#cicada's last song

[bug-decal-kissing]

Hey friends!

LONG POST MOMENT !! Tumblr needs me to cut this post up, so I will reblog with the rest of the works :]

A new work, The Devasted writer by my_own_new_paradise, was published on February 25, with 2/2 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Graphic Depictions of Violence, with addtional tags "trigger warning, Prismo is depressed, Panic Attack, Neurodiversity, Prismo is Sleep Deprived, Prismo has insomnia, Scarab takes care about him, Scarab worries, Soft Scarab, top scarab, bottom prismo, actually they're both versatile, I mean switch, soft prismo, Scarab wants to be a father, but he knows Prismo is not ready, Anxiety, anxiety attack, Scarab knows how to calm down Prismo, Scarab tries to help, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Slice of Life, alternative universe, Alternate Universe - Human, non-canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Prismo has low self-esteem, At least not mentally, But he thinks Prismo would be an excellent father, Scarab is Prismo's beta-reader, Scarab is proud of Prismo, Scarab encourages Prismo to publish his stories, if I write a second chapter I might add more tags, ah yes my classic tag, take italics away from me, I meanI love italics and the emphasis, but is a pity taking so long editing my story just to write the italic format, Adoption, fanchild, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, domestic life, They're parents now"

You can read it here:

This work has a suggestive part towards the end, but it's nothing explicit :]

A new work, Downpour by bricrowave, was published on February 20th, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Human AU, coffee shop AU, Scarab is a barista, Prismo is just some guy, Sharing an umbrella, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Character Study, kind of, No beta we die like Jake, Abandoned Fic, Old Fic, like i wrote this four months ago, i did not reread this before posting, can you tell i dont know how to tag 💕"

You can read it here:

A new work, Exhausting Day by my_own_new_paradise, was published on March 1st, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of General Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Comfort, Comfort Reading, Love, True Love, Prismo is tired, Prismo needs to rest, scarab is strong, Prismo is unable to walk, Scarab carries him, Scarab cares about Prismo, Scarab is a workaholic, Scarab likes tea, Pet Names, Scarab calls Prismo pet names, Lovely, One-short, No Plot/Plotless, No Sex, Romance, Scarab is worried, Alternate Universe - Human, human prismo, Short One Shot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence, No Smut, No Angst"

You can read it here:

A new work, lit a flame and try not to get burned (it's inevitable) by nocturnal_abyss, was published on February 25th, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of General Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Unrequited Love, One-Sided Attraction, Character Study, Past prisjake, that's also unrequited, lol, Angst, Unhappy Ending, Sad Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Not a lot of dialogue"

You can read it here:

Monster, by my_own_new_paradise, was updated on February 20th, with 13/13 Chapters released! It has a rating of General Audiences and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "FantasyAU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, alternative universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Scarab has traumas, Scarab needs a hug, prismo needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, magical flowers, lake, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow Build, Insecurity,Insecure Scarab, knight scarab, human prismo, Scarab is insecure, Prismo is a God, technically Prismo is more than a thousand years but he looks like a 30 years old man, Humanoid Scarab, he's still a beetle, he's a knight, i already said that, Magical Forest, Magic, Orcs, Elves, seriously this story is a kind medieval fantasy love story, Does that make sense?, i hope it does, it's obvious one of the characters is writting the story but I won't say who, I mean the story is ridicuosly crazy, Sort Of, I Don't Even Know, anyway I hope you all like it, take italics away from me"

You can read it here:

A new work, Relief by Mitch_D_Punk, was published on March 1st, with 1/1 Chapters relased! It has a rating of General Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Trans Male Character, slightly OOC, Alternate Universe - Human"

You can read it here:

A new work, Secret room in time room by CatDragonStella, was published on March 10th, with 1/1 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "One Shot, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Depression, Worldbuilding, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Original Character(s), mention of a suicide"

You can read it here:

NSFW works are below the cut :].

Cicada's Last Song, by othersin, was updated on March 9th, with 3/3 Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "reverse, Role Swap, scarab is a version of the wishmaster, prismo is a version of the god auditor, Rough Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, is is weird to watch your alt selves doing the nasty, probably, ProhibitedWish, Relationship(s), Romance"

You can read it here:

The Ghostwriter, by Irina_94, was updated on February 24th, with 11/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, References to Depression, Anxiety, Grief/Mourning, Trigger warnings when necessary"

You can read it here:

A new work, The prisoner and his guard by my_own_new_paradise, was published on March 2nd, with 3/3 Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, and Major Character Death, with additional tags "Fantasy, Medieval Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, prisoner, Magic, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Human, Human, human prismo, Manipulation, Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Psychological Torture, Past Torture, Past Relationship(s), Scarab is not guilty, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Scarab is naive, he don't know Prismo have suffered so much, he's just his guard, Prismo is dangerious, that's why is a prisoner, but they use him on their own benefit, Scarab cares about him, is the only one indeed, Scarab trust Prismo, Trust, Prismo knows everything, but he's not allowed to explain what happened to Scarab, Scarab is also a prisoner, He doesn't know, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, reference to Human from The killers"

You can read it here:

[st-peculiar]

I’m officially losing it

[enteragoodnamehere]

trick or treat !

HAPPY HALLOWEEN SEASON!!!! you got: scorpion lollipops and Found God In A Tomato by Psychedelic Porn Crumpets :]

[cowboyinternist]

may i ask why red moon is your favourite will wood song? :O (/gen i like hearing people talk about things they like + i am genuinely interested)

eeeee ty for asking!! i love thinking about this song.

one of my favorite things about will wood is that he’s a WONDERFUL lyricist and i think that red moon is one of the strongest examples of it. there is such a specific imagery there that he describes very well and very vividly.

this verse in particular really stands out to me. the song as a whole is just really poetic.

something that makes the song even more standout is the fact that this imagery is enhanced by the instrumentals as well. this is where i start going of the rails a lil bit and it’s more difficult to conceptualize but i think that once it clicks,, it clicks. but the instrumentals remind me a lot of tides/waves? the way that it switches between this very strong- almost rolling- sound and a much smoother/soothing sound? i don’t know how much that makes sense because i don’t have the vocabulary to describe it right now but. it’s there to ME. and that just makes this song a really good example of his composition skills as well? which is another thing he does that never fails to amaze me.

i think it’s genuinely one of his best works, and because it doesn’t fall into the like,, “spooky jazz” genre that people have decided his music is (despite the fact that that descriptor really only encapsulates one. of his albums. but i digress) it often gets overlooked. and this feels like the case for a lot of other songs that i think are his best. and that isn’t to say that his more well known/popular songs aren’t worthy of praise!! or that they aren’t as good! there isn’t a single will wood song that i don’t like. i just find it BIZARRE that so many of his songs end up being so under appreciated.

but yeah :3 that’s why red moon is my favorite will wood song.

[howlingdemon13]

I saw a cicada molting this morning!!!!!

If you don’t like bugs, you can skip this one. Pic under the read more break:

Look at it! Look at that lil guy all new and ready for the world!!!!!!!

[todorokies]

WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE LOW - logan howlett

contents 𝝑𝑒 : fem!reader, nsfw, cockwarming, some fluff & angst (?) got mixed up in this, implied legal age-gap, grumpy old man logan (written with ‘logan 2017’ in mind but he isn’t sick), intimacy scares logan but he tries, 1.1k words

a/n 𝝑𝑒 : this is possibly ooc this is my first time writing for him please go easy on me! ,,,, inspired by the song ‘when the lights are low’ by the paragons

“read to me, please?”

the air in the quite spacious room suddenly turned chilled as life around seemed to come to a halt. the eccentric buzzing of traffic seemingly stilled allowing cicadas and woodland birds to make their presence known.

fireflies tangoing into the darkened night jiving the streets alongside citizens peacefully making their way back to their residences.

it’s unlikely for a friday night to be uneventful for logan. a usual run through of the crazed day would be servicing important higher ups in his limousine, taking them to a glamorous black-tie event or a rowdy group of middle aged ladies celebrating a bride-to-be’s last night of freedom.

it was also unlikely for the said man to be in your bedroom after the hours of eight, conversing with you as the pads of his calloused fingertips ghosted over the satin silk that graced upon your body.

his tensed furrowed eyebrows relaxed for once, as he willingly leaves his on edge and guarded demeanour at your porch.

you don’t know how he was able to get the night off and frankly, you aren’t too eager to find out. rather using your energy to melt in his presence and eventually molding into one as his hazel half lidded eyes cautiously watches you straddle him then ease yourself on his semi hard cock.

his eyes immediately screwed shut followed by a throaty low groan once you bottom out, sitting completely still, your pelvises touching one another. your eyes softly flutter at the pleasurable ache as your hands found refuge around his neck and into the brushy hairs on his nape.

your question rings through his ears like a faint echo. with a quirked eyebrow, he lifts his head off the antique bed frame to face you, sharply examining your features.

“you can’t be serious?” he exasperatedly huffed out closing his eyes again and leaned back against the headboard.

you narrowed your eyes at him, “i’m dead serious. why else would you bring your glasses if you knew you had zero intentions of doing any reading?”

he doesn’t miss a beat, “i keep 'em on me at all times.” his voice is flat, not showcasing any emotion to give you more material.

you sigh, your lips pursed into a thin line while glancing at logan’s salt and pepper tufts of hair, allowing silence to fall amongst the two of you, not willing to continue the small squabble for a rather nonsensical request on your end.

that’s until you hear him scoff and mutter under his breath, “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

with a sharply slow roll of your hips you clamp down onto him, feeling his cockhead prods at your spongy spot. he loudly hisses through his teeth due to the sudden sensation, panting slightly as his fist balls up the sheets.

“you should be glad i haven’t hidden them yet, you old fuck,” you coyly beam.

logan’s brows knitted together as he shakily exhaled a deep breath to maintain —what’s left of— his composure, eyes stuck on your figure. great, you’re mocking him now, but he did have it coming he supposes.

his next movements are calculated, hesitant and uncertain as he reaches for your waist. yes, he has touched you before from head to toe, but there is always a sick gutted feeling of his that you’ll easily wither away in his arms leaving his dread to consume his soul once again.

his grip on your waist is loose, a mere nudge from a ghost, until you cuff your own hands over his to reassure his grip on you, his gaze softens.

“what do you want from me tonight?” his voice comes out as a honey dipped whisper, not what you were expecting as a rebuttal. it throws you off course, breath hitching before lightly nibbling on your bottom lip.

what exactly do you want from him tonight? when you received his sudden call five minutes before his arrival your nerves were over the moon. despite being in a relationship with logan for many months now, he always gave you an unorthodox reason to be nervous.

logan is intense. from how he carries himself to his appearance, his gaze all the way down to his speech patterns, the venom he spits out to his enemies or how he loves and cares for others so deeply; flesh, bones and all.

his love intimidates you —which is ironic in the sense that he could say the same exact thing about you— so truthfully, you don’t know what you want from him. only to be close enough to touch him, smell him, and to strip away his clothes to feel his skin onto yours.

but you choose not to say any of this, “shouldn’t i be asking you that?”

he dryly chuckles. the type of chuckle that reverberates against your own body from close proximity. you always loved when he laughed.

“i suppose you’re right, i am your guest after all.”

his larger hands begin to caress your waist, rubbing small circles with his thumb, “why do you want me to read to you?” genuine curiosity is laced in his tone. he stares up at you patiently awaiting for your answer and you now feel like a deer caught in headlights.

his undivided attention makes you shift against him causing the both of you to softly groan then you shrug, because you truly don’t know why yourself.

“i thought it would be a nice thing for us to do.” you nervously start to pick at the skin that surrounds your nails.

he simply hums in acknowledgment and soon captures your hands in his to stop you from fidgeting, “next time, bub, i just want to enjoy this at the moment.”

you break out into an earnest smile, your hands soon snaking its way out of his grasp to place them back on the base of his neck, his hands soon moves to your waist with much more confidence this time around.

“sooo, does this mean you’ll take another day off to visit me again?” your big doe eyes lit up at the possibility of spending another quiet friday night with logan by your side.

he feigns irritation, “who said i took the day off? i just didn’t have anything better to do.”

you playfully shove his shoulder before passionately locking lips with him. he’s tentative to your reactions as he bores his entire life force into you, a match has been light in the pit of his stomach as you both explored each other’s mouths.

he grunts. wanting more, craving more until you pull away, a small string of saliva follows before separating.

“well, next time when you have nothing better to do you’ll just have to read me pride and prejudice.”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[elliewithcellie]

Lean On Me

summary: Steve needs someone to lean on, too

wc: 1.2k

cw: ANGST, Steve yells at you, curse words, you comfort Steve, gn!reader, let me know if I'm missing anything

a/n: first fic in a minute, and it's barely more than a blurb. I was inspired by a tiktok that said "if i don't see steve cry in season 5 i will riot" and i was like dude yes. I thought I would explore that a little but it turned more into just a hugfest. Either way, here it is.

It wasn’t until Steve dropped off the last of the kids that you noticed a slight change in his demeanor. You supposed he was quieter than usual, but the gang was so rowdy that it was hard for any of you to get a word in edge-wise. Otherwise, it was a meetup like any other. But now, with only the two of you left, Steve’s silence was astounding. Cicadas took silence’s place, chirping the last of their summer song. The streetlamp above flickered in rhythm, serving as the only light illuminating Steve’s solemn face. You dared to unstick your legs from the warm leather of the passenger seat, the sound disrupting his thoughts.

His eyes met yours and smiled, a strained effort in the lines of his face. His eyes were wide, searching for something, and you could tell he couldn’t find it in you.

“You all set?” he asked.

“I’m ready if you are.”

He nodded and pulled out into the road.

“I’m really glad we did this,” you said. “It’s always so good to see everyone again. It feels like home.”

He only hummed in response.

The tires treading over the road filled the voided conversation. Shadowed trees and homes remained your view from the window. You were scared that something happened, that something you did might have bothered him. You ventured to look at him again. His posture stayed upright and rigid, both hands on the wheel. His grip was tight, the tendons taking shape in his hold. His left foot bounced sporadically, and his chest rose and fell in deliberate breaths. And his eyes. His eyes raced frantically like he was reading, his eyebrows pinching together. He bit his bottom lip as if fighting something from getting through. There was something he was holding back. Something was wrong.

The car pulled up to your apartment complex. You opened the car door and paused to look back at Steve. His head was down, his eyebrows still furrowed.

“Steve?”

He looked up at you, a haze falling across his features, his eyes glassy, but the pained smile persisting.

“Would you like to come up? It’s still early, and I’ve been dying to make some cookies. I could use some help eating them all in one sitting.”

Steve chuckled to your surprise. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Sure.”

You both made your way up to your place, your heart racing with every bound up the stairs. You headed straight for the kitchen, and Steve followed you, opting for the stool by the counter.

You tried not to let Steve distract you. It was just premade dough, after all. But his energy filled the confines of your home, swallowing up your serenity and spitting out sorrow. It shook you. This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t him. You were desperate to help him, and it seemed cookies weren’t going to be enough.

“Steve?” you tried. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

You bit your lip. “It—it’s just that you’ve been really quiet today, and I’m just wondering if something happened or—”

“I told you. It’s nothing.” Steve’s breaths shortened, refusing to look at you.

“Are you sure? You know you can—”

“ENOUGH!” Steve jolted up from his chair. “If I wanted to talk, don’t you think I would have fucking talked by now? Jesus Christ!”

You flinched at his words. You were privy to his sarcastic, snide one-liners, but this was new.

Steve took a step back. His hands rattled at his sides, and his breaths shook with each exhale. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking another step back. “I shouldn’t—I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just tired. I—I should go.”

A million thoughts scrambled in your head. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to comfort him, but he scared you. He already snapped at you once. Continuing to pry when he may need to cool off could be detrimental. But you needed him to know that he could trust you with whatever was bothering him. You decided to tread carefully.

“If you want to go,” you spoke softly, “you can go. But whatever it is you’re dealing with, whatever it is you’re holding onto, you don’t have to deal with it alone. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine. But tell me. I know you, Steve. I know when something’s wrong. So please don’t lie to me.”

Steve stood still. Every muscle in his body tensed, his eyes frantic, his breathing short and shallow. He bit the inside of his cheek as if in a last-ditch effort to fight his consuming thoughts. Then his posture changed. His shoulders sank, his lip trembled, and he looked away.

“I…I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

And he cried. He wept in the entryway of your home, something you had never seen in your life. You rounded the kitchen counter and pulled Steve into your arms. He held you tight, his whole body shaking you. Tears soaked your shirt, but you didn’t care. Your hand found itself in his hair in an effort to soothe him.

Steve pushed out of your arms and wiped his now rouged face. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your job. I can handle this.”

“What? Not my job? Steve—”

“I gotta go.”

He turned to leave. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Bullshit, it’s not my job.” Your voice remained calm and kind. “You think that since you’re the self-proclaimed ‘babysitter,’ that no one’s supposed to have your back?”

“I’m supposed to be the tough one,” he said. “These kids have been through hell. They’re all counting on me to take care of them!”

“You’ve gone through hell, too! I know you have. Bottling it up is going to kill you.” You held his hands in yours and pulled him closer. “I know you’re tough. You’re the strongest person I know. But bearing the load of anything alone will weigh you down. So, please. Let me help you. What can I do to help?”

A tear fell past his cheek as his lip began to tremble. He pulled you in for a hug this time, shivering against your touch.

“I really don’t want to talk,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“That’s ok. I’m sorry I pushed. I just hate seeing you like this.”

He squeezed you tighter in a wordless reply.

You pulled away, now, and wiped some tears from his face. “How about this. I’ll finish making the cookies while you find what channel is playing Full House.”

Steve’s face shifted from sadness to disdain. “Full House?”

You chuckled. “What? It’s a feel-good show!”

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help but smile at the Steve you knew slowly returning.

The two of you completed your roles, and before you knew it, Steve and you found comfort in your couch, his head in your lap, and your hand on his heart.

Steve’s silence stayed steadfast, the background noise of the Tanner’s taking its place. But this time, you didn’t mind. His breaths were relaxed, rising and falling to a steady beat. His hand found itself resting on your shin, playing mindlessly with the elastic of sweatpants. And his eyes. His eyes were calm for the first time this evening. You knew the war wasn’t over, but you were thankful you at least won this battle.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

DEAR SPRING, STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO, SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of them.)

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up. 

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you? 

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes. 

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin. 

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now. 

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you. 

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses. 

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question. 

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips. 

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?” 

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog. 

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you… 

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away. 

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes. 

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms. 

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin. 

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour. 

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. i feel neglected in this household.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten. 

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun. 

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this? 

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning. 

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours. 

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd. 

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking. 

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up. 

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks. 

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come. 

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again — a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins.

and you smile.

(it’s springtime, now. a little warmer. 

here’s to another year together.)

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

[buskingalbatross]

results of a quest to identify the cicada in dnp’s rodent boy summer instagram post

[video: an audio comparison of dan howell's mediterranean cicada imitation and two real cicada species from the med]

abstract: following a perceived dearth of interest in the cicada latched onto the wall in one photo of the ten in dan and phil’s most recent joint vacation instagram post, the authors of this post (buskingalbatross and an anon who instigated this quest) have endeavored to determine its identity at the species level. using resources such as naturalism networking site iNaturalist, various scientific research articles, a databank of Mediterranean cicada song audio files, and Dan’s imitation of cicada screams in the AmazingPhil video “How Phil Nearly Died,” we have concluded that the cicada is most likely an East Aegean cicada (Cicada mordoganensis). obtaining these results would have been impossible had we not received assistance from @/bitchslapblastoids, who generously provided the herein unnamed geographical location* of dan and phil’s summer rat and relaxation destination. I would also like to thank @/pierogish for providing feedback on comparisons of cicada audio files with Dan’s cicada noises.

[image: the individual in question]

methods, results, and conclusions below the cut.

*the authors of this tumblr post would like to flaunt their scientific achievements unencumbered by potential discourses surrounding the unearthing of this location, and thus have chosen to omit its name from this post. the authors of this tumblr post nevertheless understand that the location can be discerned by those curious enough to discern it. the authors moreover state that they harbor no wish to compromise dan and phil’s privacy.  

methods and results

iNaturalist’s search feature was used to gain an awareness of what species of cicadas have been observed on the mediterrranean peninsula where dnp went on holiday. a spreadsheet was created to organize data such as cicada common names, scientific names, the number of observations for any given species, the reliability of those observations (that is, how likely the observer was to have correctly identified a cicada; a high quality identification is referred to on iNat as a research grade ID), the period of time in which a species is the densest in numbers (most prevalent in its aboveground habitat), appearance, and, finally, a link to an audio file containing each cicada species’ song. audio files were the last piece of data to be acquired, and so were added to the spreadsheet very last.

once a list of species had been determined and entered into the spreadsheet, we compared the appearences of each candidate cicada species to dnp’s instagram image. all in all, we looked at seven cicada species: the black sorrow cicada (Cicadatra atra), the ash cicada (Cicada orni), the common cicada (Lyristes plebejus), the red cicada (Cicada haematodes), the east aegean cicada (Cicada mordoganensis), the geminate cicada (Lyristes gemellus), and Cicada lodosi (a species name now possibly defunct but with 4 observations in the area of interest in the past five years).

[images: left - the east aegean cicada; right - the ash cicada]

then, I decided to read a truly excessive number of scientific research papers about cicadas in the mediterranean. why did I do this? besides reasons of entomology-associated passion (and legitimate professional interest), I did it because I learned that it turns out that basically, the aegean sea constitutes a “hot spot of cicada diversity,” with numerous species across different genera that nevertheless look—pretty much all the same! quite quickly, it became apparent that one blurry instagram image would be insufficient to determine the species. in fact, even if the image had been crystal clear, it wouldn’t have mattered. apparently, many cicadas of the eastern mediterranean are not morphologically distinct (meaning, again: some of them look identical) and what differentiates them is actually, primarily, their songs. they are “acoustically divergent,” with females being able to locate males of their own kind by their unique calls alone, not their looks. different species also tend to be distributed differently across this region, by which I mean some are only found on certain islands, or in certain areas of Italy, the Balkans, Greece, or Turkey, or Greece and Turkey, etc etc. I needed to read to form a better picture of all of this, essentially, and to gather clues.

[image: some of the papers I read]

after perusing all of this fascinating literature—and also squinting really hard at dnp’s picture and the photos of cicadas we had accumulated—I came to the conclusion that, most likely, the cicada was either Cicada orni, the ash cicada, or potentially more likely, Cicada mordoganensis, the east aegean cicada. both had three observations recorded in the region of interest (the most observations of any species), and both had the most similar coloration and patterning to dnp’s cicada. my predilection for the east aegean choice stemmed from two things: 1. the east aegean cicada observations were of a higher quality (research grade) than the ash cicada, and 2. the papers I had read were telling me that while east aegeans were prevalent along the entirety of the our region of interest, ash cicadas were more constrained, geographically, to northern Turkey and the Greek mainland. in fact, according to mediterranean cicada scientists, no ash cicadas had ever been found on islands as southeast as Samos and Ikaria, two islands relatively close to the peninsula where dnp’s cicada resides. this contradicted the observations on iNaturalist.

apparently, this difference in distribution has a lot to do with the tectonic and geographical history of the eastern mediterranean. where certain cicadas are today has a lot to do with where warm refuges from ancient glaciers existed thousands and millions of years ago (cicadas like the heat). also, and I should not necessarily subject you to this tangent, but did you know that about 5 million years ago the mediterranean sea simply gave up on existence for a little while? ... during the Messinian Salinity Crisis, the mediterranean simply stopped being a sea for a little while and almost dried up completely, allowing certain creatures that could not otherwise traverse an entire sea to disperse across it, except for where there is a huge ass canyon in the seafloor, and—

[images: highlighted, pertinent sections of papers discussing cicada distribution; relief map of the mediterranean seafloor]

anyway, what we were sorely missing at this stage were sound recordings of the cicadas. despite the evidence against the ash cicada, this cicada is still one of the most commonly found cicadas around the aegean sea. also, some of the studies I found were ten or more years old—who knows how climate change or other factors may have impacted the location of cicada populations since they were published.

while the audio of the cicadas outside in Phil’s video is poor, Dan does an imitation at 00:30 of what they’d been hearing during their trip. knowing Dan, this imitation is not merely a made-up, vaguely cicada-like noise, but an actually good approximation of the song that had been driving them crazy (this whole study mayhaps hinges on this lmao). if only we could uncover audio of these cicadas, maybe we could know for sure if this insect was of the ash or east aegean variety.

thankfully, at this point I was still reading papers. even more thankfully, the ten individuals who seemed to have cornered the market on mediterranean cicada studies since the 1970s made a website, and mentioned it in one of their papers. it is an exceptional, beautifully designed website called cicadasong.eu that evokes the ad-free, uncluttered, cozy and homemade feeling of the early noughties internet. it almost made me cry, and @/pierogish reported that seeing this website made her realize that in all these years recently spent online she had been choking, and only on cicadasong.eu was she finally able to breathe freely. on this website, there happen to be embedded YouTube videos of high quality audio recordings of all the european cicadas its creators have ever studied.

at last! comparisons of cicada songs to Dan commenced, and we were able to play the ash cicada’s sound alongside the east aegean’s and Dan’s. at the top of this post, you will find the compilation of these three sounds. here are the links to the original audio videos of the east aegean and ash cicada.

the main unit of sound—the chirp—of a cicada’s song is known scientifically as an “echeme”. in these audio files, you can perceive that, for the east aegean cicada, the duration of the echeme is longer, meaning the number of echemes per second is lower. this rhythm, and in general the structure of the east aegean cicada’s song was, in comparison to the ash cicada’s, deemed to the ear of all the authors and contributors definitively more similar to dan’s cicada song. thus, this final piece of evidence seemed to complement the rest of our data and confirm our initial assumption of the cicada’s identity.

conclusion

accumulated data has lent support to our hypothesis that the cicadas suffusing the atmosphere of dip and pip’s holiday resort with their ebullient, lascivious songs were east aegean cicadas.

[anthonys237thfreckle]

‘Promise’ - Javier ‘Javi’ x Kate Carter & F! reader (angst!)

someone asked for a part two and I realized how good of an idea that was lmao. I need indirect ways to incorporate my past experiences into my fics anyway.

part one

prompt: you made a promise to distance yourself from Javi and Kate

TW: mentions of smoking, some detailed mention of self harm, suicidal thoughts, mentions of nausea, disordered eating, breakdowns, smoking, angst :(

Do NOT proceed if the triggers mentioned above upset you greatly. You have been warned.

I made a promise

To distance myself

Once Tyler dropped you off to the train station, you smiled and waved until you couldn’t see his truck anymore. You wanted to hang onto any last string of familiarity for as long as you could.

Especially since your life would change completely - for better or worse.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to calm down your trembling body.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

5 things you see - the train station, the crumbling yellow bricks, the jolly red-white-blue american flag, your luggage, and the people. Lots of people.

4 things you hear - the people, obviously, the cicadas crying, the heavy bell ringing inside, the honking of cars for you to get out of their way.

3 things you smell - the heat - somehow, the smell of smoke from cars, and the thick air.

2 things you feel - terrified. hurt.

1 thing you taste - bitterness.

Shaking your head, you take another deep breath. Eyes dead set on the mission in front of you, you marched into the train station, bought a ticket to Oklahoma City, and settled down inside.

But now was the hardest part; waiting. What made it harder was you didn’t want to think about anything that happened yesterday. So, putting your headphones on, you made a playlist with none of the songs that reminded you of Javi or any of the ones he recommended to you. Essentially, you just listened to 3 songs in total, over and over again, but the knowledge you knew what was coming next was comforting, something you couldn’t apply to your current situation.

Took a flight, through aurora skies

Honestly, I didn't think about

How we didn't say goodbye

Just see you very soon

You woke up when the train jolted to a stop - you had fallen asleep, waking up to hear the opening notes of some song you were listening to earlier. Looking out the window, you reached Oklahoma City. With a sigh of relief and trepidation, you got your bags and headed out of the station, hailed a taxi to the airport. Booking a last minute flight back home to LA, you made your way to the gate. Setting your bag down, you sat in a char near the huge windows. Deciding it wasn’t close enough, you sat on the little raised platform attached to the window and leaned your head against it like you saw so many children do.

The boarding call was announced, and everyone sat up groggily. It all went by pretty quickly. Standing in line, getting your boarding pass stamped and your passport checked, finding you seat, putting your bag away and sitting down. Taxi and take off was a blur; luckily you got a window seat, and stared out at the pink clouds, tinted by the setting sun, a peach tone.

Peachy, just like your favourite pie.

You groaned, covering your eyes and rubbing them as your mind started to think about Oklahoma. About Javi, and the last time he saw you. And the last thing he said to you. It wasn’t even a proper goodbye, but you couldn’t blame him because he didn’t know it was goodbye.

And honestly, neither did you.

But you made yourself a promise - to distance yourself.

Those last words of his echoed in your mind.

“I- Okay, alright. Take care, (Y/N)”

It hurts to be something

It's worse to be nothing with you

You half expected a text from Javi - it had been around 24 hours since you last saw him. Since you told him you had a ‘family emergency’ to take care of. Who wouldn’t expect a little ‘you doing okay?’ or ‘safe travels’ when someone saw you break down in the middle of a field, distressed as hell? Sure, you and Javi weren’t dating, sure you both drifted apart ever since Kate got closer with him instead, but were you two not even friends anymore?

Did you mean nothing to him?

This wasn’t the first time he ghosted you - after the EF5 tornado, he didn’t say a word to you. But it was understandable why - everyone was hurting, and maybe he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. In Oklahoma, the only times he’d talk to you is when you started a conversation, otherwise you could sit silently and he’d happily talk with Kate, leaving you be. It was never him starting anything.

And Kate. Did she figure out you liked Javi? Is that why she didn’t text you? Did she feel guilty? Part of you wanted her to feel guilty, but the other part of you didn’t want to be pitied. Part of you wanted to go back, but this - this was best for you right now. Nobody could tell you otherwise.

Instead, you got a text from Tyler.

‘hey there cowgirl - how you getting along?’

You chuckled - ‘cowgirl’ was probably the worst way to describe yourself. Instead, you typed down a response, your heart a little less heavy.

‘hey, Tyler. thanks for asking. means a lot’

He was typing, the three dots appearing on screen

‘of course. lemme know if you need anything at all okay? stay safe out there’

You sent him an affirmative text, thankful to actually have a friend who cared enough to check in on you, helping you out without questioning anything, having only known you for a week.

So I didn't call you

For sixteen long days

You found comfort in some form of familiarity in your life; back home in LA, everything looked duller, more still. Like the whole world knew about your heartbreak and was mourning, or mocking you. You tried to plunge into work, distracting yourself but sometimes, you’d just stare at your work, screen or paper, and just zone out. Your was brain still trying to process everything, and you were losing a lot over it - sleep, peace, overall joy, your will to wake up, and more.

It felt like after the EF5 tornado but worse because you knew somewhere in Oklahoma, Kate was with Javi, both of them happier than ever. It felt worse because you could never have him anymore. He was gone. And someone got to see him every day, sometimes wake up next to him, sometimes stay up all night with him. You felt like you were gonna be sick.

For a fortnight, all you could eat was cheese, bread, and grapes. It was the only thing you could keep down.

It was so hard not to text Javi. After you had just left, it’s like you were isolated for 5 years, given a taste of him, then forcing yourself to stay away. It was something you chose to do, not something you were forced to live with.

But you won’t call him. No matter how long the days felt they were dragging by.

And I should get a cigarette

For so much restraint

Walking by a drugstore to entertain yourself, you entered the establishment with an electronic ding notifying your presence. Strolling through the ailes, you picked up Sourhead Extremes (so in case you wanted to call Javi, you’d have to go through a gustatory agony first) and some nail polish, just to look pretty. Walking to the cashier, you mindlessly threw in a pack of cigarettes onto the counter, before putting them back in a jerky motion.

“What the hell…” you murmured to yourself, ashamed of what you were about to do. Buy cigarettes - to smoke.

Walking out of the store briskly, you speed-walked home; chiding yourself for almost ‘rewarding’ your no contact mission by smoking, you realized how truly pathetic you were.

“God, what is wrong with me…” you muttered, keeping your head down, watching the wet streets reflect the light of the sun and your dark sorrow.

No matter how long I resist temptation

I will always lose,

Eventually you did buy the cigarettes. You went home, lounging in your bed, a pretty china plate acting like an ashtray for you. Legs up in the air, swinging occasionally, eyes half lidded from the light high, you felt the chalky smoke fill your lungs, watching it come out in little clouds of grey air.

You felt in control for the first time since leaving Oklahoma - the cigarette sitting pretty between your red tinted fingers and lips. You smiled softly, satisfied by finally scoring a small win. You didn’t tell Tyler that you smoked. He’d say it’s a horrible habit you should give up.

Obviously it was more of a lose - giving into an impulse, and now you were at risk of falling deeper into addiction. You weren’t in control, you never really were.

But why would you make yourself feel worse when you were on the literal brink of crumbling?

Although, you didn’t get addicted. After the high wore off, you felt disgusted, throwing out the pack of almost full cigarettes. You wouldn’t tell Tyler, of course.

It hurts to be something

It’s worse to be nothing with you

Two weeks went by, and though you pretended everything was okay, it really wasn’t. You didn’t know if you missed Javi or not, but you really didn’t want to.

You don’t know if you want to see the face you loved so much, the face that lights up when he sees Kate, the face that Kate holds, kisses, caresses.. the face that she admires alongside you.

You wanted to get over him, you really did, but you cared so much about him. You didn’t want to stop caring about him, when loving him felt so… lovely.

But it hurt so much.

You barely got any sleep this past fortnight. Having a reverie about the man who daydreamed about another woman. The things you wished he did to you, he did to Kate. He was hers. So assured, so confident. No doubt in that.

For a fortnight, there you were, stripped of any text backs from him.

You were starting to think you just wanted his attention, which you dont know if you wanted anymore, knowing his attention belonged to Kate. Why would you care so much about him texting you?

But then again, weren’t you two friends?

I’ve done the math

There’s no solution

We’ll never last

Why can’t I let go of this?

Right now, you, broken, needed comfort. May it be fake hope again. Nobody was there to stop you anyway, so in your free time, you started to think of the ways Kate and Javi would have problems with each other.

‘She’s too arrogant sometimes, and he’s really down to earth’

‘She can’t communicate her feelings!’

‘Kate’s one to settle, Javi isn’t’

Of course, you knew it was wrong. Of course it was a bitchy thing to think. But who were you to care right now?

You were hurt, and you needed to feel better to even try and start to get a grip on reality. you didn’t want to rip of the band aid yet.

Not yet.

Even worse, your mind started thinking of ways you and Javi could get together; Kate could leave him in the dark again, she could get into a fight with him…

But nothing made sense - she wouldn’t leave when she looked at him that way… and any fights would be cleared quickly with Javi’s forgiving nature.

He would do anything for her.

All in all, you realized how shitty you were being, and texted Tyler, saying you couldn’t hide from Javi - couldn’t hide from the pain that haunted you. The bright lights of LA looked dull. The sun felt like a false light.

Your world was falling apart, how could the sun be shining when your world was falling apart?

‘Just walk around. Wear something that makes you feel good. Grab some good lunch downtown. Spoil yourself. Act like a damn tourist, I don’t care. Just do anything that reminds you that there’s more to life than Javi’ he wrote.

So I broke my promise

I called you last night

I shouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have

If it weren’t for the sight of a boy who

Looked just like you standing out on Melrose Avenue…

It hurts to be something

It’s worse to be nothing, with you.

Three days later, you sat on the roof of a building. The sun was setting, you looked at the streets below. People were walking - their dogs, their toddlers, and whatnot.

You were so disappointed with yourself. Closing your eyes, you thought back to everything that happened yesterday.

Following Tyler’s advice, you woke up ready to face the day.

Waking up bright and early, you went for a run, saw some pretty things on the way. You found it insane how easy it was to overlook the small things in life.

Coming home, you made breakfast; oatmeal with bananas, almond butter and chocolate chips. You savoured every bite with a smile.

You hopped into the shower, using your favourite body wash. Putting on an outfit, doing your hair and makeup, slipping on your shoes, you left the house, ready to explore the city…

All was going well until sunset.

—

You were walking along the streets of LA, acting like you’d never seen anything like it before. A coffee in hand, you walked confidently down the path, turning a corner to browse a bookstore on Melrose Avenue, when someone caught your eye.

A boy, waiting for the light signal to turn green, who looked exactly like Javi.

You froze.

Suddenly, you didn’t want coffee any more. You didn’t want anything right now but to go home.

—

You rushed home, trying so hard to control your breathing, then stumbling desperately to your room. As soon as your face crashed against the pillows, the soft, gentle fabric a perfect medium to absorb the tears now flowing down your face. You sobbed, curled into a still-bedazzled ball on your bed, hugging yourself, contracting into a fibonacci.

Reaching for your purse, you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your contacts. Through the wet and blurry lens of your tears, you scrolled into the alphabet until you reached the ‘J’ section. The first name was Javi.

Pressing on his name, then the ‘call’ button, you held it to your ear, taking shuddering breaths as you tried calming yourself down. The your phone cooed like a pigeon, signalling his phone, somewhere in Oklahoma, was ringing.

You were clean. Clean for a little over 2 weeks. Clean from his voice ringing in your ears, new words exchanged and whatnot.

But as you held your phone in your hand, crying, watching it reach Javi’s phone, waiting for him to answer, it all felt like a relapse.

Like the feeling of the cool blade on your skin, slicing through, leaving an angry red river in its wake.

The sick, high feeling you get from it - the ecstasy, watching you destroy yourself, finding beauty in the rubble.

Some part of you, the logical part of you was screaming to press the red button. To leave Javi alone. It wasn’t fair for you to reach out first, right? Why would you make a fool out of yourself by calling him? You’re not that desperate for him, are you?

But the hurt, emotional, desperate part of you didn’t, daring him to answer. Just to remind him of your existence. Just this once.

Still fighting the internal battle, you delved deeper into why he didn’t call you yet.

Did Kate tell him everything? Did she finally find out? Did she realize at all about how hurt you were?

The anger only just started to hit you, claiming your brain as a new population to be corrupted, a new host for the parasite, a new fruit to rot.

You were mad. You didn’t know at who. But you decided you were mad at Kate. For dating him. You knew it was wrong to be mad, because you had no claim over Javi, but you were too deep into your anger to actually think of a better way to cope. Suddenly, you were so mad at Kate. So, so mad. Part of you wanted to tear your house down, scream like a mad woman, but you didn’t. Your dwindling self control kept you in check.

Then came the sadness. You were so mad at Kate, but she was so happy right now. She didn’t care or know how your felt right now. how hurt you felt right now. She had Javi. Her Javi. And they were both happy - oh so happy, oh so blissfully unaware of how you felt right now.

They were happy - they were perfectly fine without you. Because they didn’t need you as a friend, not like they did in college - maybe they didn’t back then either, because they had each other. That’s all they needed. Each other was all they needed.

You were so deep into the crevices of your mind, drowning in both pain and relief, you almost didn’t hear your name drenched in Javi’s voice coming from the speaker.

‘[name]?’

—

follow + stay tuned for part three!!

[bug-decal-kissing]

Hey friends!

Repairing pieces of a broken past., by Mrcafe, was updated today, with 2/3 Chapters released! It is Not Rated and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "Wings, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Healing"

You can read it here:

Seraphyllic, by DrakianDH, was updated today, with 18/20 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, and Major Character Death, with additional tags "scarab the god auditor - Freeform, prismo the wishmaster - Freeform, Priscrab, ProhibitedWish, Scrabby, no beta we get turned to legos like the lich, Adventure & Romance, Story within a Story, Eventual Happy Ending, Maybe - Freeform, Author Is Sleep Deprived, The Author Regrets Nothing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, You gotta work for the comfort, begining poem importanteach chapter a word, prepare, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Needs A Hug, Sad with a Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Made Myself Cry, What Was I Thinking?, I Don't Even Know, Love"

You can read it here:

NSFW works are below the cut :].

Cicada's Last Song, by othersin, was updated today, with 2/3 Chapters released! It has a rating of Explicit and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "reverse, Role Swap, scarab is a version of the wishmaster, prismo is a version of the god auditor, Rough Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, is is weird to watch your alt selves doing the nasty, probably, ProhibitedWish, Relationship(s), Romance"

You can read it here:

[mauswyx]

old ties, new beginnings

Thomas Hewitt x f!reader: ch2 // ch3

TLDR: By chance, Thomas encounters someone from his past and gets to be treated like a normal guy for an afternoon–except he doesn't want the treatment to stop.

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

CW: slight nudity, mention of dead animal [not actively killed], mention of scarring

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The sun heated your face as your body floated at the water’s surface, bearing your naked form to the surrounding wilderness. Cicadas’ buzzing mixed with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind solidified just how alone you were. A flock of birds takes flight seeking sanctuary elsewhere, but you paid them no mind; the lake water lapping at your skin was bringing back memories from when you were young: memories of chasing fireflies in the evening, running around the campfire as mother hummed old songs you have long since forgotten, and swimming in this very lake with other children–making friendships that would only last through the night. Your lip curled as you remembered how the children...screamed? Why were the children screaming...?

You furrowed your eyebrows and tucked your legs beneath you to lightly tread the water. The heat must finally be getting to you. Shaking your head, you look around at your surroundings, hoping to bring back that nostalgic magic. The lake itself is massive, the portion you're in is only an offshoot of a much bigger body of water; the water’s edge is encircled by tall-dry grass, tall enough it had brushed against your elbow on your way down; the oak trees past the grassy-moat encase the path you took to get down here; next to the path sits your pile of clothes that you haphazardly threw off. You eye the small opening between the trees, as if trying to conjure up someone standing there. Only you know no one is coming, up the path sits an empty van waiting for you.

You had been on the road for some time, making your way across Texas was proving to take much longer than you expected. Though you didn’t mind, the long highways were just a means to escape an unsavory situation and to get back to your mother in San Antonio. It was in Lubbock that you decided to make a small detour on your journey, it would add a day but you simply longed to see your hometown. So when your tires popped, having driven over some loose nails, you cursed yourself. Town was a few hours walk away, but you’d surely die walking in this blistering-heat. Not to mention, you had heard about the town’s predicament and were willing to bet you’d have a better chance of finding an open store in the morning rather than the evening. It was settled. You’d just have to sleep in the busted van and get a headstart in the early morning when the weather was still livable. Which meant you had the rest of the afternoon to yourself…and knowing the area, you knew there was a very refreshing lake calling your name.

Another flock of birds cried out as they took flight, fleeing the area. This time you do look, following their shrinking figures against the cloudless-blue sky; you wonder what has startled them. But you don’t have to wonder for very long. The sudden sound of twigs snapping pulls your attention away from the birds. You whirl around and your stomach drops. There, in the middle of the previously deserted path, stands a large hulking man. A choked cry dies in your throat as your fight or flight refuses to kick in–you can only stare at him like a deer in headlights.

The tall grass prevents you from getting a good look at him [and you silently hope that means he can’t see you very clearly either] but from what you can see, you know that to say the man was huge was an understatement. His burly figure couldn’t possibly be hidden by the neighboring trees so you're surprised you hadn’t noticed his approach until now. His wide eyes, let you know he’s just as surprised to see you as you are him. The observation of his face leads you to notice that he seems to be wearing a mask-

A gasp escapes you, as your excitement pushes you slightly above the water. You raise a slicked arm to point at your intruder and he jumps back.

“I know you!” She suddenly exclaimed, eyes wide “Thomas Hewitt!”

Thomas ignored the sound of his name, too busy trying to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been expecting to run into cattle–not out here and not after having just finished a roundup. The last herd members were all accounted for, thrown in the basement by now. So why was this one out here and why was it nude? Usually if one was nude there was another one nearby. Thomas tried to wager where the other one could be hiding but couldn’t think properly as it continued to make noise.

“We went to school together!” it continued at his lack of response. 

What was it talking about? Better yet, why was it trying to talk to him? The screaming should've started by now. He let out a hesitant groan, shifting his eyes to the far bankside and grasping nervously at the side of his pants–it continued to stare at him from the water eagerly. He didn’t like this; this one was acting odd and it was making him uncomfortable.

What had it said? School? He tried to rack his memory of when something like that had once mattered. That era of his life was a long time ago and he had since tried to forget about those years: the most prevalent memories had always been the other children rushing to avoid him or the older teens and townsfolk shoving him around calling him a freak. He spared a glance at the meat in front of him now, he couldn’t imagine someone like that would look excited to see him now.

“Though, I guess you might not remember me—[y/n][l/n], I moved half-way through second grade.” it said with a sigh, seemingly disappointed that he couldn’t place it in his memories.

[y/n]..? The name did sound familiar. [l/n]...oh. Oh. A wave of shame washed over Thomas, he did remember you. 

He slowly nodded his head with a new-found remembrance and stepped out of the shadows of the trees. The sullen look on your face quickly morphed into an enthusiastic grin at the sight of his recognition. The lake rippled as you waded closer to meet him, before remembering your predicament. You quickly sank to the muddy bottom of the lake, being much closer to the shoreline now, the water only seemed to shield an inch or two under your collar bone. Your face heated as you tried to quickly cover yourself by hunching over and folding your arms across your chest. Your embarrassment went unnoticed by Thomas, who was still in disbelief. 

To anyone else’s standards, the two of you had never been friends, no but you were also never cruel to him—and that was as close of a friend as Thomas could get. Your encounters were always brief: you’d smile shyly at him in passing; hand him assignments—unflinching if your hand touched his; and occasionally you’d leave him a portion of your lunch on his desk...when no one was looking. You never truly spoke to him, especially not in the presence of others, though he remembered one occasion where the two of you had been left completely alone together. 

“What are you doing Thomas?”

With a start, Thomas looked over his shoulder at the girl standing a few feet behind him, just barely peeking out behind a tree. He hadn’t expected anyone to follow him into the shrubbery, so the sudden company made him on edge. Her voice had been just above a whisper and her eyes were focused on his hands. At the dead animal that lay torn underneath them.

His body tensed, readying himself for her to start screaming and calling him a monster like the others. But to his surprise, she only drew closer, peering over his shoulder.

Her eyes were transfixed on the neatly arranged bones that glistened under the specks of sunlight that filtered through the leaves overhead. His gaze was set on her though—waiting for her next move.

“. . .my momma says it’s good to honor the dead,” she muttered, turning to look him in the eyes, “I think you’re doin’ that just fine.”

That had been the first and last time you had spoken to him properly. Well, until now.

Thomas had pushed his way through the tall grass and now stood at the edge of the shoreline. You couldn’t help but smile at him despite your discomposure. You truly were pleased to see him, albeit a little surprised to find that such a scrawny kid had grown to be such a heavy man. He looked strong–well fed and taken care of and judging by his worn attire and toned arms you were willing to bet he was taking care of others as well. His eyes had stayed the same over the years, a stormy blue that reminded you of the sea. You had always liked his eyes. 

Having gotten closer, he could confirm it really was you. Your position and his height allowed him to fully take you in. He had never really cared for looks in general–meat was meat after all and a pretty face wouldn’t change that–but he allowed himself to acknowledge that you had grown up to be a rather charming young woman. His eyes trailed from your wet hair that clung to your face, to your crinkled eyes that no longer seemed to meet his own–your bottom lip quivered slightly, it must be cold in the water he thought. He followed a water droplet down to your goosebump-covered shoulders, confirming his suspicion. 

“Ahem. . .” You feign a cough, face having gone completely scarlet as you curl tighter around yourself.

He startled and shuffled backwards. He was so accustomed to looking at people like cattle he had forgotten some societal rules: like how men weren’t supposed to lay eyes on a woman’s nude form. He took another step backwards, ashamed to have disrespected you so openly; Mama would be so disappointed in him and surely you hated him now. His breath hitched as the thought and panic settled in–scrunching his eyes closed and hunching, he dug his fingers into the meat of his biceps with a whine–he didn’t want you of all people to hate him.

“Ah! It’s alright! It’s ok, Thomas!” The panic in your own voice distracted him, he opened his eyes to look at your worried expression.The sight of it released the tension in his fingers, even after all this time you were still being kind to him. He had disrespected you and yet you still worried for him. A sudden tightness overtook his chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s my own fault for thinking this was a good idea in the first place.” you continued, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Actually, could you do me a favor, Thomas?” he straightened and nodded, eager to make up for his offense, “could you bring me my clothes, please?” You gestured past his shoulder with a nod of your head and he followed your movement, peering through the swaying blades of grass for the clothes in question. His eyes landed on them sitting on a rock just a little ways in front of the old beaten down path. At the sight of them, he began to feverishly shake his head as if you had just asked him to cloth you himself; on top of the pile sat your undergarments–now that he saw you for what you were, a respectable woman, he couldn’t possibly do such a thing like touch your private garments. The irony of him staring down on you naked escaped him.

“Wh- Thomas!” You were laughing now, seeing his mortified expression “I can’t just keep talkin’ to you like this!” the water splashed around from you rocking around barely being able to keep yourself upright and your sides hurt from laughing; you let out a snort which only made you laugh harder. Getting stranded, naked, in front of your former classmate had definitely been last on your list of possible things to ever occur. 

Thomas couldn’t figure out what you found to be so funny, but he was glad you were enjoying yourself. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed around him so genuinely and not at his dispense…he wasn’t sure it had ever happened before. Giving the pile of clothes another side eye, he snorted out a huff of air through his masked-nose. He was going to do right by you and get you out of that water with as much dignity as possible.

Your laughing fit had died down but you were still gasping for air and wiping a tear from your eye when water splashed up onto your face and the sun disappeared. Thomas stood over you, knee-deep in the lake; he had removed his button down, and was now extending it to you in a crumpled heap.

“Oh! Th-thank you, Thomas!”  You gave him a small smile, extending your arm out to take his offering. Once it was in your grasp, he gave a grunt of acknowledgement and marched away–he kept his attention on the surrounding trees and away from you when he got back to shore.

You watched him for a moment, having removed his outer layer exposed his off-white sweat stained t-shirt that hugged his body. The short sleeves of the shirt exposed old scars that varied in severity. The sight of them made your heart ache. Poor Tommy. You always knew how poorly the others had treated him and you hated yourself for not doing more; no one deserved to be treated that way, especially not Thomas. You sighed, unfolding the crumpled shirt in your hands wrapping it around you and fitting your arms into the baggy sleeves, making to start buttoning up the frayed buttons–your fingers faltered as your eyes shifted back to Thomas. He had crossed his arms in front of him in his wait for you to finish, causing his tense shoulder and back muscles to strain against his shirt. Your eyes raked over the muscles that only years of hard labor could produce. You were certain the flush on your face could be seen from a mile away; grateful he couldn’t see you, you forced your attention back onto the buttons.

The sound of splashing water alerted Thomas that you were now decent. He looked over at you only to find that seeing your clothed form was so much worse than just seeing you nude.

You had chosen to leave the buttons closest to the collar unbuttoned, giving him a clear view of your sternum while the hem of his shirt swayed at the middle of your plush thighs. The damp fabric clung snuggly against your wet skin–leaving little to the imagination. Thomas felt terrible. How could his working shirt feel so improper? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen scantily clad women before: they showed up a dime a dozen in the sweltering heat and Hoyt kept magazines of women bearing themselves to the world but he had never paid any of them any actual attention. He had a job to do and even if he didn’t, he was certain that none of those women would revel at the thought of being touched by him. He resigned himself to knowing that he would never know the touch of a willing partner and had grown indifferent to the sight of a naked woman, but this felt different–you were different. He must have looked visibly distressed because you gave him a quizzical look before glancing down.

“Oh that’s alright nothing a lil sun won’t fix,” you gently pulled the sticking fabric away from you, “ ‘sides nothing you haven’t seen before right?” you winked at him and let out a giggle when he leaned away from you, his face flushing a deep red at your teasing.

“Come on, your pants are wet too y’know, let’s go dry off over there.” you smiled up at him before making your way to a clearing a few meters down the bank; the grass was flattened from sleeping deer, you presumed, and it looked like a nice place to sit and overlook the lake.

Thomas watched as you waded through the tall grass but his own legs seemed unmoving. Reconnecting with you had been so nice–too nice, it had made Thomas shirk his responsibilities to his family. His heart sank, he knew that sooner or later this was going to have to come to an end and you would no longer look at him with such kind eyes. You had stopped walking and were waving him over, trying to get him to follow. He sighed, turning his attention to the position of the sun in the sky. 

It wasn't time for supper yet, so it couldn’t hurt to keep pretending a little while longer.

[enteragoodnamehere]

can’t sleep, so gay people wip time. who up dancing to they masochism tango

[ajearthlinggg]

exposing you based on your fav will wood/wwatt song (my longest post)

A lot of these have nothing to do with the song. They're basically headcannons lmao. My Blake Jennings is showing

No instrumental chnt except Rhumba sorry

i started this in June enjoy

EIAL

6up 5oh copout: its low hanging fruit to say you hate cops, and I'm taking it. You hate cops.

Skeleton Appreciation whatever the fuck: Covid RUINED you

Front Street: you like Heathers

Aikido!: how's that obsessiveness and inability to let go going?

White Knuckle Jerk: you also like nu metal for the same reason. (Its incredibly horny)

Cover This Song: same as Aikido but only with your exes omg do not text them they are assholes

Thermodynamic Lawyer: PLEASE take time to calm down when you get overstimulated I promise if you don't do anything abt it you will have such a terrible mental breakdown

Red Moon: YOU LISTEN TO MALE MANIPULATOR MUSIC STOP TRYING TO HIDE IT YOU CANT BE IN THE RADIOHEAD CLOSET FOREVER

Lysergide daydream: I honestly do not like this song at all so you get a pass (don't kill me)

The First Step: you're usually quiet but you know how to SCREAM.

Jimmy Mushroom: you're usually quiet but- I'm just kidding. You're always quiet

Chemical Overreaction: you're usually quiet but if- I'm just kidding. You are never quiet

Everything is a lot/dte: insomnia. I dont know why,but insomnia

Self-ish

self/ish: closet theatre kid

2012: fast talker to a not comprehendible level

Cotard Solution: turn off the v-sauce it is 2 am

Mr. Capgras: turn off the 🌽 it is 2 am

The Song With Five Names: you have incredible taste. You can't describe that taste, but hey, its incredible

Hand me my shovel: you were the only talented kid in your elementary music class

Dr. Sunshine is Dead: you love the smell of cigarettes

TNA

Suburbia overture: BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD BPD

222: your English teacher loves you (you're so goddamn gay)

Laplace's Angel: your English teacher hates you. How do I know? Because you can't pronounce anything (its la-plass-es not la-place-is)

i/me/myself: you have to beat off the fake fan allegations with a stick everyday

Wbtta: hey queen. How are those hyperfixations going

Outliars and hyppocrates: you spell the title wrong every. damn. time.

bbw: same as 2012 but holy shit triple it.

Marsha, thankk you: dyslexia and ADHD

Love, me normally: I get it. I'm not even gonna expose you. You already have it bad enough

Momento Mori: you are just SO quirky! (knives whisper things to you when you hold them)

Icimi

Tomcat Disposables: you'd shove photos of your pets in your friends faces even if they were dangling off a bridge

Becoming the last names: you either have wonderful parents in a happy relationship or your parents have been divorced for years and you will never relate to this song

Cicada Days: stop using self deprecating humor around the wrong people PLEASE

Euthanasia: this song is a masterpiece I have nothing to say about you.

Falling Up: WONDERFUL TASTE. AMAZING CHOICE. NO RECOLLECTION OF YOUR CHILDHOOD.

That's enough: you love Alex g you just don't know it yet

Um its kind of a lot: you either already love Scott pilgrim or it will happen. Its a canon event

Half decade hangover: omg twinn!! I have an addictive personality, too!

(I feel like this is a good time to say don't take these too seriously)

You liked this: ...what?

The main character: you can't relate to the song, you hate yourself

Sdrr: IF I SEE ONE MORE PERSON TAKING THIS SONG SUPER SERIOUSLY IM GONNA LOSE MY SHIT YDHZJABXV

Bfb: ur just a silly lil guy

Willard!: you're a therian. There is no human explanation to this.

white noise: you love pink floyd you just don't know it yet

Atkf: HOW TF DID I FORGET THIS ONE anyways you get bad habits (nail biting, staying up too late. Etc)

CHNT

Yes to err: you are still waiting for chnt season 2 BC you want to see what happens with Adam

Your body, my temple: I have a strong feeling you have a tummy ache right now

Venetian Blind Man: you love nobody sexually you just don't know it yet (this is a very ace choice idk why)

Rhumba of Death: you LOVE Halloween

When Somebody Needs You: Tyler the Creator is probably your favorite rapper

Live

Trww

Self/ish: You can't sleep if your room has the SLIGHTEST amount of light in it

10-4 6-up: unlike the original, you don't just hate cops, you hate anybody who can tell you what to do (your teachers are probably just trying to do their job. please)

Cotards Solution: you can't sleep without background noise

Dr Sunshine Lives!: You never get sick physically (mentally on the other hand...)

Where do you get off: omg the horniest of the horny. Gerard Way on stage levels of horny. Nine Inch Nails levels of horny. (Or you really like Umbrella Academy idk why)

Aikido: you can't relate to it. You hate everybody

Take a break grab some water this is getting long

Thermodynamic Lawyer: you have gotten kicked out of restaurants because of how loud you are

Front Street: WE GET IT. IT'S BETTER THAN THE ORIGINAL.

Wasting away again: I am so sorry holy shit

Hand me my (x), I'm (y): you suck at algebra

The First Step: you wish you could do the AUGHHHHHHHH

2012: severe social anxiety

Mr capgras: literally the opposite of 2012 (live)

Chemical Overreaction: you know so many random fun facts

Fibrodysplasia: I'm not even gonna talk about your mental issues because I will be banned from this app (which is pretty much impossible)

Icid

Cicada Days: you also get a pass fuck I'm so sorry

The main character okay you ACTUALLY can relate to it

Icimi: OMG I LOVE YOU

atkf: you cry every day even if you aren't sad

Becoming the last names: please don't become a Disney adult

Vampire ref: LISTEN TO MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING IT OFF AND IK YOU LOVE HOT VAMPIRE MUSIC

Half decade hangover: oh my god talk to somebody it'll be okay I'm so sorry

Tsw5n: you love the way he says "what the fuck"

Euthanasia: once again, ANOTHER PASS. IM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU'RE OKAY

Jimmy Mushrooms: You. Me. Marriage. Now.

Laplaces Angel: you listen to LitWTC

i/me/myself: you were trying to separate yourself from the normal i/me/myself fans

The first step: idk why but you REALLY like lemonade

skeleton appreciation day: you can NOT play any instrument

tomcat disposables: you love concept albums

White noise: unlike cotards, you need to sleep in SILENCE

Love me normally: arctic monkeys. that's all I have to say. idk what about them but, yeah

misanthrapologist: GAY QUEER LGBT HOMOSEXUAL FRUITY ZESTY ROMANTICALLY ATTRACTED TO PEOPLE OF THE SAME GENDER

Falling up: wonderful taste once again please don't become a Disney adult

thats enough let's get you home: you say "YIPPIE!!" a lot

And if I did: god made you shy because he knew if you weren't you would be unstoppable

[superblysubpar]

return to main menu

Relax, Lay Back:

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: Steve wants to take things slow, you have other things in mind. | my blog and this fic are NSFW 18+

the song: total control by Djo

warnings: SMUT(hand job - reader performing / fingering - reader performing / semi-public - steve's car parked somewhere / finger/cum sucking - reader performing)

Steve Harrington is nothing like you thought he’d be. 

He picks you up for your first date prompt and with a bouquet of flowers. He pays for the popcorn, and your drink, it’s all gentlemanly and pink cheeks and breath hitching as his fingers slide their way into yours, knocking the popcorn to the floor on accident. Whispering apologies and cursing under his breath as he goes to stand with a promise of getting more. Tugging him back down firmly, you assure him it’s fine and snuggle closer into his side, palms held tightly together on his thigh.

And that’s it.

He doesn’t try to kiss you. He doesn’t try to move your hands higher. Steve Harrington holds your tiny hand in his large one and does nothing else the entire night. He holds your hand for so long your palms are sweating so much that you both quickly wipe them on your pants as you stand to leave. And then, much to your dismay, he takes you home. 

Steve doesn’t pull over on some dimly lit road to make out with you in his car. When he pulls up to your house he doesn’t push you up against that shiny BMW to steal a kiss. He doesn’t even look at your ass as you walk up your steps and fiddle with your key, and he definitely doesn’t come inside. Instead, he kisses your cheek, breathes out a quiet, “Goodnight, honey,” and walks down your steps, jumping over the last one and spinning his keys on his fingers. 

He does turn to look over his shoulder, to risk a glance back at you. And you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Jean shorts and a band t-shirt for a first date instead of a skirt, chucks on your feet, and the glow of the porchlight makes you like an angel. He swears you’re actually something straight out of a movie - you’re the girl all the songs are about. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth, your eyes go wide as they meet his and his heart thunders in his ears so loudly he feels dizzy and he actually - he trips. He catches himself before he falls on his face like a total loser, but it’s enough of a show to have the frown that was tugging on your lips lifting until you're hiding a laugh behind your hand. Calling out across the buzz of cicadas and sprinklers, “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve thinks about the way you say his name the entire drive home. He thinks about how he should have kissed you, and wonders if your lips would have tasted like the cherry chapstick he saw you try to rub on discreetly in the car. He thinks about the way he can’t fuck this up, not you. Not this. He has to take it slow, and he has to go jerk off in the shower and before bed and right when he wakes up almost every single day because you’re so pretty and it’s like you don’t even know you’re driving him crazy. 

He does it right though. He’s patient and only holds your hand and takes you on too many dates to count. When he asks you to be his girl, the smile on your face almost makes him take you right there in the diner parking lot though. 

But it’s you, who takes charge in that moment. Tugging on his belt loops, you pull his body flush against yours and breathe into his parting lips, just brushing yours against his as you question, “You gonna kiss me or not Steve?”

He nods, because what else can he do?

It’s sweet until it isn’t. You’re all sighs and soft touches, Steve’s hands finding your waist and yours wrapping around his neck. It’s slow, sensual, like Steve is trying to memorize the way you taste and feel and you him. Strawberry milkshakes and a little salty from your fries, you’re pressing up onto your tiptoes, neck craning and back arching just to chase him a little more. Steve lets you both fall against the side of his car, tongue licking the seam of your lips and moaning quietly into your mouth as you open for him. Your fingers tangle into the back of his hair, tugging lightly and it’s like a switch is flipped. 

Steve’s mouth moves against yours faster, hungrier, like he’s chasing the fading sun on the horizon in your lips. Wide hands resting on your hips, inching under your shirt and slotting his knee between your legs. Using your arms around his neck, you tug yourself up ever so slightly so you can rest comfortably on his thigh, toes brushing the ground just barely and you push against him, a war with who can soak up more of the other faster with only their lips. 

Steve waves the white flag as he comes up for air first, foreheads pressing together and when your eyes flutter open, you see his are still closed. He nudges his nose into your cheek, breathless, hands squeezing your sides and your lips find his again and he whines. Steve Harrington actually whines into your mouth and pulls away again, “Baby, we should slow down.”

His eyes open to find yours staring back at him and he knew he should have kept them closed. Your hair all windswept and eyes bright and burning with something he’s never seen in a girl before. Mischief. Trouble. Risk. Lips glossy and red from the way he was just claiming them as his. Steve is a goner. He’s fucked. 

And that’s before you lean in, hands pressing to his chest and lips kissing his chin and whisper, “Wanna go for a ride?”

Fourteen agonizing minutes later, you’re straddling his legs, back to his steering wheel and dragging his hand over the lace of your bra. You’re mesmerized by the size of Steve’s fingers, the way they fit between yours and swallow you up. How they should be fumbling and accident prone but they’re sure and precise, and skilled in knowing just the right pressure in just the right places. But tonight is not about you, you’re impatient, and you’ve been waiting long enough for what you know is in his jeans. 

Leaving his hands to explore your body on their own, his lips pause their assault on your neck as your fingers brush over the bulge in his jeans. He starts to pull away, but the small space leaves your heads close together. Not quite touching, sweat glistening on your chest and lit up by the moonlight coming in through the foggy glass, you’re a masterpiece. Steve’s eyes are the ocean and the forest and the world you want to explore and he’s perfect. Each freckle, eyelash and strands of his normally perfectly styled hair roughed up and erratic from you are precise brushstrokes, conscious decisions in what makes up the work of art that’s Steve. 

Steve swallows as the song on the radio shifts to something quieter, softer, and how your breath hitches like this is something big. Something important. Something meaningful. His hands roam over your shoulders and down your arm and he smiles and kisses your jaw as you shiver.

“We don’t have to keep going, honey,” he whispers like a fool.

“I know this will be hard for you to do, but relax,” you whisper like a devil and an angel at once. 

Your hand dips down and pulls the lever of his seat quickly, and you both fall back at the sharp movement as the seat creaks, both of you laughing and you bury your head in Steve’s chest, catching your breath before sitting up again. 

Every movement, every sound, every touch is amplified by the billions as you drag his zipper down, and tug your lip in as his length is freed, pink and swollen and ready to actually cum all over the place if you so much as glance at it again. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, hands on your arms, “Baby, really, you don’t have to if you don’t want-”

Your lips meet his ear as your hand wraps around the base, pulling up slowly just once, “Relax, lay back.”

When your breath leaves his ear his eyes flutter open to find you with a long line of spit dripping from your pink lips and falling onto the already leaking head of his cock. He moans as you smirk up at him, hand drawing the spit down. Your hands are tiny, fast, and make him look even bigger and he’s fucking losing it, hips canting up to chase your movements. 

You’re just as breathless, hungry for the sight of him needy like this, “Feel good, Steve?”

His head falls back against the seat, neck extended and his eyes squeezed shut, “Yeah, yeah, fuck baby, you’re so, christ.”

Steve’s a goner, he truly is because he opens his eyes to see your other hand dipping into the waistband of your shorts as you bite your bottom lip when your gazes meet. Releasing your lip, it pops back out to a pouty smirk and your hand moves faster, “Yeah? You like how my pretty little hand looks wrapped around you, Stevie?”

He groans and you’re addicted to this sight, this feeling. Steve’s hips move up to meet your movements more aggressively and your fingers push frantic circles into your swollen nerves and both of your breathing fills the car, the song on the radio washed out by the way Steve groans, “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Relax, Steve,” your whisper is his final breaking point, releasing total control over to you. He’s yours as he cums with what could have been a sob falling out of his lips. His cum spilling over your hand as you keep working him until his chest is heaving and he’s whimpering your name. 

Never breaking eye contact with him, your fingers lift to your mouth and you suck them free of every drop of his cum, eyes fluttering as your cheeks hollow around the digits. He sits up and yanks at your shorts, desperate to see how his hands look over your body now. 

You’re nothing like Steve Harrington thought you’d be.