Gareth went to say something, there’s been a distinct thump under the table that Eddie’s pretty sure was Jeff kicking the other boy. Mike had gone to complain too, but Will cut that thought off with a simple look. 

“It really is okay. None of us thought about how hard it would be to keep up with a bunch of seasoned players. Dustin said he’d explained the game mechanics to you; I should’ve known that meant talked your ear off and hoped you picked up all the information. I’ve played the game for years now and I still have questions from time to time. Shit, the game itself released a whole beginner set of rules for people to look at just to get into Dungeons & Dragons.”

The sun’s started setting now, casting Steve in an orange light. A couple of eager lightning bugs have already started their dance, blinking off and on as they fly around the park. They’ve been pouring over his notes for the better part of the day so he thinks it’s time for a well deserved break. 

“Enough about DnD, I think it’s time for dinner. Wayne should be getting up soon to get ready for work. Hungry?” A soft growl from Steve’s stomach voices it’s agreement and Eddie laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes. Hope you’re ready for my specialty, Kraft mac and cheese.” Steve chuckles and closes the notebooks in front of him before passing them over. He turns and throws one of his legs over the bench, straddling the seat facing Eddie while he stacks them in an order only he knows the reason behind. 

“Hey, Eddie?” 

“Hm?” He leans over slightly to show he’s listening, but the lack of an answer has Eddie turning towards Steve with an eyebrow raised. He goes to speak but gets cut off with a chaste brush of lips against his. Eddie’s world narrows to the smell of Steve’s cologne, something that smells like rain on freshly cut grass and a hint of vanilla. Just as soon as Steve leaned in, he leans away, the sun painting orange and pink highlights in his hair when he tilts his head grinning.

“Thank you.” 

~

And thank YOU for being so patient!! Tags for those who wanted to see how these lovebirds figured things out: @dreamercec @yesdangerpls @adverbally . I know it's like a month overdue, just been hit with a lot of new ideas and a little bit of a struggle with knowing when things are at a good ending place!!

[trophycannibal]

a wip sunday snippet in which grace should consider being the change she wants to see in the world (kissing fred):

Her eyes dropped to Freddie’s lips for the fifth time in as many minutes. Freddie, like always, looked so kissable. Her palpable excitement was like a rope pulling her in and Grace couldn't help wishing to reach the end. She had fantasized about it often over the years.

The soft, dim light of the fairy lights glowed on their skin, setting everything in a quieter, more intimate manner, as they danced around the apartment to a variety playlist – playing everything from funk to metal to pop and more. Raindrops splattered outside filling the spaces around the music and their breaths with ambient sound. The smell of potstickers and fried rice still permeated the apartment from their dinner. White takeout boxes sat on the counters, some open, others closed, but their contents otherwise forgotten for now. An instrumental jazz-funk song came on and time slowed when Freddie looked into Grace’s eyes. Her dark brown eyes looked even darker in the dim light, but they were still just as beautiful as ever, and Grace could see them soften, a hesitancy grow in them and then dissolve. Somehow the mood finally struck right and Freddie’s bravery stuck. Lifting one hand up, she caressed Grace’s cheek, sending tingles throughout her body from the gentle, slow contact. Then like a wish whispered quietly in the waning moments of sunlight, Freddie leaned down and captured Grace’s lips with her own, taking a leap of faith that sent both of their hearts racing.

It was dumb. Neither of them were right. But it became about the principle of the matter. The sooner Freddie admitted that Almond Joy should be renamed to something that emphasized the coconut in the treat, the sooner they could get back to planning their trip to see Hadestown. But no. Freddie kept insisting they should be called Almond Blues because of the blue packaging and there not being enough almonds, which “gives you the almond blues.” It was ridiculous. But there was fire in Freddie’s animated eyes and probably Grace’s too. Neither of them were budging on this highly unimportant matter. Arms swung through the air as they each plead their cases again. Voices rising as over trodden points were reiterated, interrupting the other as they thought of new counterpoints, their passions as bright as the sun beaming in through the window. And then it came to a standstill. Freddie’s lips were pressed hard against Grace’s, redirecting the flow of her passion, pouring it directly into Grace, who burned hot from desire.

Adrenaline from the show had worn off and the chill atmosphere of the after-show ritual had set in. Grace was only half-listening as Kaz talked about his ideas for his D&D character from the other side of the booth. Brian seemed all too aware that he had been leaning in and tried to subtly reposition himself further away despite the not-so-subtle blush he sported on his face. Sitting across from each other, they were like 2 sides of the same coin, desperately in love with the friend sitting next to them. Grace put her hands on the cherry table directly into one of the wet spots created from the condensation from her drinks and immediately put them back down, rubbing the wetness off onto her pants. She leaned into Freddie, who remained as still as a statue beside her. A beautiful, wonderful statue that she would never tire of admiring. The vibrations of Freddie’s vocal chords reverberated through her as she made suggestions to Kaz. Then she turned her gaze down to Grace, who felt rather snug against her arm. The fabric of her jacket was like a comforting memory against her skin. Freddie offered to buy her another beer and Grace straightened in the torn red leather seats. Almost as if it was habitual, Freddie gave Grace a quick peck and then set about procuring another beer.

Grace had thought of a thousand different situations where Freddie kissed her. This time was no different. She wanted Freddie to finally get the hint and do it.

[self-spaghettification]

Aaravos’s Endless Cold

because of @sthormiiii’s headcanon— I was thinking about how Aaravos has to wear a cloak because he’s cold and. this spawned. Oops

Despite his mastery of both sun and sky, while the powerful archmage could do anything within reason, heating or cool the temperature of the room without a thought, he could not help finding himself freezing regardless. it was the sort of inner chill that soaked you to your bones. that left him shivering and hands trembling with no reason at all, despite the way the fire blazed right in front of him, dancing across his hands, within him. 

he found his body’s involuntary reactions to his solitary confinement an inelegant limitation of his form so he took to wearing a cloak so that as he checked his reflection in the ceaselessly watching mirror, he might not have to look upon the stars that glistened faintly on his skin like the sweat that coated it regardless of his ever constant slight adjustment to temperature. The stars that once shone brightly and winked at him warmly from his skin whispering sweetly of wonders now angrily hummed minor chords and squinted in disdain. It ached in a way more tangible somehow than the constant ache of the inky black tear in the fabric of his ethereal being. He had grown so very, very tired of the pain, and had more important things to attend to. He vaguely wondered what it was like to know temperature, to know love, but with no real commitment to the concept any further. Every time he stretched his mind out to touch the constellations and divine their alignment he was slapped back, his black heartache ate at him and took his stars.

Tears rolled down his face, of no real consequence. He gently touched the black mark making him a mocking example of monstrousness, which he grown used to nonetheless. The days still passed, regardless of the impossibility of knowing. Once, he would have let them take all of him in the darkness, given into the icy cold, the shivering and tears. But withering numb and purposeless into dry tinder,  it was fire he must utilize, dancing across the table, the pit, his hands, burning inside him, and after each bout of those desolate days of darkness—the sun must always rise, mustn’t it—he had grown used to setting fires and burning candles and wearing cloaks to mark his time and burn away his aches. It was enough to believe almost- almost—that the shivers had gone away. So be it, it made no difference if his stars sweat in cold fury or his core shivered in the terrifying icy hunger of a vacuum from the ever open wound. As much as possible, he would cover and neglect them just as the stars taught him—

excommunicated.

[xmissrogersx]

“Video Games” | Joel Miller

tags: Post-Outbreak. Jackson life. Domesticity. Fluff. Ellie being the cutest daughter.

my writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.

i hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.

pris masterlist

A summer day was passing through the small community of Jackson. The trees provided a pleasant breeze that urged the children to play in the streets before going to school; and the flowers in the windows of the houses provided colors that made them forget the darkness of the outside world.

-That's all for today, honey —Maria peeked down the hallway.

-Are you sure you don't need me? I can stay and help you.

-Of course not, you covered a lot of time when I had to take care of my neglectful husband —she exclaimed, making us both laugh.

I grabbed my bag and walked out of the cozy little library and walk to home. Home. After so many years, i have a home to come back. I crossed the only street to see him at the end of the driveway, sitting on the front porch playing his guitar next to Ellie.

-Paris! Look... —she played a few light chords, causing Joel to look up with fatherly pride.

-I knew you'd make it.

-I have to go tell Lily —she got up and walked out as if his life depended on it, but came back to give me a brief but tender hug.

-Thank you for helping me with my literature homework, I wouldn't have understood a shit what the author was saying if it wasn't for you —and before I could answer she ran back to her friend's house.

Excitement was getting the better of me again as I tried to keep my eyes from watering. I turned to see Joel with his gaze locked on me, which was getting darker as his brown orbs swept over me. I bit my lower lip in provocation.

-Come here, angel —he patted his thigh and extended his hand.

Taking refuge in his strong arms, smelling his pine scent mixed with the slight hint of scotch, as I snuggled into his chest was the definition of what I enjoyed most about my day.

-How was work? —he asked, stroking my leg, lifting the fabric of my dress slightly.

-Just me and a stack of books. I love it. I helped a couple of guys look for one...¡oh!, and one girl wanted to read a story about friendship and adventure. Please Joel tell me if I'm talking too fast —I covered my face in embarrassment.

His laughter echoed in my ears, sending a shock through my body. Every time he laughed I recorded his melody in my mind.

-I could never get tired of listening to you, darlin’. And what book did you recommend her?

-Little Women. I remember when I was little I managed to smuggle it out of the QZ zone. It helped me forget about all the crap outside for a while. I'd pretend I was one of the March sisters, and I'd play Pilgrims and decorate the house for the holidays.

-You can do it now —I cocked an eyebrow at her response.-Ellie would like it. She loves everything you do together, and Maria could help you with the costumes.

I reached up to his face to place a kiss on his chin, cheek and forehead, and then our lips met. I wanted him to know that I adored how he protected and adored me day by day. And that I was his, today and always.

-Joel Miller, you old softie —I said, earning a pinch on my thighs.

-Do you want to know what you're doing to this old man by wearing that dress?

My lungs had run out of air in a second, despite the rushing wind. That's what Joel was doing to me. I nodded slightly, playing along. I put my legs on either side of his lap, and rested my hands on his chest.

I unbuttoned his shirt, and caressed the scars that adorned his torso, kissing them one by one, as I lowered my hand to the buckle of his pants.

-You're playing with fire, princess —he moaned softly, making me feel powerful as I saw the effect I was having on him.

The county had gathered in the movie theater, leaving the place empty. What an excellent coincidence.

[chetchad]

🄱🅁🄾🄺🄴🄽 🄶🅄🄸🅃🄰🅁 🅂🅃🅁🄸🄽🄶🅂

MDNI 18+

(Trent Lane x FEM!reader)

KINKTOBER DAY 2; (student/teacher, mutual masterbation, break up)

WC; 1.3k

CWs; (teacher/student relationship, guitar lessons, mutual masterbation, fingering, slight squirting(?), porn without plot, loosely edited, mentioned trent/monique, light praise)

You were seated on the bed, watching your instructor's skilled fingers strum a simple note. His rings were a nice contrast to the wood of the guitar.

“Okay. You try, yeah?” Trent hummed softly, holding his tuned instrument out to you.

God. This guy was a fucking babe. How were you supposed to concentrate with him around you?

“Alright��” your tone was soft and unsure, not positive you could pull off the very basic and simple G chord.

It had been like this for a couple weeks now. You came over every Wednesday, or whenever Trent would call and ask if you wanted to come over that day for more practice.

His prices weren't horrible.

25 a lesson. (It was coming from daddy's bank account anyway)

Plus, he was fun to be around. Laid back and soft spoken. He wasn't loud and obnoxious like some of the other 21 year old boys you've met in your short 19 years.

With nimble fingers pressed against the strings, you looked up at Trent for validation about your finger placement. Trent's half lidded eyes met yours, reaching forward and shifting your hand a little.

“There. Now, just, strum. Gently.” Trent instructed, giving you a small reassuring nod.

With a small amount of hesitance, you softly strummed the chords, smiling a little when the right note vibrated back to your ears. Trent gave a tiny nod of approval, his eyes dancing across your pretty features.

“Good girl.” He praised softly, giving you a little grin.

Fuck. That made your pussy weep into the gusset of your panties. Making the white fabric almost translucent and cling to your cunt.

“Hm, we can be done with this lesson. I've got rehearsal at five.” Trent sighed, stretching a little.

You furrowed your brow, looking down at the watch around your wrist, “... it's seven-thirty?”

“Damn it.” Trent huffed, before shrugging with an indifferent expression, “...next time.”

God. You never got the term “the bee's knees”, but Trent was definitely the bee's knees…whatever the fuck it meant.

The next lesson the following week, Trent was more tired than his usual sleepy self. So, like the good little girl you were, you asked what was wrong.

“What's going on? You seem a little upset.” Your words were casual while you sat on his bed and raked his body up and down while he laid on the comforter, staring up at the ceiling. His raven hair was messy, even more so than his everyday spikes.

“Me and Monique broke up last night.” Trent answered, sitting up and rubbing his red eyes from lack of sleep(or a high. Hell if you could tell)

“Again?”

You covered your mouth, realizing it was pretty damn rude to out him like that. But he didn't seem upset and just smiled with a little chuckle that ended with a cough into his fist.

“Yeah. Not very surprising?” He coughed out, looking up at you with a small grin.

You leaned over to grab his guitar, the short skirt exposing those cute little pink panties of yours. Trent could see everything. The chubbiness of your pussy, the little wet patch from your swollen inner lips.

Damnit. Trent crossed his legs, hiding the semi in his jeans.

Honestly, you didn't expect your lesson to turn out like this. But here you were, gently palming the twitchy and leaky bulge in Trent's jeans, listening to him sigh softly in pleasure. His noises were absolutely the best thing you've heard from him. Sure, his little humming while he played a simple tune was cute, but you didn't know he was a whiner.

Trent's lips lightly danced over the soft skin of your neck, kissing and nipping at you. He almost convulsed when you undid his belt and fly. A soft little, teasing suck at your neck was what you were met with when you slipped your hand in his boxers.

Oh wow. He felt nice, pretty damn throbby and weepy. Tugging down his boxers, you set them under his nutsack, making the two chubby balls seem larger at the base of his cock.

You subconsciously spread your legs like a whore when his hand slithered under your skirt, teasing the sopping gusset of your little boyshorts.

Skilled boy, yeah? He knew exactly where that sweet little nubbin was, hiding in those folds and fat of your pretty inner lips.

Pushing your skirt up, Trent tugged your panties to the side, eyeing the soaked heat appreciatively. With quick fingers, Trent spread those pretty lips, almost groaning at the velvety insides of your cunt.

You hummed softly, watching his cock with half lidded eyes while you pumped the hot length. A sweet muffled cuss left your lips when he circled your entrance with his middle finger.

“Tight?” Trent's smooth voice rang in your ears.

“... probably.” Your answer was definitely biased due to it being your own cunt.

“Nice.” He nodded approvingly, slipping a digit in your tight heat, grunting when your channel squeezed his intruding finger.

“A-ah…!” You gasped, stilling your hand, before pumping him with great vigor.

The room was hot and stuffy, the sounds of skin on skin, wet squelches, and soft noises of pleasure filled Trent's room that was usually full of music. Well, this was the music of the devil's tango or Satan's mamba. Whichever it is.

“You're such a good girl.” Trent praised cooly in your ear, thrusting his finger in and out of your pussy, his palm hitting your clit with every push. Your cunt had a great suction on it, swallowing and squeezing him greedily. A second finger slipped in while he curled them up to tease your sensitive g-spot.

You whined in response, rubbing your thumb over the drooling slit on the tip of is cock. A soft grin pulled at your lips when Trent gasped, hips stuttering nicely when you went over it a few times. It was agonizing for him. He was so close to finishing, but he didn't even know if you were close to an orgasm.

“‘M close…” Trent warned, dark eyes searching your eyes for any sort of recognition that you were at the edge.

“Me too…” your voice was soft and breathy, your other hand pulling your sweater up and tugging the cups of your bra down, freeing the mounds of fat chub.

Trent let out a low moan, his eyes zeroing in on those bouncing hemispheres and pert nipples that were begging for his attention. It took everything in him not to wrap his lips around one of your cute nips and go to town on it.

Your thighs were trembling, the cool metal of his rings were almost too hot from the heat of your sweet cunt. You knew you were close, the knot in the pit of your stomach was knotted so tight that it hurt, just begging for it to snap.

God. If Trent knew that this is what just touching and feeling was like with you, he would have already gone all the way during that first lesson.

The knot finally snapped when Trent used his other hand to pinch and flick one of your hardened buds. You accidentally grabbed onto his messy hair to keep yourself grounded while you came with a soft cry of his name, your hand desperately trying to keep pumping him while you gushed around his fingers.

Trent's eyes widened, gasping and thrusting up into your fist while he finished. Spurts of pure white dribbling over your knuckles, your hand and wrist limp while you panted in his ear, almost building condensation on the piercings with your hot breath.

After a few moments of gathering your bearings, you pulled back a little, your noses touching while Trent's lips grazed yours.

Trent gripped the back of your head, fisting your hair and clashing your lips against his. You giggled against his lips, his soul patch tickling your chin.

You pulled away after about a long minute of hot kisses, a bit breathless, “Do you do that with all your students?”

“The cute ones, yeah.” Trent replied, watching your heated form with a smug grin.

[sagau-my-beloved]

The unexpected third and final part to the series I never gave a name to, otherwise known as a continuation of the jealous Venti, overworked reader, and treasure hoarders fiasco

Warnings: general sagau, blood, implied death (not main characters)

-

You had found it rather odd when a certain god wasn't waiting for you after calling it a day and retiring to your chambers. Venti certainly wasn't known to be absent like this, and you couldn't remember seeing him once today.

You didn't let it linger on your mind for very long, alone time was quite a rarity after all. As much as you enjoyed his company, and the company of all your followers, moments where you could simply be by yourself were few and far between.

So you brushed the situation off, retiring to bed earlier that night, happy to have the opportunity to sprawl out completely in the large comfortable bed. What you didn't expect was waking in the middle of the night for no discernible reason.

It wasn't sudden, not due to any sort of sound or occurrence that jerked you from your slumber so rudely. But, nonetheless, you found yourself awake, tired and confused, but awake.

You opened your eyes for a moment, squinting slightly, the feeling of sleep still coating your mind completely. It only took a second to notice, just a small glance to see the glowing green eyes that stared back at you, unblinking.

You mentally jumped, inhaling suddenly before your mind caught up, recognizing the owner of those eyes, even with only the moon for light.

"Venti, I told you to stop that you know." You moaned with a voice still thickly coated with sleep, grabbing the spare pillow and forcing it over your head in annoyance. He remained silent, unmoving, just as focused on you.

After a moment you finally looked at him again, taking in more on his form as your eyes adjusted to the dark.

Something struck a chord with you, an inkling of confusion at the scene, and it took a moment longer to realize why.

Venti was fully in his Archon outfit, both his wings and marks on display, an outfit as revealing as you remembered you mentally noted.

But that wasn't the thing that concerned you. No, the thing that concerned you was how he was covered in red, trailing down his arms to his fingertips, soaking into the white fabric, splattered across his skin and wings alike.

"Venti—?"

"Your grace."

His voice was heavy, lacking any and all of the usual upbeat playfulness, as serious as ever, but with a hint of something else.

"I told you I would take care of it for you, didn't I?" He spoke it like a humorless joke, something that could be seen as funny or ironic in the right context, and it took your mind a moment to catch up with what exactly he meant.

The treasure hoarders. Of course. One of the many things that was taking your attention, one of the few he could do something about.

Realizing that the blood was, in fact, not his, you felt the need to roll your eyes at the heart attack he gave you, scold him for being so reckless, or maybe reprimand him for going against your wishes in the first place.

"Venti I swear—"

"I love you."

That caught you off guard, how he said it. It was whispered as a promise, a soft inkling of his true feelings, as if comparing a single drop of water to the ocean.

"I worship you."

You noted how his voice fell off into a breathy moan at the end, leading into a deep sigh of need, a need only you were allowed to invoke. One the was felt in the very fiber of his being, lighting up each and every nerve as if they were made of stardust itself.

You let the growing silence rest, consuming the both of you in its open arms.

What a most perfect silence it was.

You were upset with him, that much was clearly abundant from your expression alone, a scowl that showed you were considering how to deal with the situation.

"If you left me, I think I might die." This time it was spoken as a confession, holding the same humorless tone, as if it held all the truth of the universe, infinite in its implication.

You scoffed, "Do you really rely on me so heavily?" You had meant it to be teasing, a playful statement meant only to poke fun. It didn't come out as such, sounding more like an accusation, one seeped thoroughly in frustration.

Venti seemed to ponder his response, contemplating the phrasing, testing out the syllables as if they were completely foreign.

"I do."

How simple, how transparent, how utterly human this god sounded, no different than how he felt, you thought. Skin soft and perfect, warm, as if it really was blood that ran through his veins. You supposed that was another thing you now had in common, the liquid that ran through your body being just as foreign, with its divine metallic sheen.

You took a moment to breathe, to ground yourself, to fully feel the moment.

He looked pretty like that, godly and divine, something almost pure, which of course heavily contrasted with the blood drying on his clothes, splattered across his skin like a canvas. It soaked into his wings too, creating a patchy and inconsistent pattern of blotchy red on white, like rose petals on freshly fallen snow.

Why was that the first comparison that came to mind?

You pondered that question, biting your lip with a concentrated look. He certainly wasn't pure like the snow, nor nearly as gentle, though perhaps as fleeting. And to compare blood to roses, how cliche.

Venti wasn't fond of having your attention off him, not now when he had gone to such lengths to secure it all for himself.

"Your grace, you better not be thinking of anyone else." It wasn't so much a threat as a plea, a soft and broken request to be the sole recipient of something so precious. Of course, that isn't to say it didn't come with certain strings attached, a silent reminder of the situation, a soft reference to how what he was covered in was in fact not something as innocent as rose petals.

Your eyes shifted back to him, refusing to relinquish even an ounce of what you were thinking, guarded as ever.

"I'm not letting you get any closer until you take a bath, or at least change clothes."

Venti pouted for a moment, then started crawling his way from the foot of the bed towards you, an expression that screamed nothing but want and careful hope.

"Venti." It was said as a warning. Though you were aware that most of the blood was probably dry by now, you still didn't particularly want to risk it. He only gave a wolfish smile and inched closer, intent obvious to any onlookers.

"Venti—" You weren't able to finish your sentence, being immediately lunged at by the playful and needy god.

He giggled and you struggled momentarily before giving in, fighting to keep a smile off your face, to maintain that frustration that came so naturally before.

"I apologize your grace, you just looked so warm and soft sitting there, I couldn't help myself."

You scoffed at him, "Maybe put on some actual clothes then."

He whined at that, nuzzling closer as if you were the only source of heat he'd willingly take from.

He was covered in goosebumps, you could feel them across his skin as you ran your fingertips over his arm. He shuddered.

"It's cold outside tonight." He mumbled into your skin, soaking up all the warmth you provided. "I didn't feel it till now."

You let out an absentminded hum, one that showed your mind was elsewhere. Venti raised his head to look at you, fear creeping into his mind now that the adrenaline had worn off.

"You're not upset, right?"

He certainly didn't regret it, doing away with the hindrances who were all too happy to greedily steal your attention, whether they knew it or not. They deserved it.

"Well, I think you took it a bit far."

His heart dropped.

Venti was quick to recover, quick to decide exactly his next course of action, what honeyed words would get him back in your good graces.

You made a noise of surprise as you felt his arms leave you, giving him a questioning look as he reluctantly pulled himself away.

He stepped off the bed, keeping eye contact as he dropped to his knees, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips before closing his eyes completely, bowing his head with nothing but the up most of reverence. There's no denying he looked incredibly beautiful sitting there on his knees, his wings falling behind him with such elegance. It would be no stretch of the imagination to say he was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, with the moonlight reflecting off the white and red alike, indiscriminately illuminating each individual color, as if it was made of the finest of stones.

"My divine creator, please forgive me for my transgressions." He spoke in prayer, pronouncing each word with the same meaningful intent.

"I offer myself to you. I would burn forests and mountains alike to cinders, create storms that could cut through stone, so long as you'll have me." The calm and steady voice he had prior was starting to dissipate, shattering to reveal the desperation underneath. "Please, look upon me, I beg you to do so. Look at my face and know that I am a slave to your every whim. Every desire. Please. Please continue to love me."

You were at a loss for words when he opened his eyes again to look up at you, searching your face for something, anything. You continued to give nothing away.

Fear gripped him in that moment of silence, holding him hostage in morbid anticipation.

"Take a bath, go get changed, and then come to bed." You finally spoke, a form of tiredness weighing heavy on your voice. What type of tiredness he didn't have the means to discern, but you welcoming him back into your embrace was a promising notion.

Venti quickly nodded with wide eyes, unable to keep a smile at your 'supposed forgiveness' off his face. He, just as quickly, stood from your bedside and started to leave, intentionally dragging his wings over your face as you sputtered, causing you to glare and him to look back with a coy smile, throwing in a wink for good measure as you just rolled your eyes. You heard him giggle once he was out the door. How he managed to jump from completely serious to the exact same playful demeanor you had come to know eluded you completely.

You thought briefly about the conversation you would be having with him in the morning, already planning out the intricate lines and responses, allowing the repetition to lull you into something close to sleep, finally fully embracing it when you felt a weight dip the opposite side of the bed and a pair of arms wrapping around your torso as a familiar face made itself comfortable against the back of your neck.

Venti thought about the morning as well, but in quite a different way, allowing imagery of him and you together fill his mind. From the peak of Starsnach cliff to the low valley of Windrise, from your bed to the farthest reaches of Teyvat, he would do anything in order to experience it all with you.

God help anyone who got in the way of that.

[little-lily-w]

Surgery part 6

<<Part 5                            Try some Surgery II>>

A/N: this is the last part and I still don’t know what I’m doing.

It helped calm the ache but his proximity made you feel uncomfortable, or better say, in tension. You couldn’t really tell if you wanted more of the analgetic effect or if you wanted him at least 10 meters away.

“There’s no answer”, you let out as bravely as you could when he locked eyes with yours. “You are just looking to amuse yourself at my expense and I won’t give you the pleasure. Do the rest of the cuts. I won’t talk to you anymore. There’ll be no more answers”.

“Alright. Avoidance stage came quite quick”, he commented, tilting your chin up again. “But there’ll also be no more questions”.

What did that mean? You felt the blade finally sliding down the other side of your throat and you bit your lip in response, putting up with the pain as best as you could for him not to register your whining. The anger was giving space for the pride to appear but this one set your own trap because now it meant that you’d have to endure the rest of the process not begging for mercy (which you clearly needed).

Chishiya was relieved although you didn’t notice it. Two of the most dangerous cuts were done and they didn’t really look like they’d need stitches nor did they harm your vocal chords which, even after your little proud silence statement, he took care of preserving.

Then he moved away, scanning the stains of red along your body as he circled the stretcher to stop right in between both cuffs. You looked up but quickly turned your gaze to the roof once you realized you were only capable of seeing his beach pants from that position. Once you felt his hands working to free one of your wrists, you furrowed your brows. Of course. He still trapped your joint against the stretcher with his own grip and you did a pulling motion knowing you wouldn’t escape his fingers but wanting to frustrate the little fucker.

Unluckily for you, he wasn’t having it.

“You know, it’s a pity you chose to remain mute. It’d have been good for you to choose at which part of your wrists you prefer the cuts in case you wanted to hide them with a bracelet or a band but I wouldn’t waste my time asking what’s going to get no answer”.

Fucking jerk. Just ignore him. He is just looking for a reaction.

The cut was again clean and shallow enough not to catch a vein but it was still excruciating. The amount of pain and discomfort your body was in by now started to make you dizzy so much so that he didn’t restrain your wrist back again and you didn’t think of getting advantage to put up another fight. The feeling of exhaustion took over pretty quick and now you weren’t sure if you didn’t talk because of your own decision or if it was too much to ask for. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and drift away, maybe even dream that you were in another place, in another world, back to the one you knew. But Chishiya didn’t let you have your moment because as soon as your eyelids started to feel heavy enough to drop, he was cutting your other wrist.

“Son of a bitch”, you mumbled, a tiny squeal going past your lips. You couldn’t scream anymore.

“I’m not sure of what that was”, he taunted you but the game voice got in the way.

“Congratulations. Both players win”.

And with the click of the bracelets being opened, you finally fainted.

By the time you recovered your consciousness, everything felt bright again even over your closed eyelids. Please, no, not another game. You almost let out a sob if it weren’t for the fact that you were still too tired to make your muscles work for any kind of lament. But your state of denial keeping you blind didn’t last long. As soon as you turned your head to the side, the brushing of some fabric against the side of your throat made you hiss in pain, forcing you to open your eyes. You looked around the place, blinking as you rubbed your face to understand where you were. For a brief second, relief came to your chest when you realized it was your own room till you followed the wall opposite your bed and you found the image of Chishiya standing against the furniture with his hands behind his back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”, you let out, bothered and confused. The slight comfort of the pillow started to feel like a brick. He tilted his head to the side, not speaking. “No, go away, just leave me the fuck alone”, you protested, pulling the sheets up so they covered your head, and curling onto your side despite the pain of the bruises, especially the ones getting friction in between your thighs.

After a minute, you felt some items being dropped on the mattress next to you. You moved the sheet slightly till it landed on the bridge of your nose to spy what they were. A little plastic box and a bottle of alcohol.

“So caring. Thank you”, you said sarcastically before covering your head back again. But you could still feel his presence watching you, now resting against the side wall. “What?”, you huffed pushing the sheet away with violence so it ended as a ball at your ankles. Only then you noticed your wrists being wrapped with what used to be your top, stains of red covering the fabric as well as the bikini you wore which you mindlessly displayed to him once again within the fuss. “I’ll do it myself. Now leave”, you said, hoping it was enough for him to at least say something and stop being so damn intimidating and exasperating at the same time. You wondered if you should cover yourself again but that would have been too obvious. He looked down at the box. “Chishiya, for fuck’s sake!”, you exclaimed, seating abruptly on the mattress which actually made your head spin around. “I-I can do it myself!”

You knew he didn’t believe in your ability and that he didn’t seem to plan on leaving before you proved him wrong. “It’s not that hard”, you continued, opening the box and slamming it’s cover onto the bed. Bandages, cotton balls and hypoallergenic tape. The color white taking your memory back to the fluorescent lights, threatening to create a migraine. You huffed again, looking into his eyes so he watched you do the job and you could erase the gaze of arrogance off of his stupid face. You pulled from one of the improvised bandages you had on your wrists, clearly regretting it once you felt the burning at the sudden motion but you weren’t going to whimper in case you favored his attitude. So you bit your own tongue to refrain from making any sound and the same move was used to try and stop you from screaming once, in a similar violent motion, you opened the bottle just to throw a squirt of alcohol over the cut. You failed miserably, gasping in pain and lowering your gaze to focus on your wrist instead. But still not wanting to give him the satisfaction, you grabbed one of the packages of sterile bandages and ripped it open with your teeth. You put the bandage along the cut, struggling to properly position it with one hand and same frustration attacked the pit of your stomach when cutting a piece of the tape and trying to place it rightly across the bandage. As you began to puff and blow, Chishiya seemed to finally had enough and he circled the bed to sit next to you. Gently, he took your hand and brought it to his knee, palm up to remove the mess you did and throw it aside. He grabbed a cotton ball and soaked it up with alcohol, carefully touching your skin with it. The pain made you tense your forearm, increasing your frustration.

“You expect me to thank you for this?”, you spat your question at him, now you the one trying to get a reaction when he decided to play the mute game as well. Chishiya opened a new pack of bandages and placed one of them correctly on your joint, using then the tape to secure it. “Oh, no, I know, this makes you feel superior once again. How could I not realize?”

Chishiya was grabbing the wet cotton ball to continue but he stopped at your words to look directly into your eyes. You swallow hard. You were free in comparison with your situation back on the stretcher but somehow his proximity in your own bed made you feel entirely trapped or worse, like a bee enticed by pollen.

“I am not expecting anything nor do I feel any particular kind of way”, he removed the other fabric on your wrist, repeating the cleaning process till you were nice and patched up. Then he moved your hair gently out of your neck, almost as if the weight of his fingers was non existent but you still found yourself holding air in not to lean into his touch. Dizzy. Everything was so dizzy and hot. It was like a fever ascending from your toes to the back of your throat, same throat he was now taking care of healing. “I came here because I wanted to. Nothing more, nothing less”.

This time your eyes wandered nervously around his face. You had never paid close attention to the delicate light brown spot under his eye before and if you looked close enough, you could swear he still had the ghost mark of a dimple even when he wasn’t smirking. “A-and…”, you stuttered but he didn’t smile teasingly as you expected. “Why did you… want to?”

He placed the new bandages on the sides of your neck safely secured with tape, arching his brows just like a comment to himself. “I’ll answer that when you give me the answer you owe me. Up until then, enjoy your visa extension”, he slid his fingers down, barely brushing one of the still untreated cuts on the upper part of your breasts, before standing up and exiting through the door.  

[mamichigo]

(musician au)

--

Cyno hated the formalities of these reward events. He'd never admit as much for two important reasons. First, because he had quickly learned reporters were vultures and would find a way to twist his words beyond repair. Second—and this is the most important point—Alhaitham would use it as an excuse to leave the moment Cyno opened his mouth. He doubted their respective agents would be too thrilled if an incident like that were to happen a fifth time.

So no, he didn't like any bit of it. Not the prying eyes or the gossip or the plastic smiles. For the long, long hours of waiting for the announcements, Cyno would stick close to Alhaitham, nod at the people who looked their way, and sip on champagne flutes.

By the time they finally make their way home, they are both just a little past tipsy. Alhaitham quickly finds his customary spot at the recliner, his eyes vacant as he stares into space. Cyno watches him with concern.

"Did you drink too much?" He whispers, as to not break the late night lull soothing their frayed nerves.

"No, I'm just tired," Alhaitham replies. His lips thin into a tense line. "Not just for tonight. In general, I suppose."

Cyno lets his bag and his jacket fall to the floor as he hurries to Alhaitham's side. Even as he peers up at him, Cyno can't see a clear sign of his mood. He's just… blank. More than usual, that is.

"Did something happen…?"

"No, not really." He thinks for another moment, then adds: "I don't make music for any of this. Playing dolls with a room full of adults, except instead of toys we're all just puppeteering our own bodies around. It's petty, and meaningless."

"The same as always, then," Cyno asserts, though not unkindly. They share a knowing smile as Alhaitham nods.

“Same as always.” Alhaitham raises an eyebrow at him. "Get off the floor, you'll hurt your knees."

He pats his thigh in invitation, and Cyno doesn't waste any time in climbing onto Alhaitham's lap. His head falls comfortably on a firm shoulder, the position familiar. Alhaitham's hands find his waist, and Cyno studies the fingers hooked into the fabric of his shirt.

They're a pianist's fingers alright. Long and elegant, easily encircling his waist. It's funny how, even though they both play with their hands, there's such a huge disparity in appearance. Cyno's hands are small, roughed by the chords of his guitar, covered in calluses that Alhaitham would never have to experience.

In the silence, it's almost like Alhaitham can read Cyno's thoughts. His gaze is heavy, analytical. After a moment, he bumps his forehead against Cyno's.

"Touch me," he says, guiding a hand to his own cheek. "It's grounding when you touch me like that."

It's only then that Cyno realizes the effects of the alcohol and the exhaustion on Alhaitham. His words are so sincere it twists his insides. Cyno fights off a blush as he sets his thumb in motion to caress Alhaitham's cheek.

"We should work on a piece together tomorrow," Cyno suggests. "Just the two of us."

"Hm." Alhaitham pushes his face into Cyno's palm and closes his eyes. "Sounds like a plan."

And just like that, he's out like a light. Cyno chuckles.

"Good night, I love you."

[slowd1ving]

[✦III. OH, HOW TRAGIC IS HE] SNIPPET • . DR RATIO

honestly I'm so used to writing comedic scenes this is just bittersweet man :-(

warning: death but also not really, injury

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In retrospect, it was practically expected that your tired life would beget yet another tired cliché. 

There was something completely unoriginal in the series of misfortunes that befell the proletariat salaryman (read: you). In novels, movies, and the occasional game, the most ordinary of souls stumbled across a situation that chose them. For once, someone in their weary lives had need of them; not as a pushover, nor a lackey, but someone courageous and brave who became a hero. Forums and comments oft scorned these overused plotlines—and you agreed, of course—but it was an interesting premise to think about. 

“There’s a survivor on the third floor—”

Still, no matter how intriguing the promise of escape from the mundane was, it was pointless. It wouldn’t happen. 

“Hey— can you get up? Blink if you can hear me, alright? 

The accident in the lab was almost poetic. Of course, when a protagonist encountered an explosion in their place of work, there was always an accompanying montage that indicated something was wrong. Whether it be the change in key in the background chords, or a close up of cracking machinery, the audience got some sort of closure as to why. Was it fate? Was it the cruel machinations of man? Was it just an unfortunate accident?

“We need oxygen here—he’s going into shock! Help—you—get a gurney immediately!”

But actually, there was none of that fanfare for you. Just a sluggish warmth that crawled from your limbs and back into your heart, from limbs far too cold to move. No, not cold. You simply couldn’t feel them—much like when a body part suddenly fell asleep on you. 

If you scrunched your face a bit, you could smell the acrid wisps of rubble: paint chips and stone all congealing into an antiquated scent. You couldn’t exactly see, but maybe that was for the better. 

“What’s happen—” Your tongue felt leaden in your mouth: heavy and contorted as you awkwardly sounded out your question. An explosion? A gas leak? A mine that somehow went off? There was something wet dribbling from your mouth; tasting like white hot iron, seeping past your aching lips. A hero would know. A hero would have that information playing out panel by panel while they bled out, farewells and anguish for their loved ones already melding into the fabric of existence. 

Ow. 

“Shh, don’t talk, okay? We’ll get you out of here, alright?” There weren’t any reassurances for your state. No ‘you’ll be okay’, no ‘stay with me, alright?’. You weren’t stupid. You weren’t, but it was in that moment when you wished you were—dropping out before doing your degree and doctorate, keeping far from the lab, and holding on to your life with blissful ignorance on your side. 

You opened your mouth. 

“No, you don’t need to say anything, alright?” The voice was kind, you noted drowsily. If not a little clumsy, swaddling you in a foil blanket like some overgrown child. Well. You couldn’t see it, and neither could you feel it, but you could feel your limbs lolling this way and that way at the movements—like some grotesque, decommissioned marionette. 

At least it didn’t hurt.  

“Thank you,” you whispered. There was nothing outrageous about your last words. Like the rest of your life, the syllables were as ordinary as they came. A quiet beginning. A quiet end. There was nobody to say goodbye to, nobody to wait for past the veil. 

It was an accident. 

“I’m sorry. Ah, shit—” Something wet splashed your cheek, followed by a fumbling hand that tried to brush it away but only succeeded in smearing the thin liquid across your face awkwardly. “Don’t— fuck, I’ll stay with you, alright?” 

Fingers wrapped around your own, flesh against bone. Pulsing life alongside a silent end. 

The last thing on your lips was an apology, in the form of a salty tear dripping from above.