#Tissue Slide Staining

[bhavanameti]

Slide Stainers Market Projected to Reach $5.53 Billion by 2030

Meticulous Research®—a leading global market research company, published a research report titled, ‘Slide Stainers Market by Product (Reagent [Stains, Mounting, Tissue Fixation, Processing] Equipment), Technique (H&E, ISH, IHC, Hematology, Cytology), Application (Diagnosis, Research), End User (Hospital, Pharmaceutical, Academic) - Global Forecast to 2030.’

According to the latest publication from Meticulous Research®, the slide stainers market is projected to reach $5.53 billion by 2030, growing at a CAGR of 7.9% during the forecast period. This market growth is driven by factors such as the increasing geriatric population, the rising prevalence of chronic diseases, advancements in slide stainer technology, the growing need for personalized treatments, higher healthcare expenditures, the demand for automation in diagnostics and clinical research, and the increasing focus on cancer drug research. Emerging economies and the rising demand for automated slide staining and diagnostic systems also present significant growth opportunities. However, the high cost of slide stainer systems and concerns about automated slide stainers, along with a lack of skilled professionals, pose challenges to market growth.

Key Players

The key players in the slide stainers market include Thermo Fisher Scientific (U.S.), F. Hoffmann-La Roche AG (Switzerland), Danaher Corporation (U.S.), Merck KGaA (Germany), Agilent Technologies, Inc. (U.S.), Becton, Dickinson and Company (U.S.), Abcam plc. (U.K.), Siemens Healthineers (Germany), General Data Company, Inc. (U.S.), Biocare Medical, LLC. (U.S.), BioGenex (U.S.), PHC Holdings Corporation (Japan), and Hardy Diagnostics (U.S.).

Market Segmentation

The slide stainers market is segmented by:

Product:

Reagents and Kits (including Grossing/Tissue Marking Dyes, Tissue Fixation Reagents, Tissue Processing Reagents, Mounting/Embedding Reagents, Stains [Hematoxylin and Eosin (H&E) Stains, Cytology Stains, Special Stains, Stain Controls, and Other Reagents & Kits])

Equipment (Automated Slide Stainers and Manual Slide Stainers)

Accessories and Consumables

Technique:

Hematoxylin and Eosin (H&E)

In-situ Hybridization (ISH)

Immunohistochemistry (IHC)

Hematology

Cytology

Microbiology

Application:

Disease Diagnosis (Infectious Diseases, Cancer, and Other Diseases)

Medical Research

End User:

Hospitals & Diagnostic Centers

Pharmaceutical & Biotechnology Companies

Academic & Research Institutes

Contract Research Organizations (CROs)

Geography:

North America (U.S. and Canada)

Europe (Germany, France, U.K., Italy, Spain, and Rest of Europe)

Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, India, and Rest of Asia-Pacific)

Latin America

Middle East & Africa

In 2023, North America is expected to hold the largest share of the slide stainers market, followed by Europe and Asia-Pacific. The U.S. is projected to be the largest market in North America, driven by its well-developed healthcare infrastructure and the presence of major market players.

Segment Highlights

Product: The reagents & kits segment is expected to dominate the market in 2023 due to the growth in clinical research and development activities and the increasing adoption of laboratory automation solutions.

Technique: The hematoxylin and eosin (H&E) segment is anticipated to hold the largest market share in 2023, favored by its extensive use in examining tissue and cellular structures in research and diagnosis of various diseases.

End User: Hospitals & diagnostic centers are expected to be the largest end-user segment in 2023, driven by the growing patient influx and the need for automated solutions to improve diagnostic efficiency and accuracy.

Geographic Analysis

The report provides an in-depth analysis of major regions including North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Latin America, and the Middle East & Africa. North America is expected to lead the market in 2023, supported by advanced healthcare infrastructure and significant investments in research and development.

Download Sample Report Here @ https://www.meticulousresearch.com/download-sample-report/cp_id=5643

Key Questions Addressed in the Report:

Which market segments are expected to experience the highest growth?

What was the historical market size globally?

What are the market forecasts from 2023 to 2030?

What are the key drivers, restraints, opportunities, and challenges?

Who are the major players in the market?

What is the competitive landscape like?

What recent developments have occurred in the market?

What strategies are the leading players adopting?

Which regions/countries are exhibiting high growth?

This comprehensive report provides detailed insights into the slide stainers market, helping stakeholders make informed decisions and capitalize on emerging opportunities.

Contact Us: Meticulous Research® Email- sales@meticulousresearch.com Contact Sales- +1-646-781-8004 Connect with us on LinkedIn- https://www.linkedin.com/company/meticulous-research 

[biogenex-laboratories-blog]

NanoVIP® 300 – All-in-One Fully Automated System for FISH, ISH, IHC

NanoVIP® 300 are diverse, fully automated barcoded systems for fluorescence in situ hybridization (FISH), in situ hybridization (ISH), miRNA ISH, and IHC. Its reliable automation combined with eXACT™ temperature modules, predefined protocols, and liquid level sensors for accurate liquid handling ensures robust and reproducible results.

[elezalabmate]

Automated Tissue Slide Stainer LMATS-A100

Labmate Automated Tissue Slide Stainer streamlines histology and pathology with advanced automation, replacing manual methods to reduce errors and boost efficiency. Ergonomically designed for low noise and smooth operation, it accommodates 18 cups 750ml each with processing times from 0 to 59 minutes.

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I’m new to your blog and am in the middle of consuming all of it. I have to say EMT maurauders are my fav so far though! If you haven’t done it yet and if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to do something with EMT! Maurauders where reader gets a bad bloody nose in the middle of the night and can’t get it to stop on her own so she’s panicking and feels bad about waking up the boys who of course take care of you and make you go to the ER since it won’t stop?

Thank you ☺️ Keep up the amazing work, your writing is phenomenal, I can’t wait to read more 👏❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, mention of hospital

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 986 words

You give yourself twenty more minutes before you wake James. Sidling up to his side of his bed like a child who’s had a nightmare, one hand pinching your nostrils shut and the other holding ice wrapped in a paper towel to your nose. You feel glad that it’s too dark to see all the red staining it. 

James rouses with a reluctant throaty sound. He mumbles your name and takes your hand where it’s nudging his shoulder, content until the moment he feels the cold paper towel closed in your palm. His eyes peel open. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. It feels paramount that he know waking him wasn’t your first choice. Of your boyfriends, though, James is the most likely to help you without making a fuss. 

“What’s this?” In the dark, the cold hard thing in your hand is a mystery. James cups his hand around yours with a small frown. 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you explain. 

His frown worsens. You feel bad. 

But James has no resentment for your midnight ailment; only sympathy. “Yeah?” He feels blindly for his glasses on the nightstand. “Does it hurt?” 

You slide them to his hand. “No,” you say. 

“It just…just started?” 

You should’ve taken him out of the room before telling him. Already, you can see Remus starting to wake, the covers on his side of the bed shifting. 

“Yeah.” You lower your voice, though you know it’s pointless. “About a half hour ago.” 

James is rubbing underneath his eyes drowsily, but at this, his brows draw together. “It’s been going since then?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on?” Remus asks. His voice croaks a little, but aside from that he sounds more awake than James. 

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, dove. What is it?” 

“Her nose is bleeding,” James says through a great yawn. In between them, Sirius makes a half-asleep whining sound, but doesn’t move. “She says it has been for half an hour.” 

Now Remus is frowning, too. “It woke you up?” 

You hum, feeling your mouth pucker in distaste. “It got in my mouth.”

“Let’s see.” Without warning, James turns the lamp on. Both you and Remus rear back as if stricken, and Sirius’ head retreats beneath the covers seemingly by reflex. “Sorry, sorry,” James says, giving you soft eyes as he reaches for a box of tissues. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

You take his cue to let go of your nose. As soon as you release it, you know it starts bleeding again by the way James raises his tissues in a hurry. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, moving them just slightly to see the damage. “This much since it started? Has it slowed at all?” 

“I don’t think so,” you say, stuffy. 

“How do you feel?” asks Remus. He’s sitting up now, bedsheets fallen around his waist and one hand resting on the lump that is Sirius. “Are you dizzy? Can you breathe alright?” 

“Through my mouth, yeah.” James is still peering at your nose, and it’s making you shrink. He lets you take the wad of tissues from him. “I’m not dizzy.” 

“Still…” Remus looks at James. 

“Yeah.” James sits up the rest of the way, stretching. He lets out another yawn. “Let’s go.” 

“Go to…” you hesitate, unsure “...hospital?” 

James hums in the affirmative, squeezing your shoulder as he gets out of bed. 

A moan of protest comes from behind him. You look to see Remus rubbing between Sirius’ shoulder blades, searching for his slippers on his side of the bed. 

“Get up.” 

“S’too early to be up,” Sirius whines. 

Remus shushes him, at once chiding and soothing. “We’re bringing y/n to A&E.” 

At this Sirius falls quiet. A moment later, his head picks up, puffy black hair and a furrowed brow. “What for?” 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you say meekly. “Sorry.” 

“Angel,” James laughs, coming up from behind you to pass you some more tissues. He’s already dressed. “Stop being sorry. Did you plan this?” 

“No,” you reply, softly. 

“Right. As I thought.” He grins, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

As usual, James has come awake remarkably quickly once he’s set his mind to it. Remus moves toward the closet a tad less energetically, and Sirius appears to have to claw his way out of bed. 

He does it in your direction. 

“You okay?” Sirius asks, studying you as he drags his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” 

“I don’t think so.” His concerned gaze melts you to your core. You think you’d admit to anything if it got you a hug right now. “I’m just tired.” 

Sirius cracks a smile, though his eyes are soft with pity. “Well, yeah, baby.” He stands, smushing a kiss into your hair. “It’s the dead of fucking night. Your nose is a real blight on us all.” 

“Don’t talk about her nose that way.” James gives you the hug you wished for, strong arms wrapped around your middle. His chest is warm against your back. “Don’t listen to him, angel; he’s a prat when he’s tired.” 

“It’s fine.” You lean back into James. “It is a blight on us tonight.” 

“Precisely. You get it,” Sirius says, squinting his eyes at James. “I cherish her nose every other day, I’ll have you know.” 

“Get dressed.” Remus emerges from the closet to give Sirius a gentle shove in that direction. He takes yet more tissues, passing them to you seemingly without noticing the handful you’ve already got from James. “Are you ready to go, dovey? Have everything you need?” 

“What do I need?” you ask, worried. 

“Nothing, sweetheart.” James drops his voice at the first sign of fright from you; Remus does the same, both of your boyfriends softening around the edges. “We’ll take care of it, yeah?” He starts taking tissues from you, shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We’ll take care of everything.”

[oreo-creampies]

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff comfort fic, reader is stress and crying for reasons you decide, established relationships, holding you close, being sweet on you, they are all so soft wanting to help you feel better or at least less alone while upset, confession, toji is a bit rough but trying his best

Oreo: in case anyone else is also crying and needs to be held. Yeah I'm sticking with Satoru is sugar bear cause he is cuddly like bear and he likes sugar, Toji is Teddy Bear because obviously he is. Matching nicknames for my favorite two

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

You’re sniffling, looking down and holding yourself tightly when you shuffle out of the hallway. It doesn’t matter. Satoru six eyes could see your tearful eyes, quivering bottom lip and your nails digging into the soft fabric of his sweater.

You’re desperately trying to hold yourself together about to crack into another flood of tears at any second. “Hold me.” Your voice breaking.

Satoru’s chest is tightening, his heart dropping into his stomach. Holding his arms open for you, closing the space in two long strides. He wraps his arms around you when a harsh sob wrecks your fragile body.

He lifts you off your feet prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Cry and take deep breaths sweetheart I’m here for you.” Your tears are soaking through his white shirt.

You lift your head up, studying the tear stains and smear of mascara. “’m sorry ‘m messing up your shirt.”

He gently kisses the side of your head. “Mess it up, or I can take it off. You can lay your head on my bare chest and listen to my heart beating for you.” You sniffle and look up at him, your beautiful eyes are bloodshot.

“Please take it off.” Satoru walks past his bed into the bathroom. He turns on the light then grabs a tissue holding it to your nose for you to blow, tossing it in the trash.

Satoru opens your makeup wipes to slip one out. “Anything for you honeybun.” You close your eyes. He’s careful when wiping your eyes and lashes clean, giving you two kisses. Cleaning your cheeks and forehead of foundation you get three more kisses.

He slides the wipe down your nose giving you one more soft, loving kiss. A smile tugs on your lips when he kisses the tip of your nose. “You’re smile is beautiful makes my day brighter, you’re the sunrise that makes my day.” He throws the wipe away and carries you out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him.

Your eyes widen, “I love you!” You bury your face in his neck and squeeze him tighter like he might vanish.

Satoru’s heart skips a beat. “Look at me sweetheart.” He smiles when you lift your head. “I’m deeply in love with you too.”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Toji crouches next to the bed, pulling back the covers. Your tears are trickling sideways, soaking into the pillow. “Cuddle me, please Toji I need to be held.” He frowns and you look away, tugging the covers back over your head.

Toji finds crying irritating, taught to suck it up he grew up expecting that of others. But seeing you recoil from him dissolves any anger. You deserve to feel your emotions, to cry, and to have him hold you.

He will have to learn how to comfort you and become the man you deserve.

Toji stands up to slip his sweater off. He grabs the blanket slowly pulling it off of you. “Ya wearing my sweater 'cause it reminded ya of me right? This smells like me, I took a shower at a shitty motel before coming home, wanted to smell good fer ya.” You sit up and slip his sweater off, tossing it onto the floor.

He bunches up the sweater and you rise your arms up for Toji to slip his sweater into you. “We can cuddle, I'll be ya like one of ya Teddy bears.” You scoot over giving Toji room to slip into bed. He flips over your pillow, hiding the side soaked with tears.

There is a small smile tugging on your lips. "Teddybear is a good nickname for you." He rolls his eyes climbing into bed, you sit to the side letting him get comfortable. Toji's large body takes up most of the bed.

He's sitting up, pouting, mulling over your new nickname. A darkening blush spreads across his cheeks. You climb onto his lap, "You're big and strong like a bear, and you're going all soft on me. Cuddling you is like cuddling up to those oversized teddy bears you see around valentine's day." He sighs, glancing down at you to see that soft smile spreading.

"I'll let you get away with it 'cause ya cute." He leans down kissing your forehead, wrapping his arm around you.

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

"Meh!" It's a short squeaky chirp of a meow behind your head. A rumbling purr follows as a soft warm fuzzy kitten walks onto your head. Gently pressing its soft beans into your face, their purr gets louder as they delightfully use your cheek to make biscuits.

Another cat comes clawing up the side of the bed. "Meeeehhh." A fluffy brown cat with bright blue eyes announces themself with a loud, chirpy scream "You were upset so I canceled with Toru wanted to surprise you. I saw these two on the side of the road n' couldn't leave them." He sits down on the bed next to you.

He grabs the proudly purring kitten off of your face for you to sit up. "They-they are sooo cuteee. Are we keeping them?" There is shining hope replacing the dull sadness tainting your beautiful eyes.

Suguru's heart aches to see your wet cheeks with tears and bloodshot eyes. "They are our babies now, no one is taking them from us. We can hide them for two weeks until we move into our new place together." He gently sets the small fluffy orange cat on your lap next to the chocolate one. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, holding you close.

The orange one tackles the other, lightly biting their ear. The chocolate kitten gets on its back and delivers bunny blows to the orange one's gut. Which pushes the smaller kitten off.

In surrender the fluffy orange kitten rolls over to show their soft white belly. Pushing their fluffy paws into the air. You sniffle and get on Suguru's lap, he spreads his legs for you to sit between.

"I still need to be held." Suguru carefully wipes your face dry with the baggy sleeves of his sweater.

"Won't let you go till you feel better. I'm sorry you're feeling this way darling. We can get through it together. I'm always here for you whenever you need me." He kisses the top and side of your head, trailing several more kisses down your cheek.

His kiss is tender, loving, and salty from your tears. "When you get hungry," kissing your cheek, "we can grab a bite to eat then become some criminals together by sneaking in stuff for our new babies"

Oreo’s m.list

[sophiewritesworld]

ROLL FOR REDEMPTION - E.M. (series)

SUMMARY: in which Eddie cuts you of his life, under his girlfriend's influence, discarding mementos of your friendship. As you withdraw, becoming a shadow of yourself, Eddie feels trapped, clinging to a small reminder of you. PAIRING: Eddie Munson x Female best friend

previous part - next part

THREE : Erasing You

The library’s fluorescent lights hum above you, a dull hum that’s become the soundtrack of your days. You’re tucked into your usual corner, surrounded by stacks of books you haven’t opened, your Walkman blaring The Smiths so loudly your ears ache. The lyrics of “How Soon Is Now?” coil around your heart, Morrissey’s voice echoing the loneliness you can’t shake: I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does. You pull your knees to your chest, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, and try to disappear into the music. It’s safer here, in this cocoon of sound and solitude, than out there where the world keeps spinning without you.

It’s been six weeks since you last spoke to Eddie, since that night at the quarry when he drew a line in the sand and left you on the other side. The pain hasn’t dulled; it’s grown sharper, like a blade that cuts deeper with every breath. You’ve stopped expecting him to call, stopped hoping to see his van pull up outside your house with Metallica blasting, stopped believing he’ll show up with that sheepish grin and say, “I fucked up, let’s fix this.” The silence is a weight you carry everywhere, heavier than your body ever felt, heavier than the stares you used to shrug off in the hallways of Hawkins High.

You’ve stopped going to most of your classes. You, who used to pride yourself on perfect attendance, on acing tests even when the world was falling apart, now slip through the cracks of your own life. You skip chemistry because you can’t bear to hear Eddie’s laugh in the hallway outside. You avoid English because the teacher keeps assigning books about love and loss that hit too close to home. Instead, you haunt the library during class hours, forging notes from your mom to excuse your absences, your handwriting shaky but convincing enough to keep the guidance counselor off your back. The librarian, Mrs. Carter, gives you pitying looks but doesn’t ask questions. She just slides you a tissue when she notices the tears staining your notebook.

Robin and Max have noticed you’re slipping away. They’re not part of Eddie’s inner circle, not tied to Hellfire or Corroded Coffin, but they’re close enough to know something’s wrong. You used to hang out with them at the arcade, trading quarters and laughing over Pac-Man, or at the video store where Robin would sneak you free rentals and Max would argue about which horror movie was the goriest. Now, you dodge them like you dodge everyone else, but they’re not as easy to shake.

One afternoon, you’re in the library, your headphones on, when Robin slides into the chair across from you. You don’t notice her at first, too lost in your music, but she reaches over and yanks one earphone out, her blue eyes fierce with worry. “Okay, enough of this hermit crap,” she says, her voice low but firm. “What the hell is going on with you?”

You flinch, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. “Nothing’s going on,” you mumble, reaching for your earphone, but she holds it out of reach. “I’m just studying.”

“Bullshit,” Robin says, leaning forward. “You’re skipping classes, you’re avoiding everyone, and you look like you haven’t slept in weeks. This isn’t you.” Her voice softens, and the concern in her eyes makes your throat tighten. “Talk to me. Please.”

You want to tell her—about Eddie, about Tara, about the way your heart feels like it’s been hollowed out—but the words stick in your chest, heavy and jagged. If you start talking, you’re afraid you’ll fall apart, and you’ve spent weeks building walls to keep that from happening. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice flat. “Just… leave it, Robin.”

She doesn’t move, her jaw set. “You’re not fine. You’re shutting everyone out, and it’s freaking me out. Is this about Eddie? Because he’s been weird too, dodging questions like he’s hiding something.”

The mention of his name is a punch to the gut. You stand abruptly, grabbing your backpack. “I have to go,” you say, and before she can stop you, you’re out the library door, your sneakers echoing in the empty hallway.

Max catches you the next day, outside by the bike racks. You’re heading to your car, skipping biology, when she steps in front of you, her red hair glinting in the sunlight. Her arms are crossed, her stance defiant, like she’s ready to fight the world for you. “You’re not invisible, you know,” she says, her voice sharp but trembling with something softer. “You can’t just vanish and expect us not to notice.”

You shift your weight, staring at the ground, your sneakers scuffing the asphalt. “I’m not vanishing,” you lie. “I’m just busy.”

“Busy hiding,” Max snaps. “You don’t show up to class, you don’t talk to anyone, and you look like you’re about to break. What did he do?” Her eyes narrow, and you know she means Eddie. Max has always been perceptive, cutting through bullshit like a knife.

“Nothing,” you say, but your voice cracks, betraying you. “It’s not about him.”

“Then why do you look like you’ve lost your best friend?” she asks, and the question hits so close to the truth that you feel tears prick your eyes. You shake your head, stepping around her.

“I can’t do this right now,” you whisper, and you walk away, your heart pounding, leaving Max standing there with her fists clenched and her eyes full of worry.

Across town, at Eddie’s trailer, Tara is reshaping his world. You don’t see it, but it’s happening, piece by piece, like a slow erasure of your existence. It starts with the small things—a Polaroid of you and Eddie taped to his bedroom mirror, your arms around each other at a carnival, your smile wide and unguarded. Tara notices it one evening while Eddie’s tuning his guitar, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you still have that up?” she asks, her voice light but edged with something sharp.

Eddie glances at the photo, his fingers pausing on the strings. “It’s just a picture,” he says, but there’s a defensiveness in his tone, like he’s protecting something fragile.

“It’s her,” Tara says, crossing her arms. “You don’t need reminders of your ex-best friend all over your room, Eddie. It’s weird.”

“She’s not my ex-anything,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. Tara doesn’t argue, just raises an eyebrow and waits, her silence louder than words. The next day, the Polaroid is gone, tucked into a shoebox under Eddie’s bed, along with the mixtape you made him last summer, the one with your handwriting on the label: Eddie’s Epic Road Trip Jams.

Then it’s your hoodie, the one you left at his trailer after a late-night D&D session, soft and faded from years of wear. It’s been slung over his desk chair for months, a relic of nights spent laughing and arguing over pizza toppings. Tara picks it up one day, holding it between two fingers like it’s contaminated. “This hers?” she asks, and Eddie nods, his throat tight. “Get rid of it,” she says, not a request but a demand. “You don’t need her stuff lying around.”

Eddie hesitates, his fingers brushing the fabric, remembering the way you’d tug it over your head, your hair spilling out in a mess he’d tease you about. But Tara’s watching, her eyes expectant, and he feels the weight of her ultimatum. He stuffs the hoodie into a trash bag, along with a few other things—a friendship bracelet you made him in tenth grade, a sketch you drew of his D&D character, a note you slipped into his locker that just said, You’re a dork, but you’re MY dork. He tells himself it’s just stuff, that it doesn’t mean anything, but his hands shake as he ties the bag shut and leaves it by the curb for pickup.

Tara doesn’t stop there. She’s methodical, her jealousy a quiet force that reshapes Eddie’s space, his habits, his memories. She doesn’t like him talking about you, doesn’t like the way his eyes soften when someone mentions your name. At Hellfire, when Dustin brings you up again—“She’d love this campaign, man, why isn’t she here?”—Tara’s there, sitting in the corner, her presence a silent warning. Eddie shuts it down fast. “She’s busy,” he says, his voice curt. “Let’s roll.” The group falls silent, the air heavy with what’s not said.

At the Hideout, during Corroded Coffin’s next gig, Gareth tries again. “She’s not coming, is she?” he asks backstage, his drumsticks tapping nervously against his thigh. Eddie’s tuning his guitar, his jaw tight. “Nope,” he says, not looking up. “She’s got her own thing going on.”

“Her own thing?” Gareth presses, frowning. “Since when does she miss your shows? You guys have a fight or what?”

“No fight,” Eddie snaps, his fingers slipping on the strings, a discordant twang cutting through the room. “Just drop it, okay?” Gareth does, but the look he gives Jeff says everything: Something’s seriously wrong.

You, meanwhile, are unraveling. Skipping classes has become a habit, your car parked in the lot but your body curled up in the library or, some days, not even making it to school. You drive to the edge of town instead, to the quarry or the woods, where you sit with your Walkman and let the music drown out the world. Your grades are tanking, and you know it, but the thought of sitting in a classroom, surrounded by people who might ask about Eddie, is unbearable. Your mom notices you’re quieter, your eyes red-rimmed, but you brush her off with half-hearted excuses about stress and homework.

Robin and Max don’t give up, but you’re a wall they can’t climb. Robin tries again at the video store, where you’ve stopped by to return a tape you never watched. She leans over the counter, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. Whatever’s eating you, we can help.”

You shake your head, your fingers clutching the tape so tightly the plastic creaks. “I’m okay,” you say, the lie tasting bitter. “Just tired.” You leave before she can say more, the bell above the door jingling like a mocking farewell.

Max ambushes you at your locker a few days later, her skateboard under her arm. “You’re scaring me,” she says bluntly, her eyes searching yours. “You’re not you anymore. If Eddie did something, just tell me, and I’ll kick his ass.”

The thought of Max, all five feet of her, taking on Eddie almost makes you smile, but it dies before it reaches your lips. “He didn’t do anything,” you say, slamming your locker shut. “I just need space, Max. Please.” She lets you go, but her expression—hurt, frustrated, helpless—stays with you, another weight to carry.

At night, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the Polaroid of you and Eddie still pinned to your corkboard. You haven’t had the heart to take it down, even though looking at it feels like pressing on a bruise. You wonder what he’s doing, if he’s laughing with Tara, if he’s playing his guitar, if he ever thinks about you. You don’t know that your hoodie is gone, that your gifts are buried in a trash bag, that Tara’s slowly erasing you from his life. All you know is the silence, the way it grows louder every day, filling the space where Eddie used to be.

And Eddie, across town, feels it too—the absence of you, like a missing chord in a song he can’t finish. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing, that Tara’s love is worth the cost, but every time he sees your empty chair at Hellfire, every time he plays a gig without you in the crowd, he feels the crack in his heart widen. He wonders if you’re okay, if you hate him, if you’ll ever forgive him. But he doesn’t call. He doesn’t show up. He lets Tara’s rules guide him, because it’s easier than facing the truth: that in trying to keep her, he’s losing you, and maybe himself too.

Taglist : @whisperingwillowxox @robinsbuckleys @iyskgd @hereforshmut @poshpinklace @kissmyacdc @milkymil-k @obsessed-midwest-princess @the-writer-from-the-void @dopekittydelusion @yeoldebytche @navs-bhat @fckyeahlames @problemastriviais @littlemissholy @bking4000 @kellsck @hellfirehopeless @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @harrysgothicbitch @bl0ssomanddie @hellhoundvv @nubedeoctubreval @msmimiandrew

[moonlight-prose]

“look me in the eyes when you do it” with manny as you have to kill him, HEAR ME OUT!!! he gets bitten and he gets wants you to be the one to kill him. Bringing the gun to his chest with shaky hands, he tells you this wrapping his hands around yours bring the gun to his heart okay BYE

damage gets done

a/n: you wanted a sad angsty fic with this man i will deliver it. this was a dangerous ask to send in babes because i have held back on full fledged pain. but now i am happy to indulge in the absolute angst i can dish out! so to preface this, have some tissues, have a nice fluff piece (obviously not found on my blog sorry), and be prepared to cry. enjoy!

summary: he was tied to you from the first kiss. wrapped like vines around an aching heart. you just never expected his memory to haunt you - the gun in your hands marking an end to something extraordinary.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: manny alvarez x reader

warnings: BE WARNED CHARACTER DEATH AHEAD, angst, unhappy ending, death, violence, grief, trauma of losing a lover, infected plotline, tw blood, angst atop angst atop angst, (i listened to ashley johnson's rendition of through the valley. take from that what you will.)

His eyes would haunt you.

The kind of brown you’d find in the bite of an early morning mug of coffee, in the melted chocolate he found at the back of an old kitchen cabinet. The dark hue of forest floors and fallen trees and the mud that clung to filthy clothes and blood stained skin. You’d see them when you slept, burned behind tightly shut eyelids, face buried into a jacket that still smelled like those shitty cigarettes he found in an abandoned house weeks before La Muerte came to hold your hand.

He’d show up in dreams, the figment of his body beside yours in small cots and uncomfortable sleeping bags. Tricks of light beside fires that barely kept you warm. He existed in the words of those around you, his memory stained on each of your hearts. A small spark of humor to mask the pain that coursed through his chest—pressing down on shoulders that curved forward and a weary face.

The moment would remain carved into a beaten down soul, rising in the night like the faint glow of moonlight.

Stupidity was following him on a small outing, hunting for some food that would keep the group alive in the winter weeks to come. Love was fighting off infected by his side.

The gun ran out of ammo two infected ago, his knife slicing through what remained, dead brown blood dripping down the hand that clutched the handle. Knuckles pale and face stained red with the effort of battling in the cold. You were certain you fared no better, wiping the carnage from your face with the sleeve of your coat—trying not to gag at the feel of it.

“Was it worth it?” you joked, breathless and yet still alive despite it all.

He huffed, eyes rolling beneath drooped lids. “Was what worth it?”

“Disobeying orders?”

“Orders? Mierda you’re fuckin’ worse than them.”

Sighing, you tried to ignore the flare of irritation brewing at the base of your stomach. “We shouldn’t be out here by ourselves. There’s who knows how many more of those fuckers.”

“So you want us to starve?” Sliding the knife home, he checked the remaining bullets on an aged and barely working gun. “Didn’t know you were cruel like that mi alma.”

“Cállate,” you bit out, teeth digging into a curved bottom lip. But your smile was caught by the prying eyes of a man who knew you better than you loved.

How easy it felt to exist in his presence; the ease of his laughter, his snarky remarks that left you grasping for a piece of him to hold close. He was your lifeline in this world. Infection tainted the very ground you walked on, blood stained the footprints of your past, but his touch washed it away. You could remember vows whispered in the middle of the night, the cold press of jewelry against your neck lingered with every step you took by his side.

The promise to protect one another existed with ease in each breath you took.

Until the day it all ended.

“Let’s head back before we find anymore,” you called, trudging up the small path carved by two decades of people seeking safety.

Manny didn’t move, his fingers curled into a fist, face pale against the bright sun.

“Vida Mea?”

His eyes screamed everything before he could form the words on shaky lips and a thick lilted voice. The brown hue punctured by the anguish of promises he never wanted to break—vows of forever marked by the passing of people you once knew. One day La Muerte would come to claim his soul, this he knew.

He simply wished he had more time.

“Manny what’s wrong?” Rushing over to his stock still form, you reached for the hand that hung listlessly at his side. “Hey talk to me-”

He ripped his palm away, staggering back into the trunk of the tree behind him. The branches arched over your heads, blocking what sunlight raged across a clear blue sky. You wanted to press him for answers, find what changed his mood so suddenly. But a part of you knew the cruelty life could hand out—the agony you’d witnessed more times than humanly possible.

“Show it to me,” you rasped, surging close enough to catch him off guard.

“Mi alma-”

“Show me…the fucking bite Manny.”

A hand shaky and coated in more than just the insides of the infected he killed pressed to your outstretched palm, eyes glassy with what he knew might come next. He wasn’t afraid to die. He knew it would happen, an inevitable turn of fate no one could run from.

He feared what you might do after he was gone.

“Shit,” you breathed, transfixed at the sight of teeth marks indented on his skin. “W-What do we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do.” The gruff response pricked open a festering wound you never knew could exist by his own hand. “It’s fucking done.”

“Manny-”

His fingers tore through unruly hair, eyes wild with the fear of all he’d been running from. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he breathed. “We were meant to have more…fuck!”

The gaping maw of your soul screamed for him to survive, for a miracle to occur and the bite to scar over. It begged for an outcome that led to anything other than this. You started to laugh, tears spilling over hot cheeks, as reality gripped you by the throat. Slowly suffocating what remained. The man you love stood a foot away, terrified to place his hands on your body—a walking death sentence that had been signed without his consent.

The least you could do was give him the choice.

“What do you want to do?”

He exhaled slow, long enough to drop time down to mere milliseconds. “Just promise me one thing mi alma.”

“Anything.”

The lifeline went flat, your heart turning to ash along the forest floor when his hand curled around the handle of his gun. Anything but that. Anything but destroying everything right down to the bottom. You always wondered what it might feel like to watch it all collapse, your life built stone by stone—fighting past unimaginable horrors.

Now you’d give anything to stop it from happened, hands gathering ash and cracked stone and the bones of a lover you shouldn’t have to bury.

“No Manny…”

His grip on your wrist felt reverent—an unbreakable connection for all that would never get to be. “Look me in the eyes when you do it.”

The sob cracked from a caved in chest, bubbling past a burning throat that wanted to scream for someone to fix this.

La Muerte stood over your shoulder, clutching your wrist in her unbreakable grip. Death was the better option, quick and painless as opposed to what began to crawl along his veins. Wrapping tight around nerves and a mind that still felt clear. He knew who you were right now, watching every expression play across the face he traced in pitch black nights. The nose he kissed and cheeks he cupped.

“Please don’t…” You gasped for air but nothing came. An empty expanse of what was never meant to be.

“It has to be you,” he whispered. “I need it to be you.”

You’d recognize the thump of his heart anywhere, yet never thought you’d feel it beneath the barrel of a gun. How strange to know someone this way. The feel of their life resting in the palm of your shaking hands; distrust nowhere to be found between two bodies that would know one another in every life. He’d find you in the next. This you were sure of. You just couldn’t fathom the idea of waiting.

“Te amo,” he said, clear and loud for the first time in his life.

The infection would spread, his body would become unfamiliar—unnatural with the vines and roots of what begged you to follow. It would be so easy to let his teeth sink into your flesh, indent his permanent mark anywhere he wished. A far better ending than this.

“I love you.” Things you should have said long ago, unspoken no longer as the world burned around you.

He smiled, eyes a mark on your soul you wouldn’t soon forget. You’d love him until the end. This you knew to be true.

The trigger pulled with sickening ease, the thump of a heart tied to your own ceasing with a deafening bang.

“Oh god,” you choked, dropping the gun in the dried grass—arms flinging around his form. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.”

Warmth seeped into your coat, staining the thick fabric a muddy red. You knew it would happen one day. You’d give up fighting, you’d finally die by the hands of that fucking infection. You just never thought you’d be alive to witness the aftermath. Manny’s hand—limp and stained with dirt buried deep in the lines of life and love—fell to your lap.

“I’ll find you,” you forced out, eyesight a blur of hot tears that spilled down blood covered cheeks. “Okay vida mea? I-I promise.”

I’ll find you.

[withrafayel]

waves.

pairing: zayne x reader genre/warnings: mild angst, hurt/comfort if you squint i guess?? word count: 0.6k note: yay my first lads piece after weeks of debating whether or not i should start posting for lads. pretty self-indulgent bc i am skraight up going through a shitty time lmao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

MASTERLIST / KO-FI

Despite what Zayne does for a living, the most rewarding part of his day is always coming home to you.

Maybe it shouldn’t be, and maybe it’s not something he should admit out loud to anyone at the hospital, but he can’t lie. It’s the truth after all.

Today was a long day, such as most days are for him.

11:48PM, it’s not unusual for him to stroll into a quiet and darkened apartment, accompanied only by the gentle whirring of the refrigerator and the faraway sound of cars passing by the adjacent street. It’s peaceful and calm, and it’s exactly what he needs when he knows that just a few steps away, hidden by a closed bedroom door is you, the only safe haven he's ever known.

On most days, you’d either already be asleep by now, or sleepily watching videos on your phone while waiting for Zayne to come home so you could kiss him goodnight. It’s routine, it’s how he expects to find you.

But instead, tonight he finds himself frozen outside your shared bedroom, a hand hovering over the door handle when he hears you shuffling inside. Tissues being pulled from their designated box on your nightstand. Sniffles and choked out sobs, like it’s impossible for you to hold back anymore.

The ache blooms instantaneously, just listening to you on the other side of the door. Knowing that you’re crying all alone in the dead of night, that he’s part of the reason why it’s come to this — because you don’t want him to have to shoulder your burdens too.

So you hold onto them by yourself, bearing the weight alone until it becomes to colossal to hold.

Zayne supposes you’re similar in that way — both too stubborn to share your troubles with the other. It’s how he knows that if he were to walk in right now, you’d be embarrassed thinking you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Hastily wiping away your tears and pretending that everything is fine for his sake, only for the same affliction to come bubbling up to the surface another day.

He stays rooted to the spot, simply waiting. Sometimes, these are the motions that you have to go through, a cleanse of sorts so that you can start anew again.

But even then, it hurts him too, merely listening to how it hurts you. The sharp intakes of breath between uncontrollable sobs, the crumpling of tissues, some incoherent mumbles to yourself that he can’t quite make out.

A question strikes like lightning. How many nights have you been doing this? When he’s not around, how many times have you curled up into yourself, crushed by burdens you would never speak aloud? While the rest of the world is on pause and at peace, his love is here, unravelling all alone.

Zayne waits some more, until the sobs die down and the sniffles fade away and he’s sure that you’ve fallen asleep. The door opens with not so much as a creak. His heart twists again when he catches sight of you, with the duvet pulled up to your shoulders and tears staining your cheeks.

It’s a particular kind of heartbreak, bearing witness to this.

He makes quick work of freshening up for bed in the en suite bathroom, and when he finally slips under the covers with you, his moves are calculated. A careful arm sliding around your body to pull you closer, soft lips ghosting over your swollen eyelids so you wouldn’t wake, then gentle hands tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Like he’s trying to piece you back together. Like this is all he can do for now.

“Sleep well,” he whispers, barely audible at all, “my love.”

[bee-calm]

tbhk but they're lab-based phd students- because sometimes you just need to make the most self-indulgent au you can think of

nene

marine microbiology

talks to her culture plates, swears it makes them grow faster

tries to put cute labels on her samples then can’t remember what ANY of her shorthand means the next day

forgets her pass and gets locked out at least once a day 

algae clip-art in all of her presentations

sings in the microscope room, thinks nobody can hear her singing in the microscope room

once thought she’d re-written scientific dogma then realised she’d put a decimal point in the wrong place

thinks transcriptomics is witchcraft. is currently doing transcriptomics.

brings chocolates for the rest of the lab, is everyone’s favourite because of it

became best friends with aoi when they somehow managed to double-book the flow cytometer

could read those papers she’s been saving for weeks, OR she could spend two hours changing the colour scheme on her figures 

amane

materials chemistry, probably something space-exploration-aligned

pure synthesis, if it’s bigger than a kilodalton then he doesn’t want it anywhere near him

if there is an unlabelled round-bottom flask in the lab freezer then there’s a 90% chance it belongs to him. claims he can tell the chemicals apart by Vibes alone (amane voice: nmr is for Weaklings)

worlds messiest fume hood, yet somehow the worlds most immaculate desk-space. (currently the biggest scientific mystery the rest of the lab is working towards) 

will tell people (read: kou) that biochem isn’t real chemistry just to cause problems 

really good at teaching project students

also really good at scaring the project students by pretending to drink the toxic chemicals

extensive lanyard pin collection 

nobody has ever actually seen him go home

has a set of glassware-themed coffee mugs. much debate as to whether or not he just stole them from the lab.

kou

structural biology

just a guy and his 10 litre E.coli grow-up

once spilled an vat of LB all over the bacteria room. legend has it the stains are still there to this day

banned teru from the cryoEM room after he walked in and the entire setup almost crashed 

likes modelling structures, wonders why his computer is always running so slowly, fails to consider that the 5 pymol projects he has open at all times may have something to do with it

serial offender for walking home still wearing his goggles

thinks mammalian cell work is witchcraft 

incredibly chaotic labwork processes, still somehow gets the results anyway. most common saying: ‘this is not going in the methods section’

once dropped his earring into the liquid nitrogen tank, has still not lived it down 

has a framed photo of his first crystal on his desk

ongoing war with mitsuba over whether electron microscopy is real microscopy or not

keeps taking on side projects for other people, has yet to realise that this may be the reason he never gets to go home on time

teru

molecular biology

theory x1000, ask him a question after his presentation and there’s a 90% chance he’s got a bonus slide already prepared to answer it

benchwork also x1000, that person who asks ‘oh can i try?’ and gets amazing results first time on the experiment you’ve been trying to get right for weeks.

cell culture x0, banned from the tissue culture room, WILL contaminate any flask put within 5 feet of him

the machines hate him. the centrifuge keeps trying to eat his samples. the plate reader breaks on him at least once a week.

serial weekender

stickler for lab safety, can and will send out threatening emails reminding people to wear their gloves and lab coats

once drew the entire signalling cascade for his target molecule from memory on the whiteboard in a lab meeting and it was impressive enough that nobody has wiped it off yet 

keeps doing horrendous timecourses, can be found taking plate readings at stupid o clock in the morning 

aoi

immunology 

the flow panels she manages to pull off are a constant subject of awe and horror 

likes working weekends because it means nobody can hear her verbally threatening her cell cultures when they’re not behaving

can fit a scary amount of information onto the lid of an eppendorf tube

when stressed can be found hiding out in the plant biology greenhouses. has made friends with some genetically modified tomatoes

rocks up to the lab meeting with publication-ready figures for an experiment she did yesterday

the source of 90% of the passive aggressive post-it notes around the lab

everyone dreads her post-presentation questions. will dissect your experiments and do it with a smile.

started off working normal hours but has gradually become borderline nocturnal over time

teru contaminated her cells once, has been using it as leverage to make him collect things from stores for her ever since

keeps giving akane’s email to sales reps instead of her own so she can get free stuff without ever being contacted by them again

akane

biophysics 

scary single molecule data, deliberately puts huge equations on his presentations so nobody will ask him questions

might as well get paid lab tech wages too, chronically stuck on stock solution duty

crashed the lab computer trying to run one of his datasets on it

the only reason the lab has a booking system for the equipment. anarchy would prevail if he wasn’t around.

will go off to do photobleaching experiments and emerge hours later looking like a cave creature

keeps having to fix the equipment that teru breaks

perpetually receiving emails meant for aoi by people who got their names mixed up

also perpetually receiving emails from the company sales reps who aoi told his email to so she wouldn’t have to deal with them

says he needs to stop working weekends, then suddenly it’s saturday and he’s stuck in the microscope room with teru again

has somehow acquired a small army of project students (none of them are studying the same thing as him)

incubation time= coffee time

mitsuba

cell biology

made a cell line, treats it like it’s his baby

trust issues, won’t let ANYONE share his reagents. serial pipette hoarder.

neat lab book, can still somehow never find where he put his protocols or what concentrations he used his antibodies at

could probably win an award for his immunofluorescence images, someone automatically turns the lights off when it’s his turn to present in lab meetings bc he’s guaranteed to have cool microscopy to show

thinks bacteria work is disgusting. ensures kou knows this.

[emerging from a 5-hour session in the microscope room] what day is it?????

loves his work, doesn’t act like it (the reagents smell bad. the lab benches are dirty. people keep using the milk he brought to put in the fridge. nobody cleans the water bath. if there’s nothing to complain about, he’ll make something.)

threatens to move to industry at least once a day 

outright refuses to do weekends

found the perfect colour scheme for his graphs, considers this the highlight of his entire degree

any minor inconvenience is an excuse to go to the cafe on campus

natsuhiko

innate immunity, infection

zebrafish models

nobody is sure if he bought a tie-dye lab coat or if it’s just that badly stained

has absolutely named his fish (doesn’t actually remember which is which, but the sentiment is there)

forever followed by a gaggle of project students. is constantly reminding them to do as he says, not as he does 

incubation times are a suggestion, not a rule (read: keeps getting distracted and leaving his experiments way longer than necessary)

convinced he’s going to be patient zero of the zombie apocalypse when he accidentally creates super-salmonella and infects himself 

serial distractor, WILL chat to people while they’re in the middle of a 96-well plate

isn’t going to eat the LB agar, but the temptation is always there

someone bought him the ‘women want me, fish fear me’ hat for his birthday, keeps it on his desk

the confocal microscope hates to see him coming (5 hours is a short session when you’re trying to take z-stacks of an entire fish)

sakura 

drug discovery 

probably dabbles in synthesis, plays orchestral music while running columns bc apparently it gives them better separation 

tea drawer in the office, WILL pull out an entire teapot during their incubation times 

best dressed person in the lab, at all times

eternal struggle of dangly earrings versus the samples they’re leaning over

neat handwriting, still terrible at labelling eppendorfs (what are the lids so small for)

incubation times to the second

runs BIG experiments, has mastered the art of the plate plan. made a template which has somehow ended up distributed around the entire department 

ceo of not replying to sales rep emails 

mildly allergic to the nitrile gloves, the drawer below the tea drawer is the hand cream drawer

earphones + cell culture is the ideal de-stress activity

over-prepares for presentations, will spend 2 weeks rehearsing an informal flash talk

probably the only person who actually sends their lab coat to get washed

mei

tissue engineering 

has designed all of her labmates a mug with terrible research-relevant science puns on them 

invented side-projects, has probably got a collaboration ongoing with every other lab in the department 

bought a label printer for her reagents, has way too much fun with it

thought a week-long experiment was bad? try two months

life goal is to get to try making DNA origami just to say she did it

keeps starting doodle chains on the lab whiteboard

experiment worked= sweet treat to celebrate

experiment failed= sweet treat to commiserate 

probably did a masters in the microbiology department, they keep trying to convince her to switch projects back to them bc her streak plating was gallery-worthy

picks up her lab coat and 10 pens fall out of the pockets

sold her soul to parafilm

tsukasa

RNA therapeutics

goes in cell culture with no gloves, still somehow doesn’t get contamination 

that one insane person who actually enjoys the stress of working with RNA

doesn’t even do SDS-PAGE but still has coomassie stain all over his lab coat 

keeps launching dry ice rockets 

homebrewed a microfluidics system in the lab, it makes weird noises at night and everyone is slightly terrified of it

keeps materialising in the corner of the microscope room when mitsuba is in the middle of taking images. the cause of many a dropped slide.

plots his data in excel

worlds worst file names. no system, no dates, just a keyboard smash and a prayer

who needs desk space when you can just move your laptop into the lab

gave into temptation and tasted the cell culture media once. it was disappointing 

either the most incoherent presentation you’ve ever seen, or a major scientific breakthrough, no inbetween 

[mattsundaes]

Happy Spicy Saturday Dee!!!

Methinks a certain winged hero, the man himself, one Takami Keigo, enjoys the occasional Sexy Phone Call when away on a long mission hehehe 🪽🪽(pretend those are red LMAO and thank you in advance!! 💙💙)

keigo takami x f!reader

c: masturbation, implied p in v

-> spicy sleepover

“So…I liked that dress you were wearing today.”

Keigo Takami may be hundreds of miles away right now, but you can hear the pout in his voice all the same as his feathers rustle noisily on the other end of the phone.

Thumbing at the hem of the soft material sitting gathered along the tops of your thighs as you lie in bed atop the rumpled sheets, you smirk, “I thought you would.”

Admittedly, you did buy the flowy little red dress with every intention of wearing it as a surprise when Keigo arrived home from his mission—he’s a sucker for seeing you in his favorite color, after all. But he’s been away for over a month now, much to your chagrin, so your impatience led you to post a casual photo wearing it instead (knowing just what kind of a response it would pull out of him).

“Did you…take any more pictures?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah?” he asks, voice entering that familiar, husky territory you know all too well. 

“Check your messages.”

You know the exact moment that he clicks the notification, an audible groan punching out of him when he sees the images—

—the fabric of the dress soaked through with water and clinging tightly to your breasts, your hard nipples showing through—

—the straps of the dress lying loose down the sides of your arms, tits spilling out, bottom lip tucked between your teeth—

“Oh fuck, baby,” he exhales, making no effort to hide the distinct sound of his zipper sliding down as he undoubtedly frees his cock from the confines of his pants.

Arousal simmers hot in your gut as you imagine him spread atop his hotel bed, the pupils of his golden eyes blown wide with lust as he tips his head back against the pillow and begins to stroke his erection.

“There’s more.”

The next sound that escapes his lips is a little more feral, caught somewhere between a growl and a whimper when he sees them, and you smile with satisfaction. 

—your ass on full display as you bend over—

—the skirt of the dress rucked up, your legs spread to reveal the slick leaking from your cunt—

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, and you hear him spit into his palm, each heavy stroke of his palm against his cock punctuated with a wet, slippery squelch.

“One more.”

—

Honestly, Keigo’s not sure he can handle any more. 

His cock is painfully hard, flushed red and throbbing, and if the heavy ache of his rapidly tightening balls is anything to go by, he’s worried his cum might end up on the ceiling if he doesn’t snatch the box of tissues on the nightstand in time.

But his finger automatically hits the play button on the video nonetheless, and he fucking chokes as he’s treated to the sight of you teasing your folds with one of his stray feathers, the fluffy red barbs stained dark with your sticky arousal. 

He’s going to fuck you in that dress every night for a week when he gets home.

“This isn’t fair,” he whines, pumping his cock harder in earnest, hips canting upward off of the mattress as he desperately fucks his fist.

Your responding laugh is breathy and innocent, but then you let out a little moan, and he knows you’re touching yourself to the sound of him jerking off.

With each rapid stroke up and down his shaft, he imagines all the ways he’s going to fuck you in that goddamn dress—

—atop the kitchen counter, your hands threaded in his mussed blonde locks, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his hands shoving up the skirt of the dress and digging into your hips as he buries his cock inside of you—

—his hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as you writhe in his lap on the couch out on your apartment’s balcony, dress fluttering in the warm summer breeze—

—up against the door inside of a restaurant bathroom, his patience drawn thin by the tantalizing swell of your tits across the table all night—

—you on all fours atop the mattress, whining and begging him for more as he pushes up the dress and palms the globes of your ass before burying his face in your cunt—

Keigo comes with a shout, hips stuttering as the pleasure of his climax rolls through his body in a wave of liquid heat, barely grasping a tissue in time to partially catch the flood of cum that sprays from his cock, half of it painting his chest. 

When you’re both sated, breathing heavily in tandem on either side of the phone, he looks at the mess he made and murmurs tiredly, “Send me the link for the dress so I can order you more...can’t promise I’m not going to ruin that one.”

[hoernypie]

Marking Territory

tags: creamp!e, public, sex (p+v), au, pet names, costumes, party

wc: ~3k

"You look cute", you giggled fixing Sukuna's wolf ears from the costume, "Don't worry, nobody will laugh seeing you in that," you reassured him while caressing his chest. He only huffs rolling his eyes, regretting agreeing to your idea of putting ears on him. "Tho maybe I should get changed, just because someone had to "mark me"...", you sigh loudly looking at your reflection in the mirror, the wet patch between your legs decorating your costume was too big to be ignored by others. All of that because Sukuna quietly hated your costume, it was too revealing and he just knew some drunk idiot would try to hit on you so he just had to be sure you'd remember who you belonged to.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed another tissue to pat down the wet spot, trying to minimize the damage. "Come on, let's go," he said with a smirk, walking out of the bathroom. The party was in full swing now, the music's bass thumping through the house, laughter and chatter filling the air. You scanned the room for a familiar face to avoid any questions they'd ask about the stain on the costume. As you both made your way through the dancing people, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of anxiety.  You tightened your grip on Sukuna's hand, still thinking how a while ago he fucked you in the bathroom. Despite his earlier grumbling, he wore the wolf ears without further complaint.

As you entered the crowded living room, you felt a sense of relief when you spotted your friends' table, but before you could walk to them, Sukuna grabbed your shoulder - making you stop. "I'm gonna grab a drink," he said leaning down, "Behave like a good little bunny". You nodded and made your way to the table, and leaned over it, immediately trying to joke with stoned Shoko. As soon as he was out of earshot, a tall, lanky guy dressed as a Dracula sidled up to you, checking you out in your costume. "You look like you could use a bite," he quipped with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. You looked at him with disgust in response, but before you could come up with a comeback, he leaned closer, his breath reeking of booze and cheap cigarettes. "Come on baby, loosen up. Let's have some fun," he slurred, reaching for your right breast. Disgust and anger bubbled up in your chest, your mind racing as you took a step back and felt the wetness spread further on your costume. Just as your hand was rising to smack him, a big hand gripped his wrist, pulling him away. "I believe she's not interested in charity work," Sukuna said with a calmness that hid the anger in his voice. The drunk Dracula's smirk faltered, his gaze flicking from your face to Sukuna's and then down to the hand resting on his wrist. He stumbled back a step, a mix of fear and embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "S-sorry, man," he mumbled, trying to pull away, but Sukuna's grip remained firm. "Get the fuck away from her," Sukuna said, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

Sukuna disappeared into the sea of people, dragging the guy out, leaving you at the table with Shoko and the others, who were too engrossed in their own conversations and smoking to care about that situation. You took a moment trying to shake off the situation with the drunk Dracula. Just as you began to relax and reached for the blunt, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around expecting it to be Sukuna, but instead, you found yourself face to face with a smirking college boy dressed as a pirate, his pants unzipped. "Hey there, little bunny," he slurred, his eyes ogling your costume. "You looked like you could use some better company," he leered, his hand sliding down to your waist. You stiffened, ready to push him away, when you heard a scoff from behind you. Sukuna reappeared, a drink in one hand and a fiery look in his eyes. He stepped between you and the pirate, his other hand gripping the back of the chair to keep himself from lunging at the guy, considering smacking him with the chair now. "Fuck off," he said through gritted teeth. The pirate's smug expression faltered, and he took a step closer, his hand tightly gripping your waist. 

The pirate smirked as he ignored Sukuna's warning look. "What's your problem, dude?" he slurred, his grip on your waist not loosening. Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thinner than the fabric of your costume. "I said fuck off," he repeated, his voice full of anger. The pirate's friends, noticing the tension, began to gather around, egging him on with drunken cheers. One of them snickered, "Looks like the wolf's got some territorial issues." Shoko and the rest of your friends looked up from their smokes, sensing the impending confrontation. You felt a knot form in your stomach as the pirate leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against your ear. "Don't worry, darling, I'll show you a treasure you won't forget," he whispered, his hand inching downwards while the other one moved dangerously close to your breast. Sukuna's restraint snapped like a thin twig. He slammed his drink onto the table, the liquid spilling everywhere, and grabbed the pirate by the collar. "You're going to regret this," he growled, pulling the drunk college boy away from you. The pirate stumbled, but as he tried to regain his footing, he slipped on the spilled drink, crashing into the coffee table with a resounding thud. The room fell silent for a split second before bursting into laughter seeing this goofy moron, the tension dissipating as his friends helped him up, half-dragging him away to nurse his drunk bruised pride. You let out a shaky sigh of relief, your fingers moving to brush against the stain on your costume, a reminder. Sukuna turned back to you, his eyes softening. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble in the noisy room. You nodded, a weak smile forming on your lips. "Fuck," he said, "Can't even leave you for a moment. Maybe I should put you on the leash next time." He squeezed your cheek before walking with you to get another drink, leaving your friends, who had returned to their huddled conversation about how cheesy is the cheesiest cheese. The party buzzed on around you, but your mind was racing with thoughts of the possessive side of Sukuna, and the wetness between your legs grew, mixing his cum with your slick.

Sukuna led you through the dancing people to an empty couch in the corner of the room. As he sat down, he pulled you onto his lap, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against him while in the other he had a bottle of beer. You couldn't help but feel safe in his embrace, despite the sticky mess in your costume. His lips brushed over your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin. "You're so cute," he murmured in your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Only mine." You blushed, tilting your head a little, allowing his lips to further explore your neck. The room spun around you as he continued to leave kisses and hickeys on your neck, your breath hitching in anticipation. You nodded, your heart racing as his touch made your body burn. He gripped your cheeks with one hand, allowing his lips to claim yours in a fiery sloppy kiss that left you gasping for air. As he broke the kiss, you looked into his eyes. "Will you be a quiet bunny?" he whispered, his hips slowly grinding against you. "Wait, not here! Everyone will see and-" he immediately cuts you off, "Well, maybe then those fucking losers will get into their heads that you're only mine."

Ignoring the protest on your lips, Sukuna's hand slid on your breast, his fingers brushing the nipple. His eyes never left yours as he took a swig of his beer, watching the emotions play across your face with smug satisfaction. You squirmed in his lap, the fabric sticking to your crotch, your cheeks flushing as you tried to keep your voice low. "Sukuna, not here," you whispered again, glancing around at the people who were all too engrossed in their own conversations and dance moves to notice your plight. He just chuckled, his grip tightening on your breast as he ground his hips against you, his erection growing more insistent with every beat of the music. "You're so fucking mine," he murmured, his eyes dark with lust. You gasped, feeling his hardness press against your core, your own arousal spiking in response. The thrill of being claimed so blatantly in public sent a shiver down your spine, and you had to admit, you loved the idea of marking you as his. 

Despite your initial protests, the desire to be claimed by Sukuna grew stronger with each passing second, your hips matching his rhythm. His hand traveled down to the wet spot on your costume, his fingers sliding against the sticky mess and pressing your clit, making you moan softly before you covered your mouth. Sukuna's smirk grew wider as he felt your body respond to his touch. "I want everyone to know," he breathed into your ear, his voice low and husky, "that this tight little cunt is only for me to play with." Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you nodded. 

Sukuna's grinding grew quicker, the heat from his body searing through the costume and into your skin, as his breath grew more ragged in your ear. "Hold it, until I say otherwise," he said before biting down gently on your lobe. The pressure on your clit grew more insistent, his fingers moving in a rhythm that had your eyes roll back from the pleasure. Your body tensed, the room spinning around you as the orgasm built, a delicious wave of pleasure nearly washing over your body. You could feel the eyes of a few nearby people flickering over, noticing what the two of you were doing. "Be a nice bunny and hold it," he whispered as teeth sunk into your bottom lip when he quickly pulled his fingers away and stopped his grinding just before you could come. "You are such a good girl." And with that, you panted looking at him with teary eyes. "S-Sukuna... meanie... bad dog..." you said poking the wolf's ear on his head.

Sukuna chuckled at your playful protest, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Alright, my needy baby," he said, placing the bottle of beer aside, "Let's go and satisfy your tiny rabbit brain." He stood, lifting you effortlessly with him, and started navigating through the party. The sticky mess between your legs was a constant reminder of his earlier claim, and you couldn't help but squirm against him, feeling your arousal build once more. As you passed by a group of people, one of them, a blond-haired college boy dressed as a cowboy, whistled at you. "Nice costume, darlin'!" he shouted over the music. Sukuna's fingers dug into your skin before he sent a glare to that guy. You giggled despite the situation, feeling an excitement at his idea.

With an annoyed huff, Sukuna tightened his grip on you walking out into the cool night air, straight to the garden. As he walked further into the garden, the space was filled with the mix of rustling leaves and fainter sounds of the party and laughs. He found a spot where the bushes grew thick, a secluded area that offered a little bit of privacy. He pushed you gently against a large tree, his hands roaming over your body. "Let's continue our fun," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he took off his jacket and put it over your shoulders. You could feel his hard dick pressing against your thigh through his jeans.

With an annoyed huff, Sukuna tightened his grip on you walking out into the cool night air, straight to the garden. As he walked further into the garden, the space was filled with the mix of rustling leaves and fainter sounds of the party and laughs. He found a spot where the bushes grew thick, a secluded area that offered a little bit of privacy. He pushed you gently against a large tree, his hands roaming over your body. "Let's continue our fun," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he took off his jacket and put it over your shoulders. You could feel his hard dick pressing against your thigh through his jeans. You nodded, biting your bottom lip, and he smirked, knowing you were ready to let him do whatever he wanted. His hand reached cup your breasts, the cool air making your nipples hard. "Ready, bunny?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Yes, Mr. Wolf~", your heart racing, and he bit your shoulder, his thumbs brushing against your nipples.

Sukuna's thumbs circled around your nipples, teasing and pinching them gently through the fabric of your costume, sending waves of pleasure straight to your soaked core. You arched your back, pushing your breasts into his hands as a soft moan escaped your lips. His eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of you, panting and needy under his touch. "Sensitive little bunny," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He leaned in, his teeth grazing your neck, leaving another bite mark. "You want me to make it feel good?" He didn't wait for your response, instead, his hands moved to pull down top of your costume, letting your breasts free. His palms cupped your bare breasts, his thumbs now flicking over the sensitive peaks. "Someone's been a very naughty bunny," he said, his voice thick with desire. He pinched your nipples a little harder, making you whine. "Look at me," he demanded, and you met his gaze, his eyes filled with possessiveness and jealousy. "Say it," he whispered, "Say you're mine.". "I-I'm yours, Mr. Big Bad Wolf," you moaned, your voice trembling from the cold and anticipation. "Good girl," he murmured before squeezing your cheeks with one hand, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss, his tongue pressing against yours as his hand continued to explore your body, making you even more desperate for his touch when he slid your costume aside, your hand massaging his bulge.  Sukuna groaned into your mouth, not breaking the kiss as his hands moved to unzip his pants. In one swift motion, he pulled them down to his ankles, letting his aching erection free, beads of precum dripping down. The cold air kissed your exposed skin, making your nipples pebble even more. His eyes never left yours as he moved his fingers against your glistening pussy. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You're so fucking wet, maybe you like it public?" His tongue licking your neck. 

Sukuna's fingers slipped into your wetness, curling slightly to rub your g-spot, making you whine against his mouth. His thumb found your clit and began to circle it, teasing and taunting you, keeping you right on the edge of your climax yet again. He broke the kiss, looking into your eyes with a smug smile, watching as your pupils dilated with pleasure. "If you want my dick, make sure everyone hears just how much you belong to me," he murmured. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck as his fingers worked their magic. You bit down on your bottom lip, desperately holding him. The sensation was almost too much to bear, your body begging for release. "I wanna hear it," he demanded. "I'm yours, Mr. Wolf," you moaned loudly, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb pressed harder on your clit. With a smirk of satisfaction, he leaned back, his grip on your hips tightening as he held your leg up and filled you in one swift, smooth stroke that had you crying out as his balls slapped against your butt.

As you felt the fullness of Sukuna's cock inside you, you couldn't help but let out a loud moan, your back pressing against the tree and your eyes widely open. His hand moved from your neck to push two fingers into your mouth, pressing them against your tongue before moving them in and out, his eyes gleaming with dominance. "Shh," he whispered, the grin painting his face, "We wouldn't want to interest some morons with your sweet cries, would we?" His hips began to rock into you, setting a steady rhythm that had your legs trembling and your arms wrapped around his neck. Your eyes searched the shadows, half expecting someone to stumble upon you in this vulnerable, intimate moment, but the party remained a safe distance away, leaving you two alone. The thrill of the possibility of being busted, made your walls tighten around him and your body ached for more. The hand that had been playing with your breast moved to your neck, squeezing him, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Sukuna's pace grew more desperate, his breath hot and ragged in your ear as his hips slammed into yours like a feral animal. You tried to keep your moans quiet, his big hand over your mouth muffling the sounds. Each stroke brought you closer to the edge, and just as you thought you couldn't take anymore, his hand slipped away, allowing you to moan out his name. Your voice echoed softly through the garden. His grip on your neck tightened, as he watched you unravel. Sukuna's thrusts became deeper and faster, pushing you towards your climax. His cock plunged into you with every thrust, his own panting growing louder as he approached his peak.  You could feel the pressure in your belly growing tighter and tighter until it snapped, sending ecstasy into your brain as moans of his name echoed through the night. Sukuna's eyes blazed with triumph as he watched you come on his dick, his cum filling you as he panted against your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin in a mark of ownership. You both stood there, panting and trembling, the cool air of the garden contrasting sharply with the heat between you two as he kissed you softly. "Mine," he murmured again, his arms holding you up as your legs gave out from under you, the sticky mess of your climax joining the stains of his earlier claim. With a smug smile, he pulled out, tucking himself away before helping you fix your costume, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the marks he had left on your costume. “Let’s go back, baby.”

[kireilien]

wait i js read ur risky weverse live letter... ima need that phone sex w maki NOW!

ring ring ring it’s maki calling u bc of morning wood also a prequel of the events of this love letterrrrrrrr

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing, use of maki’s real name once; fem!reader, no dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, dirty talk, idol!reader, reader is still kinda tsundere-ish, race neutral reader, established relationship, use of “loser,” “pretty girl”

to that someone who said maki loves phone sex when he’s not w you bc he will worship his partner and gets bricked up js thinking abt them so phone sex is a must is absolutely CORRECT! 

you were washing your face in the hours of the early morning. you suddenly get a call from none other than maki. you pick up and immediately ask, “what do you want, loser?” you hear maki panting a few deep breaths against your ear, “i got morning wood– care to help me?” 

you hearing that: 

but of course, you help him out after teasing him first, “you’re disgusting. be glad the members aren’t in the bathroom. are the teamies with you? or are you that disgusting you’re allowing them to hear us?” maki groans as he slips his hand in his boxers, “i’m the only one in the dorms right now. can you just help me, pretty girl?” you can’t lie, your breath hitched at that name. the way he says it in that morning voice has you weak in the knees. 

you still continued your teasing, “you wanna hear my voice because you got morning wood? what do you want me to say? do you wanna imagine my pussy or mouth on your cock or?” maki chuckles at hearing your borderline taunts, “wanna have that perfect pussy on me, wanna have you riding on my cock– mhm– making yourself feel good on me,” he mumbles into the phone while keeping a steady stroking pace on his cock. maki makes sure his hand is mimicking how you actually would ride him, making his head throw back. he’s so down bad. 

“wouldn’t you like that? having me melt on your cock? you’d use me like your own personal pocket pussy if i did that. you’d have your strong hands on my hips, sliding me to your liking.” now the vision in your head is too vivid. was this for him or for you? “yeah i’d like that. wanna palm– oh fuck– at your ass, making sure my pretty girl is fucking us so well.” that nickname again. is he trying to make you wet or what?

maki’s hand speeds up, he voice becomes strained, croaking out, “fuck ‘m gonna cum– pretty girl say my name for me–.” you laugh a little, “cum for me, riki.” maki’s brain goes blank right before he spurts his cum in his boxers, staining them real good. “you’re fucked for using my real name like that. my boxers are a complete mess, i think all of my load came out at once,” he grumbles, grabbing tissues to clean his hand. 

“and you’re fucked for using that nickname,” you spit back. maki giggles, “why? you liked that, pretty girl?” you groan, “oh, whatever! hope you don’t get hard ever again.”

“yeah, i’ll see you later, pretty girl.”

my brain went blank while writing this hehe 

back 2 maki catalog

[undercvrfan444]

Blah blah blah.

Something basically about Husband!Nanami coming home after work one night with bags under his eyes, tousled blond hair and a loose tie he’d pulled in the car.

A quiet welcome would be on the tip of his tongue as you let him slip his jacket off before pulling him over to the couch.

“How was work baby?” Sinking down on your knees between his thighs just to rub your face against his lower body.

Nanami couldn’t hardly speak as your nimble finger made way with his belt buckle, leaving the ends to hang heavily on either side of his hips. Your next task was pulling the already taught zipper down the heavy bulge already growing. A thick outline of his perfect cock clearly visible through the thin grey underwear.

“s’ fine baby. What are you doing?” He’d murmur oh so softly as you continued to let your hands roam over his thick thighs and a little up over his dress shirt where you could feel the flex of his muscles.

Squishing your face against the warm print of your husband’s dick, the smell of clean laundry and his natural pheromones slid up your senses. With every kiss you littered over the fabric, you could see a small dribble of pre stain a small spot. “Missed you all day Nanami~”

Looking up to meet his tired eyes, you grinned lazily.

And who was Nanami to question his pretty wife? You could ask live in his skin and he’d probably let you! Especially when your voice was so good, full of honeyed lust and unbridled confidence.

Groaning lowly at your voice floating to his ears, Nanami pushed his hips up carefully into the plushy tissue of your cheek. “Fuck sweetheart. Gunna kill me if you keep looking like that.”

Rolling a half-hearted laugh out, all you could do was free his leaky cock from his boxers. You’d always enjoyed the fact your husband had a pretty dick. A perfectly pink tip faded into a tan shaft with a base covered in blond curls nestled neatly kept.

“Let me help you relax.”

Slooowly licking a long stripe up the underside of Nanami’s cock, you watch as those beautifully heavy eyes roll back. Every vein pulsed beneath your hand as you spit on the gummy head; watching it trickle down before taking each inch in your mouth.

With every bob of your head, your husband let his hands roam into your hair. “Yeahhh…jus’ like that.”

Gurgled sounds of skin on skin reverberated across the living room area. Heady praises and quiet moans fill the space that the other noises miss.

Your lips stretched painfully over the wide circumference, burning with each breath stealing hit to the back of your throat.

Moaning quietly at his tone, the vibrations hugging his cock does him in. “Jesus baby, s-slow down.” Tugging on your roots to lift you up, Nanami tried his best to keep you clean.

To no avail.

Faster than you could move away from Nanami, he was cumming already!

Gauzy white stripes of cum land on your face in various areas. You’d cum so many times on your husband’s face that it only felt right for him to return the favor.

Sliding your hand up and down the length of your husband, you pull your eyes up to watch. “Nanamiii!” With furrowed brows and a slightly agape mouth, Nanami slipped a finger past your lips to watch you roll it between your tongue.

Throwing his head back, a long groan spills out of his throat. “Ohh fuck~!”

As you watched Nanami shiver a bit from aftershock, you reach for a blanket on the side of the couch to clean up. It’ll get cleaned later of course.

With a heaving chest, Nanami closes himself back into his slacks before bending down to press a little kiss to your lips. “You’re ridiculous, I love you.”

Giggling back a “love you more!”

[shimmerandink]

Aches and Alchemy

Silco x spy! Reader

One-shot

Tags: Silco x reader, spy! Reader, sfw

Summary: You are a chemtech engineer recruited by one of Silco’s rival Chembarons to infiltrate his network and report back weaknesses. Under the cover of a transfer from a dissolved lab, you earn Silco’s trust but as time passes, his respect for you becomes something deeper, and you’re no longer sure where your loyalties lie.

The hum of the chem burners was the only sound in the lab, low and guttural like a beast at rest. The air was thick with heat, the faint sting of metal, ozone, and scorched cloth clinging to your throat. You’d been working for hours, hands moving with practiced precision as you adjusted the stabilizer compound in the vial, watching its color shift from volatile orange to a deep, mossy green.

Success. Again.

You’d earned your keep today. Silco wouldn’t find cause to doubt you, at least not for this.

You reached for your notes with an ink stained hand, ready to log the adjustment before sending a coded message to your true employer. You had maybe ten minutes before someone checked in.

But the moment your pen touched the paper, a shadow moved in the reflection of the vial.

“There are no second chances in Zaun,” a voice rasped from the doorway, rough as gravel, quiet as a knife.

You didn’t flinch. You couldn’t.

Even as your pulse jumped, even as your body screamed to react, you turned slowly, lab coat hanging loosely over your frame, your face carefully composed.

Silco stood there, framed in the warped glass of the lab’s reinforced doorway. The left side of his face was obscured by shadows, his ruined eye gleaming faintly in the low light. He wasn’t flanked by guards. He didn’t need them.

His presence alone could turn a room to ice.

“And yet,” you said calmly, tilting your chin up, “you gave me one.”

There was a pause. Then the subtle lift of his brows, a flicker of amusement, or was it warning?

“I didn’t say you’d earned it.”

He stepped into the room, the soft hiss of the door sliding shut behind him sealing you in together. No witnesses. No backup.

Your hand was still resting on the vial of stabilizer, its glass warm beneath your fingers. You didn’t move it. Moving anything now would feel too much like reaching for a weapon.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, circling one of the nearby tables, trailing a finger along the surface. His sharp gaze skimmed your notes, the diagrams, the chaotic arrangement of tools. “Singed speaks well of you. Says your adjustments to the injection rate are… promising.”

He let the last word hang in the air like smoke.

You nodded. “I’m honored.”

“Are you?” he asked, stopping in front of you.

His eyes locked with yours. There was something different in them tonight, not suspicion, not yet, but something leaning toward it. Something… searching.

You could lie, of course. You were good at that. That’s why they chose you.

Why they sent you into his domain.

But Silco was no fool. He’d built an empire out of ash and blood. He knew what betrayal smelled like. Knew how to bleed truth from silence.

“I don’t hand out praise,” he said softly, almost conversational. “But I recognize value. And you…” His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then rose again. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You held his stare.

“That makes two of us.”

A beat passed, sharp and electric. Then he exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Flattery will make me curious.”

Then, without warning, he turned, studying the vial still beneath your hand.

“What is that?” he asked, voice low.

“Prototype stabilizer. Holds the serum without the side effects. No seizures. No tissue collapse.”

You paused. “Still untested.”

“On humans?”

His gaze flicked back to yours. “Or Firelights?”

You blinked.

That was deliberate. A test.

“I don’t do human trials,” you replied carefully. “I’m not a monster.”

“No,” Silco murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “You’re something worse. Idealistic.”

He stepped away then, his back to you as he made his way to the door. But just before leaving, he spoke again, this time without turning around.

“I want results by the end of the week. If it works, you’ll move to a private lab closer to the core. Fewer distractions. Fewer eyes.”

The door hissed open.

“If it doesn’t…”

He glanced over his shoulder, and for a split second, there was something unreadable in his expression, something darker than suspicion. Something personal.

“I’ll find out what you’re really doing down here.”

Then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he’d stood, heart pounding behind your ribs.

You had ten minutes. Maybe less.

You turned back to your notes, flipped to the final page. With one trembling hand, you picked up the coded pen and scribbled a single phrase to your handler:

“He’s starting to trust me.”

But even as you wrote it, you weren’t sure if that was a warning—

—or a confession.

——————

You’d been left with Jinx for the past two weeks, a chaotic assignment disguised as a reward. She was brilliant in a way that didn’t follow logic, all sparks and storms and scattered genius. But you kept up, sometimes barely, and she started trusting you, in her own volatile way.

She even let you adjust her launcher, though not without a dozen threats and three accidental explosions.

The lab was quieter tonight. Jinx had been pulled away for “fieldwork,” which really meant mayhem. You stayed behind, fine tuning the weapon stabilizers and double checking the pressure valves she insisted on modifying.

The dim green lighting made your tools gleam dully across the table. You’d just started documenting your adjustments when the door slid open behind you.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“She didn’t kill you. Impressive.”

You glanced over your shoulder.

Silco stepped inside slowly, his coat dusted in rain and street ash. He was alone, again. That was happening more often lately.

“She tried,” you said, offering a tired smirk. “I bribed her with a gear polished scope.”

That earned a low hum of amusement from him as he approached, his gaze flicking across your workstation.

“You’re still here. It’s past midnight.”

You turned fully toward him now, leaning back against the table, arms crossed loosely.

“You said you wanted progress. Or was that just intimidation dressed up as motivation?”

Silco’s head tilted slightly. That unreadable expression, half amused, half predatory, crossed his face.

“Do I need to intimidate you?”

You paused, pulse quickening. “Do you think you do?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped a little closer. Close enough that the scent of smoke and something metallic clung to the space between you.

“Most people down here only do what’s necessary,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you—”

His eyes lingered on your hands, smudged with oil and soot.

“You perfect things. You work like someone who has something to prove.”

You swallowed but didn’t look away.

“Maybe I do.”

Another step. You could feel the weight of his presence now, steady and watchful. Not dangerous, not yet, but undeniably intense.

“To whom?” he asked. “Me? Or someone else?”

Your breath hitched. Just slightly. It was subtle, but he noticed. Of course he did.

“You don’t have to answer,” he added. “Not yet.”

Then, almost gently, he reached out and plucked a small gear from the corner of the table. Turned it between his fingers. Examined it like it might reveal a secret.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked suddenly. “Piltover. Order. Bright lights. Cleaner air.”

You stared at him. That wasn’t a question a Chembaron asked. That wasn’t a question a man like Silco asked.

“No,” you said after a moment. “Zaun may be broken. But at least here, you know what you’re breathing in.”

That made him pause. His gaze met yours again, and this time, there was something warmer behind it. Something tired. Something he wouldn’t dare show anyone else.

“That’s the difference, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Piltover hides the rot under silk. We wear it on our skin.”

He handed you the gear, brushing your fingers as he did. You weren’t sure if it was intentional. But the contact lingered longer than it should have.

“You should sleep,” he said, stepping back. “Your eyes give you away.”

You watched him retreat toward the door, pulse still racing, breath shallow with adrenaline, not from fear, but from how close he’d come.

Before he left, he looked back once more.

“Keep your loyalties clear, engineer,” he said, low and unreadable. “Zaun doesn’t take kindly to ghosts in its walls.”

And just like that, he was gone.

But his words stayed. Long after the door shut. Long after you turned back to your notes with hands that shook for the first time in weeks.

Because you weren’t sure who he meant by “ghosts.”

You.

Or himself.

[nshtn]

// Mimesis

Wesker attempts to console you when you cry.

He's used to barking orders, biting at others' achilles heel, and firing people for baring their stomach to the wolf...

...so how, how does he deal with it when it's someone meaningful?

How does he put down his fangs?

595 words, tags: existential h/c fluff :)

You bite your lip trying to suppress a sob.

Wesker’s hand lands behind you, near your back, sinking into the plush of the bed as he sidles closer. A large and angry part of him wants him to say ‘that’s life,’ and ‘get over it,’ but his sense and the softer, wetter thing you drag leaking from the caved-in cavity of his chest holds back. Instead he puffs an affected sigh from his nostrils and recounts what he’d do during the Arklays.

He slips his gloves off and to the side. His perfectly-ironed tuxedo doesn’t bleed intimacy, but to bare his hands to you is its’ own breed.

And he sits there with you, beside you, respectful – and listens. He listens as you’re racked properly with the weight of sobs, and he listens when you wipe your runny nose and burning eyes, and by the time you’ve gotten to reigniting yourself he’s done the only thing he could think of – even if it sprouts such deep, aching discomfort in him stronger than being the voyeur of this, feeling so conflicted and lost in what humanity calls for – and wraps his arm around your back, pulling your face against his chest.

The movement is stiff and mechanical, but you allow him into your little world nonetheless. Perhaps it had been the gesture of vulnerability in abandoning his gloves?

No one prepared him for this, the times when it’s someone you love. Perhaps he had never been loved enough to experience it, this kind of sharing. A burden shared is a burden halved, or so the radio dramas and old movies had said. He fears his intimacy is too artificially approximated to do that.

He experiences it now. This will give him brooding pause later.

As soon as he pulls you, you cling to him, and it is a wicked thing, perhaps, for him to enjoy your decision to trust him with this in this moment, but, then, you’re not privy to the way his expression shifts.

He cannot relate to your plight – that part of him is fossilized and preserved only as scar tissue and warning signs. Wesker relies on other means to act. He does you the silent, automatic favor of sparing you the signs, and he does not expect you to thank him. Some part of you knows, and if it does, you don’t care – the effort is appreciable to you in your time of need, so rare.

“I’ve got you,” he says, arms holding – caging – you close with necessity, running the fumes of empathy through the enrichment of possession to guide him. He recalls movies, a little, but much of this is real.

That’s how he prefers it with you – that’s what he can offer you, now, hands sliding up and down your back in repetitious strokes as he angles his head atop yours, protecting you from the unseen forces that mean your undoing. You brush your nose against him, safely surrounded in him, and whimper.

That he can relate to, being afraid to come undone at the seams by someone else's pulling.

Too easily, perhaps, as he holds you tight and pets you and forces his breathing to even and slow into a lull. Yours follows the pattern laid out before it subconsciously, and eventually you settle down against ruffled, tear-stained fabric that bleeds warmth into you, even if the source of it is saccharin.

A moment of saturating silence.

Then...

"Thank you," you say, weak but resolute and real.

Ah, there you are.

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ dabi + dermal piercings (& you sucking on them!)

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, blood + licking up blood, hair pulling, toxic relationship (possessiveness, touya’s a lil mean) words: 1.1k

notes: the biggest thanks to @t-tomuras who birthed the idea of dabi having dermal piercings (outfitted with pretty sapphire studs) with meee ♡

They haven’t healed—not fully, anyway—but that doesn’t really matter. 

He can hardly feel half of them regardless. 

Still, they’re breathtaking. 

Dewdrops of sapphire adorn his torso, glittering in the gauzy moonlight with each of his gentle inhales. Eight in total—four strung across his collarbones in pairs of two, four framed by sharp, jutting hipbones. 

They’re a dainty contrast to the gaudy gold sutured across his flesh, old and worn, stained with ash and fire and blood. They look almost natural in a sense, as if his body had sprouted the jewels itself, grown from his tissues.

“So pretty,” you murmur to yourself, a delicate index finger tracing over the jutting gems embellishing his collarbone—slow, appreciative, gaze shimmering with awe in the dim light. 

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, your pupils pulse, gaping and gluttonous, trying to consume the sight—suck him in, swallow him down, stash him away behind bone and blood for safekeeping. 

The dermal piercings are nearly as pretty as he is, sprawled out beneath you, fluffy tufts of ivory messy and splayed on the dark sheets outfitting his mattress. They almost rival his eyes, the blue almost as deep, the glimmer almost as beautiful.

A tongue darts out to lave along his bottom lip, scar tissue licked raw by it’s incessant caress, the point playing with one of the hooked staples at the corner of his mouth. Rough hands flex on your hips, coarse and callused, his glassy gaze framed by heavy lids as he stares up at you, unblinking. 

Your own gaze sweeps between the piercings and his face, unable to focus on one for more than a few seconds at a time, enraptured by the beauty that is Touya, spread out on display below you.

Another gentle skim of your fingertip over the twinkling little bumps, so light it’s hardly a touch at all, a fragile shiver rippling through his flesh. Pressing down, you watch as your nail sinks into puffy velvet skin, still slightly swollen from the needle, a soft hiss of air expelled through gritted teeth—wispy, not sharp, his hips twitching up infinitesimally.

It’s nothing more than a dull pressure, nerves fried to hell, singed and faulty and dead beneath dense scar tissue, but it makes his cock throb anyway, half-hard and filling with life, pelvis rolling up once, grinding into your core.

A syrupy little giggle drips from your lips, head ducking down to plant chaste kisses to the four gems lining his protruding collarbones before your tongue unfurls to smooth over them in one slow, continuous drag, flat and broad, sealing the dermal piercings with a thick coat of spit. 

His chest stutters, intake of breath tangling on the whine that splinters in his throat, spine arching off the mattress to urge the piercings further into the heat of your mouth. 

Your lips curl into a smirk against his skin, cheeks hollowing as you suck on the metal, hot and soaked under your mouth, the point circling them; first lazily, then with more force. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, curse tapering into a whimper. “The other ones, now.” 

Sliding down his legs, your body settles between his thighs, his knees spreading wider to accommodate you, ankles hooking at the small of your back and locking you in place, heels weighing down on the base of your spine. 

Damp breath wafts over his hip piercings in a gentle caress, chased by the tip of your tongue, tracing the edges of each jewel, refusing to lick over them. 

A growl rumbles in his chest—dark, decadent—and slim fingers knot in the hair at the back of your head, knuckles curling tightly and yanking, sharp bones pressed flush to your scalp.

“Don’t tease.” 

Another giggle escapes your lips, airy against his slick skin, but your tongue obeys instantly, gliding over the jewels in slow, heavy laps, smothering them in saliva. A sharp gasp catches in his throat, fading into a stringy moan when your tongue tenses into something hard, brushing across the studs in firm, rhythmic motions—back and forth, back and forth. 

The piercings on his hips are considerably more sensitive than the ones threaded along his collarbone, the skin healthy and alive and so, so responsive, your humid breath adoring his stomach with dewdrops of condensation.

His grip on your strands has loosened, breathy pleasure melting on his tongue, hips shifting under you, hard cock prodding your ribs. 

The salt of his sweat stings your tastebuds, strong and pungent, but you don’t stop licking until every last ounce of it has been washed away, cleansed by your spit and soaked up by your tongue.

But even after that, you’re still ravenous.

Your lips encase the tiny studs in a pucker and suck greedily, the capillaries tangled beneath his skin snapping under the force. Blood floods the surrounding tissues, seeping through the small pinpricks, jewels swimming in sticky crimson.

You sop that up, too, copious amounts of drool mixing with scarlet and turning the viscous substance a watery pink, painted in wide, messy strokes across his gut. Tart copper saturates your mouth, eager tongue weighing down on the weeping punctures, desperate for more. 

Blotchy violet blooms below your mouth, so dark they rival his scars, your name etched into his flesh using his own ichor as ink. The vigour of your suction increases, siphoning another torrent of warm metal to ooze from the wounds, a needy moan vibrating against his skin. 

It’s so good, his hips rutting into your ribs in pitiful, uneven little motions, but he’s starting to chafe beneath your blotting tongue, little fissures splitting smooth flesh thanks to your ceaseless lapping. Reluctantly, you pull away, laboured breath drifting across the piercings, still trickling lines of carmine. 

A masterpiece. Yours. 

“Goddamn,” Touya’s panting, a slight flush to his cheeks, clumps of hair clinging to his temples. “I should get these piercings across my entire body if it means you’re gonna slobber all over ‘em like this.”

He doesn’t need to—he knows he doesn’t need to, knows you’ll worship his body without the pretty little gems budding from the surface of his skin—but you giggle anyway, pressing a kiss to his left hip, blood staining petaled lips. 

“I dunno,” you hum in mock thought, a delicate finger tracing along the staples curving over his belly button, tiptoeing across gold. “Don’t you think you have enough?” 

His head lifts from the pillow slightly, staring down at his own torso, sapphire scanning across the gold sutured into his flesh, stitching healthy skin to something dead and warped. 

“I suppose,” he sighs out with a practiced indifference, head flopping back down, a languid smile crawling onto his face. 

His eyes dart down again, heady and shaded by thick fanned lashes, flares of mischief catching in the rising moon. 

“You’d better get to work, then.” 

Starting with the metal barbells climbing the underside of his cock.