#tickle dabble

[giggly-squiggily]

TickleTober Day 15 ~Tickle Fight~ (My Hero Academia)

CW: Swearing!

“GET BACK HERE YOU DAMN NERD-”

Midoriya was flying. Racing down the dorm halls, he nearly crashed into Todoroki when the other boy turned the corner.

“Todoroki!” Midoriya barely had time to squeeze his arm before Bakuogu came into view, hands popping. Switching gears, he pulled Todoroki before him like a human shield, giggling in anticipation. “Sahahve me!”

“What- huh?” Todoroki paled, clarity hitting him as Bakugou’s explosions went out, fingers raised and clawed. “Oh no- I’m an innocent bystand-eheheher!”

“Two for one? I’ll take it! Die- you damn nerds!” Bakugou roared as he grabbed them both, one arm around each of their waists as he dug into their bellies. “This is what you get for trying to tickle me!”

“Kahahhahhahchahahhahan, pleahahhhahahhase!” Midoriya squealed, feet kicking bicycles in the air as he thrashed about. “Iihihihiihm shahahahhahaharry!”

“Gehahaha! Dohoohon’t tihihiihckle me, yohoohoohu jehehehherk!” Todoroki was a bit better, feet planted on the ground as he tried doubling over and away. “Cuuhuhuhut it ohohohoohut!”

“No way! This is too good!” Bakugou snickered, blasting himself over to the nearest couch before tossing them on, resuming the tickles immediately. “So- which one of you is gonna cry for mercy first?”

“Kahahhahahchhahahhahahan!” Midoriya squealed when his ribs were pinched.

“Gehehehhet ohohoohohohooff!” Todoroki cried out as his thigh was squeezed, cheeks pink.

“Stubborn, are we? Fine- Guess I’ll just have to keep tickling you-AH!” The blonde yelped when a streak of black shot out- Midoriya’s quirk wrapping around his waist before he was yanked between the pair. “Shit- Hang on! Hahahahhang ohohohohohohohon fuuhuhuhuuhuhuck!”

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of us winning!” Midoriya cheered, he and Todoroki going for each side of Bakugou’s torso, digging into ribs and pinching along his waist.

“What was that earlier about crying mercy?” Todoroki cooed, equally motivated.

“Shuhuhuhhuhuhut thehhehehehe fuhuhuhuhuck uhuhuhuuhuhp! Ahehahhahhahahahaha yohoohoou dhahahahahmn neheheherds-AHHAH NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHRE!”

“All you gotta say is mercy, Kacchan.” Midoriya teased, pinching his hips relentlessly as Todoroki held up his wrists. “Just say the word and it’ll all be over.”

“FUHUHUHUUHCK OHOHOHOHOOFF!”

“So be it. Get him good, Midoriya.”

#augtickletober2023 #tickletober2023 #tickletober #mha/bnha #tickle #tickle dabble #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #bakugou katsuki #The ticklish trio y'all #tw: swearing

[yellowelectroslime]

Hello!!

I am here too ask something!

If you want too, can you make a my Inner demons (aphmau) fics? I was thinking Lee noi and ler Leif and Ash! You can choose the scenario if you want!

[notes: wahhhhhh so is so cutteeee❤️❤️ im a little busy rn cuz finals are soon so i wasnt able to make a fic BUT I LOVE THIS TOO MUCH so im just gonna write a short drabble :) please don’t be scared to send me more!]

“p-prihihince ahahaschehehe w-wahahait-!” noi tried to bring his arms down to block out the tickles, but unfortunately leif had a tight grip on his wrists and was determined not to let that happen.

“answer my question noi!” annoyance (not really) laced asch’s words “what is your secret in courting the prisoner??” 

asch’s fingers dug a little harder into his sides, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to shriek in mirth.

“i-i dohohon’t knohow! Leihehef do somethihihing!” noi tried to fight back, but with asch sitting on top of him and leif pinning his arms down, giving asch full access to his torso, noi couldn’t really do much but giggle his heart out.

“sorry noi, but prince’s orders. but hey, if you REALLY want me to do something, i could do this” leif moved so he was only using one hand to hold both if noi’s (how strong is he???). using his free hand, he immediately shoved his hand under noi’s armpits.

“waitwaitwait- leihihif pleaSE DOHOHON’t- nohoOHOHO-“ noi’s giggles immediately went up an entire 6 octaves, trying to pull his his arms down, proving no use as leif’s grip was just too strong.

Asch picked up on the idea and moved from squeezing his sides to scribbling up and down his ribs, following his squirming. this made noi’s laugher increase 10 fold “now that i think of it… noi, you haven’t said the word stop once, have you?”

“a-asHehe-HEHESCH *snort* hahaHAHAH! *snort* sh-shuHEHUUHUSH!” noi’s legs kicked behind asch, hitting him in the back a couple of times.

“you dare talk to the prince of daemos like that? now you’re gonna get it!” 

“wait-wait asch wait i’m sorREGEHEHEHEAHA WAIT-“

…

rhys sat in the living room of ava’s apartment with a book in one hand and a cup of warm tea in the other. “*sigh*… this is going to be a long night…” he closed his book, pushed up his glasses (anime style) and walked through the pocket dimension. maybe he’ll have to do something about the noise…

#ler!asch #ler!leif #lee!noi #my inner demons tickle #tickle fic #tickle dabble #i have never had this much motivation to write ANYTHING in my life EVER #sfw tickles

[sunstone-smiles]

Could we have day 2 what lurks in the dark with Miguel & Peter B? I’m so excited for this year’s event!

Power Outage

Author’s note: Yaaaas!!! I’m excited too! Mayday is making a cameo in the picture below, but I threw in a cameo with Lyla in the fic because it felt right Lol! I hope you enjoy Day 2 of Tickletober: What Lurks in the Dark (from Crow’s Tickletober 2023 list)!

Series: Across the Spider-Verse

Characters: Miguel O'Hara, Peter B. Parker, and Lyla

Word count: 868

Summary: Miguel’s office lights are out. That might not seem so bad at first, but something, or perhaps someone, tries to mess with him in the darkness.

—

Strange…Why is his office so dark? Usually the lights turn on as soon as he walks in. Miguel pulls up a floating screen from his watch and taps on the digital surface. ERROR comes up in red letters with a restrictive buzzer-like sound.

Great, the power must be out. Not a problem. He can override the system manually when he gets to the main system at his desk.

…If he can find his desk, that is.

Miguel grumbles out a sigh and scrolls to find another setting on his watch. He clicks the small screen on his wrist and a light beams from the device. Flashlight mode comes in handy in the most unlikely circumstances. Miguel twists his wrist so it faces outward and he begins the darkened trek to his desk.

Miguel’s not afraid of the dark, but something is making him feel…uneasy. Perhaps it’s the way the floor feels as if it’s creaking at his feet, or the cold metal walls reflecting the light back at him. Or perhaps it’s the unknown of what lurks in the dark…

No, that’s silly. 

A few steps later, Miguel spots his desk with the light from his watch. He walks towards it as usual.

Woosh.

Miguel stops his approach. He turns his head around while the light from his wrist scans the room. What sounded, yet did not feel, like a windy breeze rushed behind him. Only the metal walls reflect the light back at him.

Miguel turns his head back towards the direction of his desk. He keeps moving as if the sound was a freak coincidence, but he’s smart enough to know that ‘coincidence’ can’t be the explanation. What would have caused that—

“Gahack!” Miguel echoes through the dark when he feels a sudden poke to his side. He stumbles forward and wraps his free hand around the spot, while his other wrist beams the flashlight against his surroundings. Nothing’s there.

Then another poke hits him, then another, alternating from one side to the other as if each poke was pushing him around, until the teasing pokes cease and he suddenly feels a clawing at the back of his ribs. 

Miguel arches his back with a yelp from the tickly feeling. He clamps his jaw shut, fangs bared as they barricade the army of giggles wanting to slam down the door. He tries to shine the light behind him, but he’s unable to identify his attacker. What was going on?

“S-Show yourself!” Miguel attempts to threaten through a shaky snarl. He twists on his heels and swipes in front of him, but the concealed culprit swoops behind him and squeezes his sides. Miguel yelps again and whips around at another attempt at attacking, but the mysterious culprit bests him once more and takes the chance to dig into his belly from behind. Miguel squeaks and immediately bursts into deep laughter that could make the metal walls rumble. He flails like a startled cat clawing at the air and jumps backwards as if he was yanked in that direction by an invisible rope. The force of his jump is so sudden that Miguel ends up toppling backwards. He lands with a crash on something other than the floor. 

In an instant, the lights of his office turn on like the stage lights of a theater. Lyla materializes in front of Miguel, yet she’s looking down at the floor instead of him. Her expression shows concern. 

Miguel looks down in the same direction. The “thing” that he landed on? Well, it was none other than Peter B; it’s the ghost of the darkness in the flesh. 

Peter takes the night vision goggles, that Lyla no doubt had given him, from his eyes and perches them on top of his head like sunglasses. Peter stares up at Miguel, smiling nervously. “H-Hey Miguel. How’s it going?” 

Of course, it all makes sense now. Lyla was the one controlling the lights, while Peter did the “dirty” work to play this trick on him.

After piecing this together, Miguel snarls above Peter; he’ll deal with Lyla later. Right now, it’s Peter’s cue to run.

The spiderman below scrambles to escape his trapped state between Miguel and the floor. Miguel shifts his weight off of him, but the leader quickly grabs the other man’s leg and yanks Peter towards him.

Peter claws at the floor before flipping onto his back. “M-Miguel!” Peter puts his hands in front of him to surrender, “Let’s talk about this!” Peter then darts his head in the direction of the AI, “Lyla! Say something!”

The AI shrugs, then smiles. “You’re on your own, Peter.” She swiftly dematerializes in a flash.

“Traitor!” Peter yells at the Lyla-less air before silencing himself when he sees Miguel extend his claws above him, like a hungry tiger ready to dig into their meal.

Peter’s eyes go wide and he nervously gulps. The next thing he knows after seeing a smirk on Miguel’s lips, that claw plunges right into his belly, vibrating viciously with tickly intent.

Peter screeches with laughter and kicks his legs while Miguel enacts his revenge. “Nohohoho! Nohoho! Wahahait!!! Miguehehehel!” One could say that Peter's laughter sure lights up a room.

#Dabbles from Sunstone #tickletober #crow's tickletober 2023 #tickletober2023 #tickletober 2023 #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #peter b. parker #across the spiderverse fic #sfw fanfiction #sfw fanfic #sfw tickle fic #tickle fic

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the wood

lilac, chapter twelve

a/n: *the author's note equivalent of just ✨moaning✨*

summary: the sight that beheld you once you stepped out onto the porch had all of the air slip out of your lungs all at once.

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, smut, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, chopping wood, kissing, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, belly bulge, outdoor sex, oral, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, squirting, mirror sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (because this is just porn. no one is getting pregnant, I’m just craving the intimacy. let them be hoes and live out the fantasy)

word count: 5200

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Stirring awake with a gentle groan, your arm extended in search of the body beside you. Finding nothing but linens, your eyes groggily blinked open to discover that no one else was in the bed but yourself.

Tugging your arm back under your frame, you sighed and let your front sink further into the mattress, your cheek buried itself deeper into the pillow just a moment longer before you pushed yourself up to a sitting position.

Swinging your legs over the side, you reached for the grey woollen socks you’d kicked off in the middle of the night. As you slipped them back onto your feet, your gaze caught your reflection in the round rattan-framed mirror hanging on the opposing wall.

Letting your eyes linger, turning your head from side to side, you made sure that the recently faded bruises hadn’t somehow returned to haunt you of what had occurred. But thankfully, all you saw was skin. No marks, no scrapes, no bruises, nothing physical to remind you of Preston. 

Getting up, you caught the muted dark brown flannel that hung by the collar from one of the dresser’s knobs, and shrugged it on, doing up the buttons so the borrowed shirt covered you further. 

Pitter-pattering out into the small kitchen, you turned on the tap and reached for a glass, swiftly filling it up for a refreshing sip. 

As you lowered the drink from your lips, a satisfying cracking noise from somewhere outside found your ears and your gaze flickered to the cabin’s front door. 

The sight that beheld you once you stepped out onto the porch had all of the air slip out of your lungs all at once.

Just a little ways off from the hut stood Frank by a wide and sturdy stump, split wood littering around his feet as he repeatedly let the long axe in his grasp come down upon the piece balanced on the reliable base. 

Utterly hypnotised, your feet hazily carried you across the porch till your fingers were gripping onto the railing. Clad in a simple grey undershirt, the sight of the prominent veins in his arms bulging, straining at every violent hack till the thick log split, caused your brain to melt, and the fact that the hem slightly rose every time as well didn’t help matters either. 

Each one of his precise swings conjured a laboured huff that sounded way too close to how he had been panting in your ear just last night. Occasionally, small curses too slipped through his puffs whenever the wood he worked on got particularly stubborn, and every time, without a doubt, you felt your cunt clench.

As one log split, forcefully crashing to either side, he picked up a new one, but before he could crack it open, he rested the axe a second against his leg while he let a dollop of spit fall from his panting lips to his calloused palms, rubbing it in for better traction before he picked up the axe once more. 

Tingles pricked and tickled every nerve in your body as his sinful display eventually came to a close. The soft sunlight that streamed through the treetops caught a glint of the sweat gleaming on the part of his rapidly rising and falling chest that peaked out of the neckline of his tank, dabbling his skin like diamonds. 

Wedging his axe into the base stump, you continued to stare as Frank caught his breath and bent over to gather up the wood into the wide woven basket that too was at his feet, his gaze swiftly spotting your dazed form, nearly drooling at this point. 

“Oh, hey,” he smiled, offering you a small wave as he tossed a few pieces of firewood into the crate. 

“Huh?” still in a trance, you blinked, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as your thighs squeezed together in an attempt at soothing the persistent pulse that now throbbed between them. 

“You’re up.”

“Yep, I–, uhm, I am,” you shook your head, trying and failing to clear it, “morning.”

“I’m sorry,” he picked up the heavy basket, “did I wake you?”

“Nope, no, you didn’t,” you let a sinful exhale as he climbed the steps of the porch. Redirecting your gaze elsewhere as he set the firewood down, you stared out at the forest and coughed, “there, uh, sure are a lot of birds out today.”

“Hm,” the porch creaked beneath his boots as he neared where you stood, “is that what you were staring at?”

“Yeah, why, did you not think I was? Was there something else going on here in the forest that could possibly capture my attention other than mother nature herself?” you joked, knowing full well how obvious the truth was, “I am Dunbrook’s resident birdwatcher after all.”

“Sure, you are,” a shiver ran down your spine as his deep voice rumbled in your ear. Wrapping his burly arms around your waist, you leaned back into his warmth as he gently checked, “how are you feeling today?”

“I’m alright, pretty good actually,” you answered the question he had formed a habit of asking you every morning you’d stayed here, “I slept quite well, so that always helps things,” turning in his embrace to face him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and wondered, “how long have you been up?”

“Not long,” his gaze traced yours, following as it yearningly flickered down to his mouth.

“You hungry?” 

Drawing you in closer, you heard him utter, “fucking starving…” before he captured your lips in a kiss. 

A little dazed from how rapidly the simple peck escalated, you pulled back to politely pant, “oh, yeah? What are you in the mood for?”

Flashing you a smirk, he cocked his head and said, “what do you think I wanna eat?” and if his tone didn’t manage to squash any ounce of doubt you had that he wasn’t in fact talking about food, the sensation of his hands sinking down to palm your bottom though the flannel made it crystal clear.

“Frank,” you giggled as his fingertips discovered your lack of underwear. 

“What?” you watched as he slowly sank down onto his knees before you, “is what a no?” his eyes stayed glued to yours as his beard tickled your thigh. 

“No,” your legs gently wiggled further apart, letting him spot the glint of your want that had dripped down your inner thighs.

“No, it’s not a no, or no, you’re in the mood for something else?” you sucked in a sharp breath as his ghosting touch teased your goosebump-ridden legs, “because I think we still have a bit of bread left or there might be some leftovers in the fridge.” 

Losing track of all of the metaphors through the fuzzy haze his teasing touch set you in, you mumbled, “I–, what?” and a small whine then fell from your lips, “fuck… Frank, I–… can you just–, please?”

“I can do a lot of things, sweetheart,” he pressed a peck to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, “what do you want me to do?”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, an airy chuckle flowing from your lips as you threw you head back and gazed up at the fluffy clouds visible above the rusty roof, “you’re such an ass.”

“Ah, I can be a lot worse, don’t you worry,” his devilish hands slithered up to your bottom and lightly raked his short fingernails over each cheek.

You sounded downright pathetic as you pleaded, “can you please–,“ but his playful tone cut you off before it flourished into a full sentence.

“Yeah?”

Blinking down at him, you desperately hiked the oversized shirt further up and asked, “…eat me out?”

Grin growing wider, he didn’t hesitate before diving in. Cracking you further open for him, he hoisted your left thigh up onto his broad shoulder and buried his face in your want. Holding you steady with one hand digging into your ass and the other firm at your hip, he zealously parted your petals and felt your pulse pound against his eager tongue.

As he then brazenly sucked down on your clit, your fingers sought out his dark hair, gripping it tight as your eyes fluttered, “oh my god, tha-that feels so good!”

With your brows tightly knitted together, as your eyes blinked down to meet his ever-unwavering gaze, you couldn’t stop yourself from letting go at a record-breaking time, the show you had imbibed in earlier not aiding in drawing your conclusion out. Trembling above, your legs tried to close around him, but the sensation of your thighs pressing against his thick skull didn’t face him one bit as he only held you tighter and kept up his keen kisses. 

Back arched against the railing, your chest rose and fell rapidly as Frank twisted his head to place pecks along your inner thigh, the soft flutter only issued a stubborn clench to your cunt in desire for more. 

Hooking your grip in the fabric of his shirt, you pulled him back up and desperately crashed your lips against his, feeling your desire sodden in his beard and tasting your adoration on his tongue. 

“Alright,” he dreamily disconnected from your needy kiss, “but seriously now,” he drew in a methodical breath through his nose as if in an attempt to calm his own desires down enough before he asked, “what do you want for breakfast?” clearly assuming that the morrow coitus wouldn’t go any further. 

Puffing out a hazy grin, you simply let your palm drop to the tent in his trousers and leaned back in to utter against his lips, “I don’t care what’s for breakfast,” your touch tightened insistently over the clear imprint of his desire, “just shut up and fuck me.”

A silent and amazed laugh slipped out past his lips as you tugged at his waistband, “yes, ma’am,” stealing one last kiss before he spun you back around. Grasping onto the railing, your hazy gaze washed over the idyllic scenery as you felt Frank free his length and sweep it through your dripping folds, nudging persistently against your pearl before gliding down to catch your entrance with his tip. 

The morning sunlight dazzled in the lake beyond, glittering and flickering just like the sparks that buzzed inside of you. 

Giving you just an inch, you felt your forms sigh in unison, your breaths harmoniously synced in satisfaction.

“Did I tell you how good you look in my shirt?” his low timbre crackled in your ear like a warm fire as he slowly rolled his hips, deliberately taking his time, letting you worship every maddening detail of his cock, “because you do,” you felt his palms snake up to squeeze your tits through the flannel, “feel free to steal them any time you want.”

Mouth agape, your head fell back against his chest as shaky moans slipped out at every unhurried rock to his hips. 

“You sure it’s not the lack of anything underneath that you like so much?” you grinned, your hips rolling back against his deliberate efforts.

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining about that part,” he chuckled and pressed his lips to your neck, “I think you might be able to get me to do anything you wish dressed exactly like this.” 

“Oh yeah?” your giggle broke up your moans, “anything I wish?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed gravelly, his fingers nimbly undoing a few of the buttons and granting his grasp access to slip in and seep across your tingly flesh, “fucking anything…”

Sinking in deeper with every gentle thrust, your left hand lowered and began to draw tight circles over your clit as the other’s grip tightened around the railing, your nails leaving crescent-shaped imprints in the raw wood. 

But when his lips began to wander across the side of your neck in a way that made you feel as if he was kissing every millimetre of your body, that’s when you felt your legs begin to tremble once more. The intensity of his slow pace began to grow within you, nearly being too much for you to take, so when his fingers sought out your pebbly nipples in a dizzying pinch, that’s when your frame jerked, Frank’s throbbing girth sliding out of you from just how hard you were squeezing down on him, and as your front collided with the fence, your fingertips furiously kept up their pace and kept your orgasm going, convulsing for all of the flora and fauna to see. 

Leaning with your folded-up arms against the top of the banister, Frank’s burly arms, which were still enveloped around you, tightened as you felt the warmth of his front melt against your curved spine. Letting one of your hands drop, it swiftly found his and weaved itself with it as you drew it up higher to press it against your thumping heart. Though when your pulse began to calm, you raised your tangled fingers further, all the way up so that your lips could press against the back of his palm. 

As you slowly unfurled your form, your fluttery kisses gently danced up his arm till you found yourself facing him once more with your lips attached to his collarbone. 

His bulbous tip leaked against the few buttons that were still fastened on the shirt you wore and his wide palms slid down past your waist to knead your bottom and draw you that much closer. 

Shuffling your feet, you gently pushed against his brick house of a frame for him to shift as well. Backing up, you crossed the short width of the porch till the back of Frank’s knees bumped into the solid bench that sat flush against the exterior wall. As he buckled and planted himself on it, it only took half a second for you to curl into his lap.  

Grabbing the sides of your face and bringing you into a sloppy kiss, you snaked a hand down between your frames and seized his dick. A low moan vibrated against your tongue as you raised up your hips and rubbed his hardness against your slick a moment before slowly sinking down, his lips falling from yours as you did so. Gazing back at him through your lashes, you saw as his eyes stayed shut, his mouth hung agape and his head gently fell back against the wall, the sensation of your warmth enveloping him evidently rocking him to his very core. 

Gliding your grasp into place over his broad shoulders, you slowly drew your hips up before easing back down, all the while taking in every little micro-reaction you stirred on your partner's face. 

“Christ, you feel so good,” he groaned, hazily peeling his eyelids open to blink back at you with a stary gaze, “so fucking warm,” he leaned back in a murmured against your lips, “and wet...”

One of your elbows bent and curled the remainder of the limb over his head, your fingers weaving into his short waves as you slowly nuzzled your nose against his, gently sweeping from side to side and sharing his hot breath as you leisurely bounced in his lap. 

Keeping one of his palms glued to your hot cheek, the other one drifted down to undo the last remaining buttons, freeing your tits completely. His gaze lowered to watch them sway with your slow movements, the open flannel now akin to a curtain flowing next to the soft peaks. 

“Fuck,” he moaned, holding you close as his dark brows knitted together, “if you keep going like that, you’ll make me cum.”

“Good,” you panted as you too felt the end near once more. With your forehead pressed to his, you shakily rode him, keeping up the same leisurely pace, feeling every single part of him intoxicatingly stretch you out, till his groans grew louder and his eyes screwed shut, digging his fingers into your hair as his length twitched inside of you and you creamed all over his cock, your amalgamation mingling and becoming indistinguishable from one another’s euphoric juices. 

Burying your features in the crook of his neck, your breaths came in ragged as you felt how tightly your cunt was clenching around him. But nevertheless, you simply stayed there, frozen atop of him and with his softening girth still embedded deep within you.

“Oh my god,” you groaned light-heartedly into his skin, “you fucking dick.”

“What?” he chuckled warmly in your ear. 

“No, it’s just,” you huffed out laboured breaths as you hazily explained, “you made me cum so hard and now I feel like a fucking virgin…” but when his reaction was to try and pluck you off of him, a sharp hiss escaped your lips, “no, no!” your arms tightened around his neck, “stay, stay,” your alarming tone was softened by a shuttering whimper.

Seizing your cheek, he gingerly drew you back for him to take in your fuzzy expression, “oh, you want me to stay?” he smiled at the pout that had formed on your lips, and a sluggish nod tipped your head at his playful tone, “alright,” he tilted his chin and pressed a kiss to the edge of your hairline, “I can stay.” 

“It’s dumb,” you murmured as you felt his pecks flutter down your face, “but I’m just kinda scared that if you pull out I’ll just somehow close up completely.”

“You won’t,” a soft chuckle rumbled within his chest as he neared your lips, “don’t worry, I’ll help you if it ever comes to that.”

Tilting your chin, you pressed your lips to his, your tongue swiftly swooping in to dance lazily against his own. 

Goosebumps erupted across your skin as you felt his touch lightly ghost all along your spine, caressing up and down the length of you as your kiss grew sloppy. 

As you noticed your sensitive pussy begin to relax, so too did you sense when Frank’s cock, which previously hadn’t gone completely soft yet, began to swell within you, the sensation making your hips instinctively grind down against him as the sensation consumed you. 

And with his lips never leaving yours, a light squeak escaped your lungs as Frank suddenly rose to his feet, scooping you with him, his fat cock all the while still staying warm within you. 

As his slow stride carried you back inside, your gaze was hazy as his kisses migrated down your neck, but when you passed the kitchen, your eyes snapped back open, “wait,” you stopped him and his lips detached from your pounding pulse, a string of saliva still keeping him connected to where a lavender love mark had begun to bloom, “I’m thirsty! I still–,” keeping one arm hooked around his neck, you carefully pointed to the half-full glass still on the counter, “my water is right over there.”

With one hand under your bottom and the other clasped at your waist, he redirected his steps and walked over to the small open kitchen. Once he reached the counters, a sly smirk seeped across his features as he commanded, “hold on tighter,” and as you did, his grip then shifted and let go of your side to grasp the glass of water.

“You know, you could just put me down,” you chuckled as he lifted the drink up to your lips, carefully tilting it and granting you a sip.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” his coffee gaze stayed fast on your lips as you drank. When you tipped your head back to halt the flow, a little droplet escaped the corner of your mouth, rolled down your chin and all the way to your exposed chest. Setting the glass back down, he swiftly dragged the back of his index finger along the glistening stripe and wiped it up, “making a fucking mess,” briefly leaning in to clean up the rest with his tongue.

Giggling fleetingly at his comment, you asked, “do you want a sip?” but he only gazed back at you and gently shook his head, other desires more prevalent in his mind.

Biting down on your bottom lip, you felt his girth throb inside of you.

As his stride slowly began to return towards the bedroom, it only took you letting your arms hang at your sides a moment for the flannel to cascade off of you and drop to the floorboards.

Craning his neck, he buried his face in your boobs, nipping and nuzzling gently against the soft flesh as you insistently tugged at his grey tank, one of your socked feet also shifted and nudged at his waistband in an attempt at getting him to the same level of undress as you were at. But unfortunately, none of your efforts yielded much success as his grip on you halted the fabric from exposing too much of his warm flesh. 

You hadn’t truly comprehended that you’d reached your destination before your spine pressed against the doorframe, Frank momentarily using it as leverage as he carefully lifted you off him, shifting his hold on you as you felt his previous load begin to drip out.

Gingerly plopping you down onto the bed, you expected him to melt down atop of you and bury himself so deep inside of you that you wouldn’t be able to walk for a whole week, instead his warmth disappeared as he took a few steps back, his dark eyes glued to you and the mess between your lazily fallen open thighs, as he stripped off the clothes that clung to his bulky physique.

Raising yourself up onto your elbows, your teeth snatched up your bottom lip as you spotted the lewd stain on the front of his pants, completely sodden with your essence. 

He was surely taking his time with it, putting on a show and letting you drool over every sliver of skin he revealed, but perhaps it was just your impatience getting the best of you, because when the last bit of fabric finally dropped to the floor and he stood there a second in all of his jaw-dropping glory, you heard your whine resonate within the cabin, “Frank, my legs feel like jello,” a breathy laugh slipped out past your pout as you feared he’d ask you to come crawling to him, “please get back over here.”

Choking down a laugh of his own, he painfully slowly stepped closer to you, your thighs splitting wider as he neared. 

“You sure?” he playfully cocked his brow as his fist closed in around his fat base, stroking himself agonisingly close to your puffy pussy, “I thought you said I made you come so hard that now you can’t take it anymore,” smiling as you attempted to wiggle closer without any success, “you sure you can handle more?”

“Yes,” flowed from your lips as you stared at the way his grip slid up and down his intimidating length, the lingering gloss making his movements go molten, “yes, I can take it, please, I want more.”

Finally granting you a tad of contact, he tapped the hefty weight against your swollen pearl, “yeah?” gliding his free palm down your inner thigh to fight it as it jerked in response, “this what you want?” he repeated the action, the lewd soppy smack resonating within the room, “or was it more something like this,” you gasped as he suddenly slid the entirety of his length inside of you.

“H-holy shit!” you felt all of the air get pushed out of your lungs as his tip nudged against the deepest part of you, a sensation that caused your limbs to tremble at his sides. 

“What?” he smirked, pulling back out completely, and gliding his weight through your soppy folds, parting them with his girth as he rubbed against your clit, “I didn’t quite catch that,” your hazy gaze fluttered down to see how far up your stomach his length rested, the staggering image efficiently causing your brain to melt out of your ear. 

“Yo-you, you, yes!” you blubbered incoherently, “that–, yes!”

“What? This?” he bullied your clit further. 

“Ah!” you moaned sharply, “no, no–”

“Oh, you mean this?” he slammed back inside of you so fiercely that tears formed in the corners of your eyes, “is this what you want? Would this make you happy?” he slowly eased back out, just halfway, before burying himself once more, “because you know that’s all I want, is just to make my girl happy.” 

Mouth agape, you watched as he fucked you, still standing tall next to where to laid melted against the mattress, but when you noticed the dull bulge that rhythmically appeared in the lower part of your stomach, your eyes grew wide, and the tangible proof made your pussy threaten to flutter around his girth. 

“F-Frank!” you whimpered as he gazed down at you, admiring the way you took his entirety, “I think I'm gonna–”

“What?” he offered you one last thrust before retracting completely, leaving you squirming as he dropped down to his knees before you, “you’re gonna what?”

Both of his thumbs briefly came up to spread your puff apart for him, granting him a great view of your collected mess that still oozed out of you. redirecting his gaze to stare up at you, he placed a few teasing pecks along your glistening petals, his prominent nose nudging against your puffy clit as he teased you, making his way up to lap a cruelly light lick to your sensitive pearl. 

“I am waiting patiently here,” two of his fingers came to fill you up, hooking inside of you and swiftly initiating a rocking rhythm against that spot that conjured the lewdest of squelching melodies, “what are you gonna do, huh?” and as he sucked down on your clit, he only did so for what felt like a second before it all became too intense and your pussy gushed around his determined digits, a display he had obviously hoped for as he bellowed gravelly, “there it is,” a feral look glazing over his intense gaze as he tickled out as much of your nectar as you’d grant him, “fuck!”

As you laid there quivering and shaking on the crumbled sheets, the last thing you’d expected after a high so paralysing was for you to crave more, and you did. In a deep and primal way that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. In a way that caused you to sluggishly yank him up onto the bed and feel his weight on top of you, a sensation you didn’t get to savour long before he rolled around, taking you with him as he planted his head upon the pillows still at the top of the bed and manhandling you on top of him. 

Body melted and plastered atop of his, you uttered into his skin, “you’re being so mean.”

Digging his grip into your hips, he grinded you down against him and checked, “too mean?”

“I–…” you thought about it a second before the corners of your lips began to tip upwards, “no… I like it, but you’re just still mean.”

Manoeuvring your molten frame, he lifted your pelvis up far enough for him to slip back inside.

“Yeah, well, what else is new,” you felt his low chuckle rumble in his burly chest beneath your cheek, “we can’t all be a ray of sunshine like you.”

Keeping his grasp glued to your hips, you swiftly discovered that your exhausted limbs weren’t up to the task of doing all of the work independently and became ever so grateful when you didn’t even have to ask for help as Frank began to rock your frame for you, moving you like a toy on top of him. 

Arms curling up and retracting in against your form, you smooshed your cheek further down against his chest as you drooled on his pecks, the rocking motion nearly lulling you off into a dream, but before you could fade away completely, Frank’s voice washed over you once more.

“Hey, sweetheart?” 

“Mhm?” you mewled as he fucked you down upon him.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

And when you did, it took your fuzzy gaze a moment before you spotted the mirror on the far side wall and the reflection in it, but when you did notice it, the shuttering moan you let out left no doubt in Frank’s mind if you had or not. 

“Look at how fucking pretty you are when you’re all fucked out,” you felt him shift his hold so that he kept your hips stagnant and bucked his own up into you in such a way that caused your head to levitate just a centimetre off his pecks as his balls slapped against you from the force of his efforts, “can you keep your beautiful eyes right there on the mirror? I want you to see how cute you look when you cum…”

You weren’t sure that cute was the specific word you would have used to describe how it looked when he once again made you squirt all over his cock. But sure, you could see how in Frank’s eyes you must have looked utterly adorable gushing around him from just how good he made you feel. 

Rolling over, you both now laid on your sides with your limp leg flung over his hip and his flush face clutched in your palms as you held him close in the silky embrace. 

“Frank,” your woollen-socked foot caressed his lower back as it methodically moved beneath it with every lavish thrust, “I don’t think I can cum again.”

“Is that a challenge?” his warm palm slid down your frame and he pressed his middlemost fingers down upon your overly sensitive clit, “because I think you can. I even think you can squirt some more for me,” and as he angled his molten motions, he didn’t quit till your face screwed up and squelching noises echoed at every zealous plunge, “such a fucking good girl, you can do it, just let go, I’ve got you,” he talked you through your high as it crashed into you, nearly knocking you out completely as your body fulfilled his wish and his own peak swiftly followed suit as your clambering pussy milked him dry.

With sweet sweat glistening up your skin, you felt utterly boneless as you laid there in Frank’s arms. Placing a few slow pecks all along the length of his nose, he hummed contentedly and a soft smile warmth up his features. 

After nearly falling back asleep in the safe cocoon that was the post-coital bliss, you heard yourself ask after you both landed on not slumbering the day away. 

“You wanna take a shower before we actually figure something real out for breakfast?”

“Wow, okay,” he jokingly scoffed as he began to drag himself out of the bed, “but don’t think this is gonna work a third time.”

“What?” you chuckled as he got up to his feet and pulled open the top dresser drawer for a few fresh towels, “no, I seriously just mean cleaning up before we eat!”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle imagine #frank castle series #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #jon bernthal smut #marvel smut #marvel x reader smut #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #lumberjack au

[eddiebun]

liar • 18+

pairing ; eddie munson x fem!reader

summary ; day dreaming about your dreamy boyfriend who just wants your attention, ironic..

genre ; smut, a little fluffy, established relationship!AU

warning ; this content is 18+ only. sexual tension, explicit sexual content (minors away !! grrr), drugs, oral m receiving, spitting, salvia, dacryphilia?? big dick eddie, praise, reader is coy and dramatic but eddie has a soft spot for her, he’s all mushy for her. teasing, kinda sensitive eddie, he gets tingles from her whispering ehehe. reader is playful and likes breaking eddie’s cocky demeanor, starting to think i dragged out the start.. or is it too rushed oh no. reader goes dumb for eddie’s cock, yeah. i wanna suck his dick and listen ik he’d be more of a giver rather than a receiver but i will give him that gluglug any day, time, place idc

wc ; 2.9k

fairy note ; i haven’t written like this in so many years and i thought i never would have again but oh boy, eddie munson.. anyway i hope this is bearable enough to get through if not i’ll just pretend i left this in the drafts for me myself and i. also if i missed any warnings please let me know, i really haven’t dabbled much in writing on tumblr until now.

not proofread

-

eddie had been watching you aimlessly twiddle and glide his hefty silver sculpted rings back and forth each of his digits, only breaking the comfortable silence when he chuckled under his breath, almost inaudible.

“what are you thinking about?” he spoke in what would’ve been more like a whisper to anyone else in the room but you heard him perfectly clear, feeling his breath by your ear and the curls in his hair tickling your cheek and neck pleasantly.

“mmh..” you murmured, feeling like anything louder would’ve broken the delicate atmosphere surrounding you both.

you could smell that strawberry conditioner he used (you left it in his bathroom and he just started using it), mixed with the scent of cigarettes that was lingering on his shirt he hadn’t bothered changing out of for a couple days now despite your nagging for him to ‘just make another hellfire shirt!’

“y’know, mmh isn’t really an answer sweetheart.” he couldn’t help but find it amusing, it seemed like you were so lost in everything but nothing at the same time, eyelashes fluttering every now and then when you’d come back to reality.

in truth you were just daydreaming about eddie, your sweet eddie and his calloused fingertips from plucking away at his guitar all day contrasted with his soft pillowy palm you could feel against your thighs every time you closed your eyes and recalled the countless times he had dropped down right there, on his knees, pushed your skirt out of his way and in moments had your underwear tugged off and thrown over his shoulder, practically taking your inhibition along with them uhm which he would totally store away for his own collection, just shrugging when you ask where your undies are and changing the topic

eddie was such a pleaser, a giver, a make you come until you’re crying whilst mumbling sweet praises and coos against your pussy with his mouth and chin covered in saliva and cum for hours on end.

you wish you got the chance to give just as much, it’s not like you had to or felt obliged but he deserved it.

you could’ve sworn he would be able to feel the way you shivered thinking about those filthy thoughts swilving around in your brain.

“well.. i’m not thinking of anything.” your bottom lip jutted out and you shook your head.

“liar.” he playfully scowled, “aww c’mon baby, tell me.” he insisted, a tight squeeze at your hips, pulling you further against him as you sat in his lap with your eyes still fixed on his fingers though you were ogling his arms now too.

as if he could read your thoughts despite asking to know them, his arms came up and wrapped around your waist, now feeling your back flush against his chest and it had you hearing your heartbeat in your eardrums.

you could feel him under the thin fabric of your underwear, though the denim distressed pants he was wearing was thick, you could still feel the warmth and shape of him.

gosh, it’s not even like you and eddie had never shared intimate moments before so you didn’t know why you got so flustered and coy so easy with him.

he was gorgeous, tattoos littered over his body and the way the glow of the lamp casted shadows in all the right places was only egging on the bubbling feeling of arousal under your skin.

“stop that.” you grumbled, trying to sound displeased which was the farthest from the truth and he knew it. you could’ve cried right then and there when you felt that knowingly smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“stop what?”

it was his turn to play dumb and dismissive and you could’ve turned around and bickered at him but you sat still, his grip was solid on you anyway.

you pursed your lips together in annoyance, eddie munson was going to be the death of you, with his hold on you only getting tighter and you could’ve sworn you just felt him raise his hips and push himself up against you further, almost tauntingly.

“I can’t read minds my love.” that was true, your boyfriend couldn’t read your mind but you would be a liar if you said you didn’t believe he was just teasing you now!

your hands came up and you squeezed onto one of his forearms, “babyyy,” you dragged out the word, playing it sweet because eddie munson had the biggest soft spot for you, his girl and you had milked that since the start, always matching his big doe eyes and giving him that look when you wanted something and of course he was putty in your hands every time.

“no nu uh, don’t baby me, i know what you’re doing and it won’t work!” he raised his chin a little, tone defensive as he glanced back and forth between your softened expression then the squeeze you had on his arm.

so you shifted around until his hold on you loosened enough that you now faced him as you sat on his lap with either of your legs each side of him and oh god he looked so beautiful so close like this, you almost stuttered as you leaned in to whisper against his ear,

“baby, i’m just thinking about you, you’re so warm..” you sighed out, hands instinctively moving up and under his shirt, so warm.

“don’t whisper in my ear like that.” you felt him inch away a little, sensitive.

bingo, you got him.

his tongue poked out, swiping along his top lip. now it looked like eddie was the one deep in thought as your hands pressed against his chest and you were still close, breathing on his ear trying not to let a mischievous giggle leave your lips.

“am i warm?” once again, speaking against his ear, not missing the way his breathing picked up, matching the pace of your own breathing.

he only nodded, calm disposition as he pulled back enough to come face to face with you, “so warm here, right?” he questioned, other hand pushing your hips down to press against his lap, feeling how aroused he was, “yeah?” he hummed in approval whether you agreed or not.

it was like that action alone had rendered you dumb, head suddenly full of thoughts, the most disgusting ones, “well don’t start drooling already baby.” he felt smug, that one definitely went to his ego.

“i’m sorry, i wanna taste you so bad.” you spoke up, gripping his arms and arching your back to push back against his lap, your mind suddenly on one thing only which was feeling the weight of eddie’s cock in your mouth.

he blinked a couple of times, stunned by the apology and if he wasn’t totally turned on and ready to fold he would’ve laughed but the sudden admission had him almost jumping to his feet.

any other day he would’ve insisted you rode his face or came on his fingers until you were too sore and limp to move instead but fuck, watching you on his lap, hips already stuttering and this desperate twinge of need in your eyes, who was he to deny that? no way.

your breathing stuttered a little, concentrating on the way your clothed clit was perfectly pressing against the raised denim above the zipper on his denim pants and you tried your best not to just dry hump his lap right then and there. your thoughts and urges got pushed aside momentarily as you felt his plush lips on yours and you indulged, nails digging in to the skin of his abdomen as his tongue pushed passed your lips and swirled with yours, greedy.

when he pulled away there was a string of salvia between the both of your lips, eddie wiping it away with his thumb, “Go on then,” he encouraged, “get on the floor, kneeling.”

he didn’t have to say anything further and you heard the way he snickered when you pathetically scrambled to shuffle up and get in position. eddie stood up afterward and he looked down at you, admiring the way you were practically bouncing with excitement just to have him in your mouth, you are such a gem for him.

“are you that excited?” he mused, going to tug off his belt when he felt you slap his hand away, “let me.” you frowned at him, offended that he didn’t let you do it.

“okay, okay!” he laughed, throwing his hands up in the air like he had just been scolded.

he let you work your fingers through the belt clasp and loops until you successfully take it off and moved to discard his pants next. it didn’t take long, eddie cautiously helping you tug them down his thighs a little, happy when you didn’t snap at him this time.

he was big, pushing against his underwear and looking delicious but you wanted to pace yourself- the best you could.

leaning in you flattened your tongue, swiping along the cotton fabric and feeling him twitch in the confinements, hearing a frustrated groan leave his lips. you wanted to look up so bad, you knew he looked so pretty with his eyebrows furrowed and big brown eyes fixated on you but instead you were a bit cruel, playfully plucking the elastic band of his underwear and letting it snap back against his skin, hearing him hiss.

you giggled, hearing him go to curse out but getting distracted when you tug his underwear down finally, flicking your tongue back and forth along the tip of him. you could get use to this, his cock was so pretty, tall and the tip was a flushed red, tasting him on your tongue and hearing him stutter out your name as you enclosed your lips around him was the icing on the cake.

“oh, fuck..nghh y/n..” his eyes squinted, composing himself as his hand found place at your cheek, comfortingly swiping his thumb along your skin. your mouth felt so warm and wet and you were only toying with his tip so far, he didn’t know how he waited this long without his cock down your throat.

his excitement was matched, a gleeful giggle muffling against his tip against your tongue before you pulled back up a little to let yourself drool over the length of his cock.

“here.” you heard him above you before you felt him tapping your chin.

once you looked up at him he pushed your mouth open encouragingly with his thumb before leaning down a little and spitting directly into your mouth.

you could’ve risked it all right then and there, feeling the way his salvia glides down your tongue, he didn’t miss the way you moaned at the action either. you didn’t waste the gift he gave you even though you would’ve swallowed it if he said otherwise but you looked back down, letting your mixtures of spit drip down his hard cock.

“you’re so hot, like it’s insane sweetheart, look at you.” he groaned, stepping closer and pressing the soaked tip of himself against your lips and you let him push back into your mouth, enjoying the heavy feeling of him on your tongue.

your eyes fluttered shut and you concentrated on pushing him into your mouth and it was a stretch, you could feel your jaw threatening to lock up but his encouraging moans and pleased sighs made it so worth it. your nose hit the hairs by the base of him and he let out the most delicious guttural groan you’d ever heard, he was in complete awe of you.

you pushed back up when you felt yourself gagging a little but you didn’t pull off of him, you hollowed out your cheeks and let him sloppily fuck your mouth.

“oh fuck.. baby, baby, mhm!” he chanted out, eyes lidded and a sheen of sweat building on his neck, his hand now at the back of your head, encouragingly pushing you further down his cock.

you let him, relaxing yourself and enjoying the sultry sounds spill from his lips, hearing how wet his thrusts were in your mouth had you clenching your thighs around nothing.

one of your hands came up, thumb swiping along his balls and hearing him gasp out in pleasure, your other hand pumping what was a struggle to fit into your mouth, feeling a particularly prominent vein running along your hand whilst you pumped him.

“okay, okay, fuck..” he rasped out, pulling your hand away and stilling his thrusting, “cant keep going, i’ll cum.” he breathed out.

you pulled away a little and looked up at him, “i want you to, i need you to fuck my throat till your cumming baby. please, please eddie.” you whined out prettily and there was that feeling again, that pang in his heart every time you wanted to get your way.

“ughh, you are going to drive me insane.” he threw his head back, laughing because he knew he wanted nothing more in the moment.

when he looked back down at you he tutted when you bought your hands back up to stroke him, “no, like before. you can do it, right sweetheart?” he asked, big eyes staring down at you.

that question alone paired with his gaze had you immediately nodding, you’d do anything he wanted if he asked like that, you needed him more and more back on your tongue with each second that went by.

but he was still standing there staring down at you, waiting for an answer, “mmh, i can do it, better this time.”

“ohhh, good girl.” he praised, that sickly sweet and heart-pounding smile on his face.

good girl. your heart was pounding and you felt yourself completely soaking your panties by now.

Without another thought or word, he made an encouraging “ahhh” sound and you opened your mouth, inviting him back in.

this time you could taste the bitter bead of precum on his tip, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw relaxing once more as you felt him start a steady pace thrusting into your mouth, steadily breathing out of your nose as he inches closer and closer to the back of your throat.

“you’re doing so good baby, m’ so proud of you, mhm that’s it.” he drew out a moan as he briefly held himself at the back of your throat, only letting up when he heard you gurgle but you only further whined, wanting him back down your throat as soon as he left, chasing his dick with your mouth.

“shh, shh, you got it baby girl, it’s okay.” he swiped a loose tear from under your eye, it only further turning him on, crying because of how much you loved his cock? he was in some sort of heaven.

“yeah, oh fuck.. mouths so good, just like your pussy.” he hissed out when he picked up the pace of his hips, he couldn’t resist it, he needed to chase that feeling, “just wanted to please me hmm? good, yeah?” he hummed, checking in and smirking when he saw her give him an assuring nod.

despite the nature of his sweet words and praise he was filthily pushing himself back down your throat, this time with more purpose and intensity and you could feel it, your jaw ached and you swore you were making a mess of the floor now too with how wet you were.

“shit, ah fuck! i’m really close to cumming, gonna take it down your throat, all my cum? mmh?” he rasped out, head thrown back and you watched him through glassy eyes, he was so fucking gorgeous you could do this all day, just blinking through the tears as you felt the encouraging push at the back of your head whilst he chased his orgasm.

his moans and cursing only got more and more high pitched as he got closer, stuttering out a spew or curse words and your name, “m’ cumming oh fuck! fuck, y/n! oh baby!” he gasped out breathlessly as you felt him release strings of cum down your throat, heavy on your tongue.

he sloppily thrusted into your mouth, hips languid as he panted out, skin sparkling with sweat, stepping back and pushing any mess that spilled out, back into your mouth with his thumb.

you pridefully swallowed down the filth, your mouth dropping open as you caught your breath, head feeling like it was spinning as you rested your head at his abdomen, squeezing onto his waist to ground yourself.

“that was so hot baby, you have no fucking idea.” he grumbled out, voice hoarse as he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed you, settling you back on his lap, lips instantly moulding against yours, even tasting himself on your tongue.

“my girlfriend has the best pussy to eat, fuck and gives crazy good head? i lucked out.” he winked despite how cheesy it sounded, groaning when you playfully nudge his chest, “but seriously fuck..i’m in love with you.” he laughed in complete euphoria, grabbing a rolled up joint from the bedside table and lighting it, placing it between his lips.

“gonna have to eat your pussy out all night and morning huh? my sweet thing.” he snickered, enjoying teasing you.

“you’re crazy Eddie Munson.” you rolled your eyes, every word he said sending waves of arousal to your core as you plucked the joint from his lips and took a drag, breathing out the excess towards his direction.

“yeah yeah yeah! blah blah, now come sit on my face before i pounce on you because i’m so crazy.” he laid back smugly, voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back, his arms tucked behind his head enticingly.

ahhhhh i’m ending it there because idk how to feel about this or how anyone will feel about this,, i just wanna suck eddie munson‘s dick but maybe i shouldn’t have started writing this at 1am until 4 am. pls do not perceive me gbye

#yeahhhhh that hellfire shirt stinks #but oh well #let’s make that room even stinkier baby #this really said !! thoughts only eddie #i hope this doesn’t suck #or i’m going to cry #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #fairy fics 🤍

[sl4sh3rsub]

patrick bateman hcs (nsfw: mdni)

patrick bateman x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warnings: overall pretty toxic, homophobic and misogynistic, there's a lot of infidelity/cheating and drug usage/alcohol too. there is also shaming of sex work - this is purely fictional and i do not condone this behavior in real life. i wrote in these elements because they appear in the original source material, not because i hold these opinions/views. mentions of extreme kink/fetish (knife play, blood play), p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), oral sex (giving + receiving), handjobs, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamics (patrick is a top + sugar daddy/dom/slight sadist + is entitled, reader is more submissive + sweet), lots of cum + precum/arousal, reader sometimes treated as sex object, marking (bruises, bite marks, hickeys etc.), dubious consent? (overstimulation, he can be manipulative, reader flashes someone in afab section), reference to past rough sexual encounters, lots of sexual tension, patrick is sociopathic(?) + gets hard a lot + is possessive/slightly domestic but still rough, canon colleagues (schrödinger's judgement + they're horny), nipple play, voice kink/voicemail sex, threats/mentions of canon (?) violence (not towards reader), exhibitionism + public settings, consensual filming of sexual acts, gun play/fear play, cigar gets extinguished on reader (research risks properly before trying irl, please stay safe), hired sex worker, mentions of surgery in ftm + mtf sections, rip jean + evelyn's emotions

a/n: i'm a massive fan of the broadway musical (bootleg available on youtube) and i've seen the film twice, but i still need to read the book!! i've listened to this youtube audiobook (ai voice patrick reading it - part one) and it kinda goes hard. anyway, peeb ateman is soft with reader in this one, so it could potentially be a little ooc.

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

_ _ _ _ _

general hcs

patrick is already engaged to evelyn when he meets you. he's very well aware that she's seeing timothy price, so he might as well have his own fun - divorce isn't in fashion this year, so being prepared for that potential outcome might turn some heads and patrick hates judgmental attention

if you're already in a relationship with someone, he'll whisk you away immediately. you deserve so much better than some chump who can't afford to spoil you, he'll prove his superiority with his shiny silver card

show him genuine affection and take interest in his music taste!! if you listen to him and take time out of your day to participate in conversation, he'll abruptly stop mid-sentence to process that you're invested in his recap of his day :( you'll have no issues with him from then out - you respect him and he'll respect you. he's quietly thankful for how kind you are to him

if patrick has a yearning to dabble in a certain kink or fetish - such as knife play or extreme blood play - that you're not willing to participate in, he'll just find someone who can satiate his needs temporarily. no harm done, patrick just wants to make sure he's not taking complete advantage of you - he'll pay for you to have a delicious dinner and fancy hotel for the night, don't worry. he still wants to take care of you and reassure you that no one is taking your place, and that you'll still have him in the morning... he just needs to let out his extreme urges throughout the night

his way of showing affection is brushing his nose against you, whether it be your temple, ear or cheek as he whispers sweet nothings to you. he longs for subtle contact and the gentle warmth of your skin. he's also addicted to burying his face in your neck or pressing his lips against your crown when he fucks you from behind or squirming in his lap, the small puffs of hot air tickling your flushed skin and his lidded eyes rolling at your scent

he digs his fingers into your lower tummy while he fucks you, feeling his cock ram deep inside you - he's shamelessly using you as his own fucktoy, massaging his length to get himself off. the extra pressure against his tip has him shuddering at the delicious sensation

yeah sure, patrick might be a weirdo and a loser but he can fuck you like he loves you (maybe he does) and spare cash to dry-clean your cum off his expensive suits... fair trade, no?

he practically becomes your sugar daddy - you're his personal doll to dress, provide for and parade around proudly. he wouldn't trade the satisfied glint in your eyes, or the rhythm of your glistening arousal dripping on his wood paneled floors for anything. after a long day of spoiling you, he becomes a little selfish in the bedroom and chases his high with no regard for how overstimulated you might get :(

he is obsessed with dressing you to match his personal perception of you - that is to say, have you dressed in a manner that would make atheists reconsider and have the faithful herald you as their new deity. he wants to ensure that everyone know why he worships you the way he does. even if you don't feel confident in your skin, he quietly reassures you that your bashfulness only adds to your charm

you're his personal model and his precious doll - plaything, if you will. after you return to his place from perusing the designer shops, he lounges back with a whiskey in hand and patiently watches you show off your latest purchases on his card. he'll ask you to spin or swap shoes to match the outfit every so often, even asking you to bend down towards him just so he can adjust your collar or hairstyle. if he gets taken aback by how stunning you look in a certain outfit, expect him to get carried away and start panic rambling - he'll explain the specifics of the material, cut or brand as his fingers roam your body with devotion and his eyes greedily drink you in. his voice gets progressively huskier throughout the show until he gets to the expensive undergarments hidden in matte bags and tissue paper - he fucks you in front of the mirror, reveling in the way the material hugs your skin and how your skin shifts as your muscles clench with every thrust

after he warmed up to you, patrick slowly realized how emotionally taxing your early encounters were on you and that you were left feeling used and roughed up afterwards. if he still makes you feel that way after he first admits his affection, definitely let him know - he might want to leave physical marks on you that linger for a week or so after, but emotional damage is the last thing he wants marring your relationship

something that resembles quiet devotion lingers in his gaze, the glint of chandeliers flashing as he quickly shakes his head and denies he was ever staring :( sure, you might not be the stereotypical 'hardbody', but you're more worth his time than all of the other whores that his cock stirs for - you're leagues better than the sluts turning tricks and actually deserve a place in his home, his bed, unlike the simple chicks he picks up from clubs. he actually respects you (though, not enough to acknowledge your independence away from him) and his silent approval - pride, even - of your actions sometimes slips through his mask

whenever you're in the room with him, there is an invisible yet tangible tension that tugs you together. the warm, compressing feeling always hones your vision onto patrick - it drowns out all of the noises and movement around you, grounding you in the all-consuming gaze of your lover. his eyes snap to yours whenever you enter the room and he instinctively feels a bulge growing in his slacks, his pupils dilating as his tongue darts out to dampen his lips. no polite conversation or mundane styling drivel is worth his time when you are in his field of view

patrick genuinely feels his blood thunder in his ears whenever the men at the table make snide remarks about your appearance or belittle you. he is absolutely disgusted at their attitudes and lack of understanding - you are his darling and you deserve to be treated as his equal, at a minimum. however, if the table murmurs about how sexy you look, he's more than willing to show you off a bit - he's proud of what's his, obviously! just don't let the boys get too bold with their 'polite' touches or they won't have fingers in the morning :<

he'll buy you a ring. not to propose, oh god no - he doesn't want to do the whole evelyn debacle again. patrick wants to simply state his territory and claim so that others would be less inclined to approach you (plus, it helps that he doesn't have to vividly daydream about it anymore - it saves brain power)

if he rushes home with dirty, damp gloves and a missing button on his overcoat, he'll forever be indebted to you if you pour him a stiff drink and prepare to call jean to postpone all events the next day

your head gets all fuzzy when his tongue drags along the line of your collarbone and his soft lips ghost down your chest - circling your nipple and threatening you with the edge of his teeth makes the edge of his mouth twist into a smirk. if you meet his gaze, his lidded eyes give away how content he is in this position, with you on top of his lap. his lips sheened with spit and your buttoned shirt yanked open make for an arousing sight

patrick is a big fan of smoking his cigars while you sloppily take his cock down your throat - he gets some sadistic pleasure from putting them out on your spit-soaked thighs, the drool hissing under the scorching heat. it's coincidentally also one of his favourite things to reminisce, running his fingers over your thighs while replaying those memories during boring social events. the scent of his expensive smoke, wafting around him in a saloon, has him drifting back to the sight of his hefty cock resting on your face - the length throbbing with every heartbeat, pearls of salty precum seeping into your soft skin and trailing in thin rivulets down the contours of cheekbone

he is a fan of sneaking a dab of his yves saint lauren perfume onto all of your formal wear, a little mark of him and something to keep you company whenever you're out at functions he's not attending

he drags you out to clubs just to dress you up and show you off under the bright, colourful flashing lights. you have his eye the entire time you're feeling yourself on the dance floor, tempting him your sensual movements from across the room - don't expect him to act on it immediately though, he's more than content to hold your gaze and sip his glass from the bar. if some sleaze dares to get handsy with you, he'll step in and guide you towards the bathroom as his fingers glide down to your lower back - he needs a bump to loosen up and not hurt every single chump eyeing you up. you're his plaything, after all.

if you spend a night at patrick's place, he'll secretly love taking showers with you - only because you help him rub in his cleansers and soaps into his skin, no other reason. certainly not that your devoted, admiring gaze make him flush and whisper his timid thanks under the steady stream of water, the noise lost in the pounding around your ears. ignore his building arousal, it'll stay there and grow even harder when he pleasures you with his tongue on the counter of his stainless-steel kitchen. you're the only one he'll kneel for, and you bet that there's a steamed-up outline of your ass on the countertop when he's done :3

despite his incessant need to fit in, he's never going to blend in while you remain by his side. you bring out that rare smile of his and that soft chuckle in public settings. you far outshine all the other, dull plus-ones at the dinner parties

you are patrick's trump card - everyone he knows either wants to be you or fuck you, they'll do anything to impress (especially if there's false hope of ending the night in bed with one or both of you)

if you're confident enough, you could be his personal little pornstar!! it makes you so giddy, the knowledge that he could show the snippets of the videos to his coworkers (who dream about getting you naked) and make them jealous of the fact that you've cum numerous times with patrick's name on your lips. the video is recorded on the best equipment of course - he can't have you on video while looking anything less than godlike on camera

he orders your favourite dishes at every restaurant, combs and brushes out your hair when you arrive at his apartment, then fucks you roughly while whispering how thankful he is for you. his babbling pleas for you to stay and praise of your existence echo in your mind for hours after, especially as he rests next to you with steady breathing

patrick leaves hickeys and bite marks all over you and while he might apologise while handing you anti-bruise supplements, know that his mind's eye is stuck on the sigh of your skin blossoming under his lips - specifically, the feeling of his teething nipping your skin and the small hum of satisfaction as he pulls away to inspect his work. if you've been good lately, he'll let you leave a hickey or mark on his chest - it's only fair after he leaves you bruised and aching in his arms the next morning :( if you've behaved to his liking, he'll share some of his japanese pear and kiwi for breakfast. you need some sugar to recoup anyway

if he's been snappy or pent up all day, he'll guilt you into taking him with minimal prep - he will snap and go feral if he's had to rein it in at work, plus the stretch feels heavenly around his thick cock

patrick had once ordered a prostitute for the two of you to experiment with - making sure they were a fair balance between your ideal types, bodywise. this plan went a little off script after the foreplay when you and patrick ended up exploring your exhibitionist sides, passionately kissing and languidly exploring each other's bodies while the hire slowly touched themselves at the sight. that precious hour or so was the easiest pay that person had ever made (you and patrick were far from unattractive), plus that champagne that you poured out was heavenly

patrick has you suck him off during skincare routines in the morning and evening, making sure to cum all down your throat. he insists it's good protein for you!! kneeling in front of the bathroom countertop has become second nature to you, the divine sight of your rugged lover above you routinely making you feel at ease

you had better be friends with his secretary jean because you'll see her a lot. if she gets jealous and her failed attempts at sleeping with him affect her capabilities, patrick will simply hire a different secretary. sure, he'll love to flaunt you and taunt them about how they aren't fucking either of you, but that's just part of his fun. he might use the empty threat of fucking you in front of the secretary as a way to keep you from acting out, but he's too possessive to have someone in a different tax bracket see you laid bare

get him spa day gift cards!! you can both spend time in private saunas or pools simply enjoying each other's presence and use the time to caress each other's bodies. use the opportunity to get a full body massage - when patrick has had a rough week, you're more than likely going to end up with a couple bruises and a few sore muscles

while he's never been the most domestic man, the image of you flitting back and forth in his pristine kitchen flicks a switch in patrick's brain. your earnest efforts of making him his breakfast bran muffins and churning his apple butter has him daydreaming of keeping you in his apartment like a pet - at his beck and call constantly, dusting his expensive furniture and preparing his meals whenever he comes home... not to mention how you'd willingly bend over or drop to your knees in a heartbeat if he so desired

if patrick is riding an adrenaline (or cocaine) high when he returns to you, be very careful and tread lightly. he may have an itch to clean his axe or handguns, polishing them until the late hours of the night. when he's in a jittery and frantic state, he isn't above having you spread out on his polished floor as something nice to look at while assembling the firearms, and he's certainly not against fucking you roughly while holding the gun to your head or body. he's even aroused by the though of you sucking off his uzi, spit-slicked metal knocking your teeth as your glistening eyes widen in fear

when you sleep next to him, he might jolt awake at night before realizing your shifting movements pose no threat to him, especially when you're locked into his arms with your soft breath brushing against his skin. when he gazes at you in these dimly lit moments, his mask slips until he feels a semblance of happiness - there's no discomfort, jealousy or boredom, he's content with you against him like this. after a long while of his breathing filling the dark room, his mind forces his walls back up and reverts him back to his usual self just as he drifts to sleep. no one can ever see him like that, see what your presence does to him... not even you

he has a penchant for fucking you infront of his toshiba 30-inch television, a porno tape or horror movie often playing. he loves the way screams - either of ecstasy or pain - fill his ears as you moan beneath him, the colours of the screen dancing on your skin. his cock always pulses just that little bit more whenever you bite his thumb and take his dick deep inside you as the film plays in the background. red is suck a sexual and raw colour after all, why not have the bright screen fill your vision as you cum on his cock? the vibrance drowns out all other stimuli, forcing you to focus on his presence in and around you

imagine the shock on evelyn's face when she shows up unannounced at patrick's place one late afternoon- he's swaying to heuy louis and the news, hands on your hips as you giggle and pour him a glass. his silk shirt loosely buttoned just covers your modesty as he soothingly rubs circles on your thigh, soft grin fading as his gaze frosts over at the sight of his betrothed. she sniffs, scandalized at the sight infront of her, and tells patrick to not bother contacting her - tim price's phone will be unplugged the moment she arrives at his place. to be honest, patrick could not care less. you're in his arms and he knows for a fact that evelyn will be over it soon - if not, there's a more suitable marriage candidate right in front of him. if you feel bad or guilty after evelyn leaves, patrick will do his best with his hands, thick cock, tongue and credit card to soothe your worries

expect patrick to leave desperate and vaguely threatening voice mail messages - his heavy, stuttered breaths echoing in your ears as the slick sounds in the background get you more and more worked up. the depraved ramblings deepen and get hoarser with each passing minute, so you'd better pray jean doesn't walk in - she isn't worthy of seeing him in such a disheveled and flushed state

_ _ _ _ _

amab hcs

luis is the most understanding of patrick's work bunch - he isn't shy to defend you and be seen in public as your friend, once you are comfortable telling him your secret of course. just make sure everyone knows you're not a part of that yale thing and you'll be fine

although he isn't keen on being open about his relationship with you - for fear of his colleagues and fellow acquaintances of wall street making derogatory comments towards him, or worse, you - majority of the men already have some closeted urge to spend the night with you, yearning to take bateman's place in your bed. let's face it, the cocaine, competition and firm handshakes can only do so much to hide the growing homoerotic tensions between the coworkers. your appeal is wider than you realise, as the compliments and lingering gazes at events would have most outsiders questioning if carruthers was the only gay man present in the social circle

in large social gatherings - such as big dinner parties or company events - patrick is able to hide his hand under the table and keep a poker face while unbuttoning your fly, untucking your shirt and slowly palming you for his own amusement. his bragging of designer clothing, company roles and mentions of a nice house he procured - for you to move into, of course - easily distract the other people on the table from what's happening in their vicinity

if his j&b on the rocks isn't hitting the spot or the cigars his colleagues are smoking feel heavy in his lungs, he'll drag you into the men's room - assuming there's no one in the other stalls, of course. his fly is halfway undone by the time your knees and expensive slacks hit the tiles, his hands mussing your slicked back hair. you'd better take his cock down your throat to the best of your abilities - you don't want an audience to witness you choking and spluttering on bateman's length, do you? of course not, they'll ostracize you in a heartbeat (or so patrick says), so you had better not complain or splutter when he pinches your nose shut and shoots hot ropes down your throat

whenever patrick fucks your ass, he ensures that his mark is left on your supple skin for days later - whether it be a handprint-shaped bruise, crescent nail marks or scratches along your thighs, he needs to have you remembering how well he fucks you. as you sit down, adjust your pants or even just accidentally back into something, patrick is suddenly at the forefront of your mind

_ _ _ _ _

afab hcs

patrick buys you the finest jewelry and nicest accessories that money can buy - the deal is that you give him handjobs with the sparkling rings on and kisses with the expensive lipstick, luxurious material framing your figure like a dream. he is especially a fan of you wearing jewels that match your eye colour or makeup - when he lifts your hand to press a polite kiss on your fingers, the glittering in your eyes matching his gifts makes his heart skip a beat

when you cockwarm him, his length is so hefty and makes you feel so stretched - the weight grounds you as you struggle to gain friction against your poor neglected clit. you always feel so full when you're perched on his lap, the girth enough to turn off your brain and make you drool. sometimes when patrick is feeling bold, he prepares your outfit for the day and ensures that you're wearing a cute little skirt for easy access :( he can be selfish sometimes, on the occasion that he solely thinks with his dick

patrick loves pushing your knees up to your chest as he fucks you deeply in missionary - the feeling of your swollen pussy lips brushing against his veiny base and your clit grinding against his pubic bone gets him more worked up than he'll ever admit

it's fairly normal to have patrick's hand drift towards your chest in the back of a taxi, his face buried in the crook of your neck. keep your noises quiet or the driver might be curious about what's happening in the backseat. his cold fingers harshly pinching and tugging at your nipples make you abruptly moan into the brisk air in the back of the car, patrick subtly palming himself to the tortured whines leaving your lips. if you make eye contact with the driver, mouth that you're sorry for patrick's behaviour and try to save your dignity by biting your lip to avoid any loud noises. if they make direct eye contact with patrick first, however, expect him to pull a smug grin and flash your breasts to the angled rear-view mirror. he might even hike up your skirts to show off your soaked, borderline see-through panties. sneak the poor driver a tip on your way out because he nearly caused an accident, losing all brain function as his blood immediately drained from his head and rushed to his cock :<

patrick buys you two little platinum charms with a necklace chain, his initials engraved on the back of the heart shaped pendant. the other little shape is an axe, the edge of the blade set with tiny red garnets!! he is main motivation for having you wear it constantly is the fact that it makes a small clinking noise as you bounce on his cock, breasts swaying and your glimmering skin making the necklace a truly beautiful sight to patrick

_ _ _ _ _

ftm hcs

patrick will pay for any surgery you could every want - with the small caveat that he must be the first person to see and touch you once you're all healed. his lightly concealed wonder at your altered appearance and his admiring hums as he carefully traces the remaining swelling definitely help with your mood, breathlessly marveling at the miracle of modern medicine. he's praying you're happy with the outcome, it really was the best money could buy :(

if you're only just getting into wearing masculine clothing, you bet your ass that patrick is guiding you through the more expensive stores. no awkward phase, just the nicest clothing and most put together outfits to go out on the town!! as much as he understands how tough your body image issues can be, he's not having you look sloppy out in public - you're his man and you'll always be looking like you belong by his side

you're lucky his designer boxers are easy to clean! every time he catches sight of your muscles tensing, he's undoubtedly leaking into the material. when you're stretching and your shirt rides up, when you grab something from the top shelf or even when you crouch to tie your shoelace - his cock doesn't discriminate so you'd better expect a small, darkening patch. the musk at the end of the day has such a heady rush when you kneel in front of him, his sweaty underwear mere inches from your lips. patrick swears you give his dick a heartbeat whenever you make out with his bulge and especially when you sloppily give him head :3

bateman is a huge fan of quickies with you before meetings with your mutual colleagues - he's booked for lunch after, there's no other time in his schedule to empty his heavy, full balls into you :( his favourite way to spend those precious moments is with you bent over his polished desk, expensive pants crumpled at your ankles and your precum dripping onto the carpet. he is a massive fan of teasing you by pushing his cockhead into your slick boycunt and stroking his cock, edging his length until you're whimpering from the need to be filled. he mocks you for being needy and massages his balls when he finally fills your warm hole with thick, potent ropes of cum. he leaves you unsatisfied and leaking his load for the whole meeting :( splash your face with water and try not to squirm too much in your seat - patrick's classic shit-eating grin might give away the events that transpire mere moments before you both walked into the boardroom

mtf hcs

patrick will pay for any surgery you could every want - with the small caveat that he must be the first person to see and touch you once you're all healed. his lightly concealed wonder at your altered appearance and his hums as he carefully traces the remaining swelling definitely help with your mood, breathlessly marveling at the miracle of modern medicine. he's praying you're happy with the outcome, it really was the best money could buy :(

patrick keeps himself well put together and likes to treat you to manicures on shared days out. he'll ask his friend's girls for the best nail salon in the area and insists taking you. after he comes along to pick you up and pay after the set is finished, sometimes he'll immediately take your hands and hum his approval at the colour or design. other times, he'll give you his overcoat and hide your nails until you get in a private area, bathroom or the back of a car - the reveal of your new nails when you slowly stroke his cock, spit slicked hand glistening, makes his eyes roll back in pleasure. your heated gaze and slightly flushed face makes him grin, happy that you're willing to drool on his cock and flaunt his money proudly. the perfect girl, in his opinion :>

if you're only just getting into wearing feminine clothing, you bet your ass that patrick is guiding you through the more expensive stores. no awkward phase, just the nicest clothing and most put together outfits to go out on the town!! as much as he understands how tough your body image issues can be, he's not having you look sloppy out in public - you're his girl and you'll always be looking like you belong by his side

patrick's favourite evening activity is fucking you in a mating press - his cock filling you and hitting that deep spot inside you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. he loves the sight of your girldick bouncing on your tummy and the shine of your dribbling arousal smearing on your skin. nothing beats a relaxed evening with your tight hole warming his throbbing length

_ _ _ _ _

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

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[rel124c41]

PSILOCYBIN AND HONEYCOMB. jade leech

There is something terribly wrong with the queen bee. Gentle and kind. Out of her mind. inspired by @merakiui dabbles and @pathosprit asks about god!floyd/cultist!reader

tags: alternative universe - cults, implied/referenced drug use, old gods, falling in love, blood and gore, beekeeping, fluff and smut, unhealthy relationships, thought projection, gentleness, inspired by psilocybin and honeycomb by harley poe, murder

word count: 11,895

When you are ten, round-faced and small, you watch the Reverend heat up the branding iron. He twirls it in the fire like it is a marshmallow, making sure the iron is covered evenly with a brilliant scarlet red. Gold dances over the thick, ebony gloves that the Reverend wears and shadows jump across the stone creases of his aged face. You watch the sigil rotate in numerous circles. 

A foreign hand pulls up your dress, exposing your stomach and underwear. You keep watching the circle of iron and fire; as the speed of the Reverend's hands pick up, the two materials blend together in a racing whirlpool of a red and gold comet. Beautiful. 

“It won’t hurt will it, Mom?” Your small voice is full of terror; your wrists tremble in the hold of the two adults pinning you down to the table.

“No sweetie, no it won’t.” Your mother, the unmarried woman who got pregnant, presses a kiss to your forehead.

When the Reverend presses the branding iron down on the skin on your hypogastric skin, right under your belly-button, it is the last time you know fear. 

By the stream, God – The Odd One – calls and beckons and sings.

Hands fall idle in surprise. You were not expecting a summon from Him today. Raising your head from your task, you listen closely. It could have just been the snapping branch under a rabbit’s foot or the breeze blowing too roughful in a bush. You wait patiently for that divine melody to resume itself. 

In the pregnant pause, a white dress rustles through the current of the stream. Its arms wave helpless. Under the water, the fabric mimics a dead gray hue. 

There is no secondary call or beckoning. Holding your breath long enough, you fall back into your task. 

White dress in hand, you scrub it with a mixture of mammal fat and lye. The cleansing agent bubbles and carries down the stream. If the heart of your God resides anywhere on land, it is here, your favorite place; in His heart, you do your laundry, domestic. 

The Reverend would be appalled at that thought. You think with a smile. Water collapses from the dress as you wring it out. But it is an entirely true thought. The deeper you venture in the forest, the more you can hear Him. It is only when you reach for the robin egg blue dress does He come back, voice oscillating through nature. 

A testing call? Dropping the garment, you listen intently, waiting to see where you can jump into the melody. After a beat, you find your place in the song. The construction of the deut sounds like this:

A stream sweeping in a downward incline, splashing in playful, petite waves as it tickles lower. It is bordered by plentiful grass. Like boats caught in a fierce storm, a handful of pine-cones freckled in the water move across the stream. Rocks break apart the smoothness of the water. The song emphasizes that the rocks give it a fresh uniqueness rather than damage the serenity of the stream. 

The chorus is a bumble bee landing on a black dahlia. Silk, ebony petals curl off the center like a hundred thumbnails in a bouquet. In the light of nature, the black of the flower shines a red-violet. Nestled in the middle like an arrow in a bullseye, the bumble bee robs and rapes the center of the black dahlia, stabbing at the nectar with their needle-thin legs. 

Carrying your voice higher, you sing about the breeze. The breeze puppets the leaves to give a graceful, continuous wave to the visitors of the forest. The bridge focuses on an earthworm. It is alone, red with speckles of earth. You take your voice past its limit when you find yourself singing about a forest fire. The ballad continues under two watchful, olive-brown eyes.

Unnoticed, the son of the village’s livestock handler watches you break your vocal limit for God. So devoted to him. Piety works itself over the tendons of your throat, pushing and pressing too hard, like a violin’s bow. As the unknown, dueting voice, Jade watches and listens to your consecrating voice, peeved.

Around you, Jade finds that his inhibition has been escaping. 

He has been alive for numerous generations, witnessing patterns of human speech, human practices, and most importantly human fears. Fear is older than Jade. Older than the sediment on the ground that you sing to. Thus, innate fears often stay with generations – the fear of death, thanatophobia, is a prominent recurrence. 

As the God of nature, Jade knew. He had felt men press their heads into the crust of the earth, begging for the other men chasing him to let him live. Felt people rack up dirt with fingers, feverishly pleading for the resurrection of a sick son or sick daughter. Felt fists pound the trees in frustration for the souls he collected and ate. 

Even still, they worshiped him. Thinking they would be allowed into a paradise, ignorant that the old door death opened was a door made of teeth and tongues. Even with the false promise of paradise, thanatophobia reigned supreme and trumped all other fears in humans. In all humans except you. 

You. How strange you are, altering the rules of humanity, since your tenth birthday. 

You focus on nature; he focuses on you. 

As you two sing together, he feels that familiar retreat of inhibition. All of it dissolves into the color and shape of nature like a technicolor sea, blending together. Everything he thought he knew about humans changes with a tiny paint splosh, ruining the masterpiece he made.

“Oh, look at you. All alone,” a voice breaks the song. 

Rounding around, you glare at the intruder as God falls silent. You look at Jade as if you two were hunters and he had just scared off a deer you had been tracking. God galloping away off on hooves. Vexation like a gleam in your eyes. 

“What do you want, Jade?”

Jade Leech is perhaps the most annoying villager in your town, sticking to you like his surname suggests. He had shown up with his mother and father about three years ago when you were twelve. Usually, outsiders did not join the congregation, but the Reverend spoke positively of them. You trusted your Father’s judgment until the boy proved to hold great interest in you and all the things you did. 

“I was just checking up on my dear friend, (Name).”

He is not even respectable about your status. The village calls you ‘One’ for Chosen One. At ten years old, you lose your name like one loses a sock. Not Jade; he likes to call you by the name your mother picked.

“How kind of you,” sarcasm drips from your throat, sore with singing.

“You’re most welcome. You’ve taken to changing the spot where you wash your clothes.”

“Yes, I was hoping someone wouldn’t find me here.”

“It is very nicely secluded so I am sure that they won’t be able to locate it.” 

I thought so too, your inner thoughts mourn.

“Though it might be a bit dangerous. So far off from the ocean and village. Why, who knows what kind of coyotes or animals could be wandering around in the thicket.”

“I assure you, I’m quite alright in the wilderness.” 

It is a true statement. You were particularly blessed when it came down to manners of the environment and the animals which it housed. Call it divine intervention, call it confidence. Whatever it is named, you are spared a lot of trouble that could potentially come from inhuman footprints. 

“Who knows? That unwanted company might seize the opportunity and attack.” Jade’s olive-brown eyes watch your back. Your shoulders move with the pattern of your scrubbing. Sweat latches tight to the curvatures of your visible skin. “Like right now, going for your jugular.”

“Try it, Jade,” you challenge, smiling – not in a friendly way.

Accepting the challenge, Jade stands back and watches your shoulder fall still. The smile on his face is not shark-toothed but it beams with the animosity of such a creature. You have other teeth to worry over. Fangs full of venom, a water snake has wrapped itself around your arm, sneaking up from its hiding spot under the dress and soap.

A copperhead snake twines itself up your forearm like an orange-brown vine. Immediate, your hand falls comatose, not waiting to disturb it. Here. Here is where the human pattern of thanatophobia should come into play. Jade waits eagerly for a shriek; copperheads are venomous, he is certain you know this.

You do not tremble with your actions. You do not tremble with your voice. Irking Jade further, you reach a finger from your opposing arm over the copperhead’s head. The snake does not acknowledge your stroke, continuing to squeeze, as you move down and grasp the tail.

“Jade.”

“Hm?”

“You should step back. This is dangerous.”

A fire of anger ignities on Jade’s shoulders. Cheek twitching, he glares at the back of you. You were concerned for his safety? There is a venomous snake acting friendly with the veins in your arm, yet you told him to stand back. So caught up in disbelief, he misses you successfully unwrapping the copperhead from yourself.

Which you proceed to throw in a bush, just a foot or two away from Jade is standing. “Bravo,” Jade says, unflinching. He stalks towards you. 

“Told you to move.” You pull your clean dress out of the water, wringing it out.

“I do not see how you can be so composed in the grip of death. It is perplexing.”

“Death is always at our sides.” In the water, Jade’s shadow oscillates like a match’s sparkling flame. A quarter of it folds over your shoulder. “Why would I have any reason to be afraid of it?”

“You are the sacrifice of this village.” Jade puts a hand to his heart, leering expression painting itself on his face. Waits patiently for you to get frustrated with him. “I think it is natural that you would think about it more often.”

You look up at Jade, trying to decipher why the thought causes him qualms. Into your wicker basket, you lay the slightly damp dress. Task finished, you bring the basket to your hip as you stand up from the stream.  

“I have no qualms over it.” Then the conversation dies as you walk off, nobody’s buttercup.

The stream babbles as you walk alongside it. Like a puppy barking at your heels, you two move in sync. Somewhere in the bush, you think you can hear the sound of the copperhead rustling. A person disinclined towards the very thought of death, that is who you are. Embracing it, you jump upon the fallen, precarious log that hovers over the stream. 

You glance at Jade who watches you. Then, wicker basket in hand, you step with a note on your tongue. Walking down the log to the other side, you say with each footfall, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” Your voice goes higher as your steps evolve into stomps. 

You crash onto the other side, leaves crunching, as Jade asks, “What was that?”

“Something I’ve been orchestrating.” You challenge him with a look, separated by running water. “You should try it. You never sing at any of the entheogens.” 

Before the village drinks the holy wine mixed with the holy mushroom of God, the entheogens ceremonies call for everyone to sing. You have never seen Jade’s mouth so much as twitch. Though, surprisingly, no one ever makes a fuss about it. The village turns it back on any of the blasphemous actions of Jade Leech. 

“Unless you sing like a croaking toad … ah, then I suppose it all makes sense. It would be a disgrace to your parents if you sang. Unfortunate.”

Jade’s brows furrow. Got him. As he walks down the log, forgoing the stomping you did, he sings the rising scale, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” He lands by your side, hopping off the behemoth log. There is a golden firecracker of satisfaction in his olive-brown eyes. 

“I did not know you could sing like that.” 

The firecracker sizzles out as Jade’s brows shoot up. He feels a light pink start to tiptoe up to his cheeks.

Your voice is soft like honey, full of awe. Your reticent inhibition around Jade melts at that moment. Like snow on spring ground, you warm up eternally – just a bit! – to the invading pest that is Jade Leech. Someone who has been like a mite in your otherwise well kept paradise. You take him in a different light: cropped black hair, slim face, and olive-brown eyes just a bit less obnoxious. You had only heard such a singing voice from –

“Come. Let us go unless that someone you want to avoid finds this spot.”

The thought disappears. Blinking, you watch Jade stalk off. When you regain yourself, basket in hand, you walk just a bit behind him. Like the stubborn child you are, you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking:

Jade sounds good when he sings. 

You two continue silently back to the village, Jade leading. It is a content walk, not even many rocks or lifted ground to trouble the path. Nature sings around the two in a musique concrete of twigs, leaves, and dirt. It is only when you feel a small tug that you wander off.

Jade watches with knowing, incorrectly colored eyes. 

Your eyes sparkle upon a holy sight. More than a dozen light brown and ivory white jellyfish caps stand up straight in grass off the path. Like toads in mud, they break through the dehydrated grass in poor camouflage. Psilocybin mushrooms. The mushrooms that your congregation holds in high regard; a mushroom on piety par with a cross or a clerical collar. 

Like the winner of an Easter egg hunt, you go to collect the mushrooms. Prizes God had hidden from you so you could search and prove yourself. Carefully, you start to put them in your wicker basket, sprinkles of dirt landing on the top dress. 

Shadow folding over you, Jade inquires, breaking the silent retreat, “How many more days until you die, (Name)?”

No one should ever smile at such an inquiry. Yet, here you do, proud of the psilocybin mushrooms in hand, you answer with a big grin, “1,746 days.”

“Jade Leech, you little thief! Get back here right now!”

You look up upon hearing those words. Four buildings away, you watch as a towel crack on the back of Jade’s spine as he walks out of the bakery. The head chef seems to be the one caterwauling at him, twisted towel weaponized like a claymore. A sly smile is plastered on Jade’s face despite the hit.

Idiot; no one steals from her and leaves without a tussle. She, the head chef, is caterwauling like a soaked cat. A smile still emerges on your face despite your previous trouble. Speaking of those troubles – 

You turn back to your work. There are not many jobs for you to take in the village. As the ritual’s sacrifice, labor is something you do not need to concern yourself with as the Reverend says. Attending prayer services, purifying yourself, and connecting with nature are your top priorities. You stretched out the limitations on the last priority and managed to convince that soft-hearted Reverend to let you start beekeeping with two village elders. 

If our God is in every mushroom, every flower, every faucet of nature, it must be alright for me to care for His holy insects too? : that pathos and ethos argument won you the rights to take up beekeeping. 

Right now, you are troubled by your job. Hairy white sections are on the lower burr comb and cells. It festers only a block of the hive where the queen is. A sign of another pest within the hive. However, none of the other signs were present upon last inspection. Of course, the sign of incursion would be near the queen – the most sensitive and paramount part of the hive.

The queen bee eludes your gaze right now, worker bees swarming around. You go to see if you can get a few to walk on your hand when something breaks your line of sight. Your hand stills. Held out to you is a half-ripped piece of bread. 

Not taking it, you look up at the smiling face of Jade. Far away, surprisingly not giving chase, the head chef shouts: “Little devil child! You pest!” The grin on Jade’s face widens, teeth flashing at you. 

“If only she knew the half of it. Here.” Jade holds up the bread, trying to appear generous in his motives. “Freshly baked.”

“Freshly stolen,” you correct. You take it either way. Stealing is frowned upon by the congregation but you have no fear left to worry about consequences. A tiny bite leaves you pleasantly surprised. Sourdough. You go back in for a bigger bite.

Jade sits down beside you, eating his own share and looking into the broods. Glancing up from your piece, you say, “You did that on purpose.” 

“Stealing is often a motivated task.”

“No. You got caught on purpose; you’re slippery enough to steal and not get noticed.”

“I assure you that I was trying my hardest to not get caught.”

“Ah I see,” you say, wholly unconvinced. 

“Your mind is not at ease. Usually you smile more when attending to your bees.” 

Like a chipmunk, you stuff your cheeks with sourdough to avoid answering. “It is unlike a person of your standing,” Jade continues. Your standing: your life’s merit as a sacrifice. The reason that everyone calls you One instead of (Name). The Chosen One connected to the Odd One through nature and, thus, nature’s creatures.

“Sumtin’ s ‘rong wit the quee.”

“Pardon?”

You swallow, “Something’s wrong with the queen.” You spear a crescent into the bread’s crust with your nail. Despondent, you explain, “There are signs of an infestation near her section. I also noticed the capped cells were full of holes and overall seemed frail. That’s a sign of Varroa but I haven’t seen a single mite or deformed wings.” 

“Always the queen isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand why I can never raise a healthy queen. The cell caps of hers always appear healthy, but halfway through, she suffers from signs of unknown invasion.” Quarantining your bees is the most viable option but you would rather solve this matter before taking a drastic measure. If only you could locate her –

You jump when Jade presses his hand close to the honeycomb structures. “Hey, be careful! You need gloves!”

“You do not wear gloves.”

“That’s different!”

“Hush.”

At that word, you happily wait for him to get strung. With his inexperience, it should only take a short amount of time. Sourdough in hand, you sit back to watch the show. Bees crawl like pouring vinegar over his pallid hand, curious, and you huff at his gentleness. Any moment now. Any moment comes but it comes with Jade pulling hand away with the queen bee on his forefinger.

“How did you –”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I hate you.”

Jade smiles wide at that. The queen on his finger flicks her wings as he moves his hand to hover between you two. She seems fairly healthy despite all the disturbance around her. “Trying to steal my job, Jade,” you ask when he passes her to you. 

“Do not even entertain the thought. I do not particularly enjoy insects. They may be entertaining for an hour or so, but I am content with the thought of their entire colony going up in flames one day.”

“Monster.”

Jade smiles in his you-don’t-know-the-half-of-it way. 

Jade stares up at the statue of himself, contemplative. 

For five out of thousands of years, Jade has passed time wearing fake human skin. Fake pallid hands find themselves stroking his neck for gills no longer there. Those hands hesitate over touching his ears, feeling thick muscle and bone instead of a thin membrane of skin. His trepidation around looking-glasses has eroded over the half decade. But, Jade still finds himself not entirely accepting parts of the body he puppets.

Walking around in the wrong skin is like wearing clothes too small. It squeezes over him like latex, tightening when he moves a certain way and constricting when he looks at it too long. 

His hands especially are wrong, lacking webbed structure and the correct hues. How his fingernails flush purple and his fingers red when it is cold … it disgusts him. How his veins are blue under sand toned skin … it is a sickening sight. The human body wrapped around his working brain and working heart, it is the most grotesque part of this trail. Sometimes, he wants nothing more to shed it off an amphibian. 

Jade takes his vexed gaze off his hands and returns to staring at the monument. Cleaners are put on rotation to polish and scrub down the entirety of him, forbidding moss or dirt to lay upon him. They are quite meticulous about it too. Meticulous like how a mother bathes her child. They scrub behind his ears, over the ridges of his dorsal fin, under the extended points of his claws. He has seen real, palpable joy on the faces of those given the job.

The sculptor … died about 2,050 years ago if Jade’s memory is right. 

Withstanding the test of time, here the effigy of his true form lies, propped up on a block of marble chiseled to look like a sweeping wave. His face is sculpted in a polite mien with the slightest hint of malice. Smiling with teeth yet not with all his teeth. Just the top row. In stone, his tail dips in backwards J and is hooked upward like the frozen neck of a screaming horse on a carousel. 

If asked, Jade thinks he misses his tail most right alongside his hands. The only change that he does not mind is his hair. Living on a warm island with long hair would have been bothersome, especially on his neck. The cropped style is nice; his real hair would have made him sweat. 

Then, staring down the effigy of himself, Jade realizes he made a mistake earlier. He knows he misses swimming the most. His tails and hands: they are mere tools to propel him when in the sea, so deep in his plunge that it feels like he is moving universe to universe with each wide stroke. 

Only less than three years remain until your death. 819 days if his memory serves correct. And this time it does; he is as certain as stone is hard. But such a long time in fake skin feels like the lifespan of a human, dragging day by day. Each inhale of the sun and exhale of the moon feeds the bugs crawling on his skin, uncomfortable in this fake skin.

Jade wonders, scratching his forearm, if he should speed this sacrificial ritual as he watches you race across the field towards him. He glances down at your nude human feet. Quadriceps, sinew tendons, and bone propelling you forward until you skid to a stop in front of him – with a jar in your hands? 

“Look what I have!” There is a big, prideful grin on your face. With a flourish, you raise up said jar. And Jade responses –

“Wow. A jar. How marvelous.”

Your expression flattens at that. As if retreating, you pull the jar to your ribcage, protective arms around it. “It’s not just any jar. It’s my – Itchy? I think we have some medicine in –” 

Jade pauses his scratching to interrupt. “No, I’m quite alright.” The marks running up his skin are angry and red, yet miraculously not bleeding. “So,” leaning in, he grins with all his teeth and says, “what’s in the jar? Must be revolutionary with how fast you ran over here.”

“It is!” Pride relights your body. You unscrew the jar with flying fingers. Then, you hold out the open mouth of the jar towards Jade, waiting for praise.

“Ah, honey.”

“Not just any honey; it is the last flow of honey.”

“I see. There is no more honey after that. So we will eat pancakes without honey soon, correct?”

“You’re not getting it, are you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Hmph.” You bring the jar back to your chest as Jade ponders on why humans are so sensitive. “The best months to harvest honey are from July to mid-September, right? And it is mid-September, right?” Jade nods at both your inane questions. Still not getting it. “Honey is the sweetest and best when you collect the last honey flow. The nectar flow from this is the one they make in the summer! It is going to taste Godly!” 

“Careful what words you use, (Name).”

You two glance up at the company you keep. Though his gray left eye and yellow right eye are the same hue of stone, they seem to shine. Something fierce and glowing breaking through inert expression. You smile mischievously. “I’ll make it up to him when I’m dead. Now. Taste this.”

With a roll of olive-brown eyes, Jade leans in to observe the jar which you are once more offering him. Inside, the yellow honey tilts like a slow avalanche with the degree you hold it at. Gold gleams like the surface of the ocean under sunlight, almost sparkling. I almost miss home, Jade thinks as he dips his index finger in. 

Oh.

Finger in mouth, Jade does not want to admit it but you are right. This is perhaps the best honey he has sampled before. The nectar slides down his tongue, touches his throat, and slugs down to his stomach. It is almost an addictive taste. 

It is an uncleaned sweetness that melts down his throat. Like blasphemous scripture. 

Jade really should not show you his enthusiasm for it; your pride will only increase knowing he enjoys it and you will grow more annoying. Yet, as if pulled by strings, he sticks his finger back into the jar. Before tasting, he asks, “What did you say the difference with this flow is?”

“It is the last flow of the season. With the bees hibernating soon, you can maximize the honey you are collecting by being patient. But there’s really an entire system to it, making sure you don’t strike too early or late.”

“Would it not be the sweetest during summer when the bees are most active?”

“Nope. Patience is the key; beekeeping is a waiting game.” 

A waiting game? He watches you stick your own finger in, feasting on the rewards of your patience. The later harvest yields a richer taste. How splendid of his sacrifice to say just the words he needs to hear to understand himself and motives. 

Eventually, almost telepathically as if both of you know what your companion is thinking, you and Jade stare up at the statue. Your saliva-coated finger and dry fingers place the cap back on the jar, leaving it unscrewed yet lidded. Jade waits until you are enraptured with the sculpture before he turns his attention to you. 

You stare, contemplative. The sun is three hours off from its peak. Thus piscine shadows of the statue fall onto awaiting blades of grass. The silhouette of his dorsal fin like a knife and the silhouette of his hunched shoulders, leaning in like he is going to burst to life any moment. He has this hardly contained enmity is his expression, upturned eyes too sharp and smile too tiny. 

“Can’t you just see me and him, together in paradise?”

“You two will make a lovely couple.”

“Heh, that’s what they all say.”

Jade studies your profile. There is just a tiny droplet of animosity in your worshiping eyes that he is desperate to uncover the truth about. You are bitter about something. However, whenever Jade tries to peek into that hate circuit rivering itself through your cortex, he gets nothing. 

He supposed he could ask; if he is going to bid his time in other realms, he has more time to analyze the ecosystem of your brain. You startle when he speaks. “(Name). If you were not the chosen one, what would you do with the rest of your life?”

The expression you give Jade is easy to read: confusion. “If I wasn’t the – why, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”

“But try to. Try to imagine your twenty-first birthday.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Jade.”

“I am as serious as death.”

You shake your head furiously. “There is no other choice to make, but I am using my choice and have chosen to be there. As the chosen one.”

Jade, with all his immortal life wisdom goes huh? at your verbal affirmation. 

“Such a boy,” you mourn, frowning up at his statue. You shuffle your bare toes on the ground, feeling the dirt cling onto them and tune into the radio of nature for a bit. After a contemplative moment, you say, “I am nobody’s buttercup. But I must do something so I will do that.”

“I see.” 

Taking your words as a challenge, Jade leans in. Your nose scrunches, thinking he is going to do something odious and ruin this perfect, honey-coated day. If you were built in the image of your God, you would want his teeth so you could snap at Jade’s nose. The sentiment grows when Jade flicks the lid off the jar — it frisbees through the air — and scoops up a handful of honey. Some of it doesn’t even make it into his mouth!

“Hey! No stealing from the chosen one!”

“You never said there was a time limit on the honey you offered.”

“Well, there is one now! We have to make this last until next September! I have only two Septembers left!”

Jade laughs, licking the honey off his wrist. He makes another grab at the jar as you rush away from him, trying to retrieve the lid. “Back! Back, you heathen!” And the smile Jade makes as he chases you around the field is a perfect copy of the expression that is carved into stone. 

Time passes like it always does. Life is a constant stream that connects in the ocean of death, making itself the estuary of mortality. 

Those two Septembers pass and twice more you successfully harvest the perfect honey flow. Even when Jade jokes all sinister that you should enjoy these last moments of good food, dipping sourdough into honey, you never even shake. At the apiary, all the jars are empty, trails of gold stubbornly clinging onto the glassware. You and Jade make the effort to scrub all the ones you used clean until they shine. 

“You’re not afraid at all,” Jade asks, watching you scrub the remains of your presence from the world. All you are: congealing honey on a rag which you will dip into the nearby stream, which will carry you away to a water funeral. 

“Not at all.” It must be true. Because under the winter’s sun, your hands are steady and determined. Because when Jade asks how many days are left, you respond with an unshakable voice. Because Jade thinks with some sort of thrill unlike any he has known, you have been waiting as patiently as he has. 

It is only when the number of days decrease and shrink down to the number seven does Jade’s patience break. 

There is no sunshine shining down on you but you are still as bright as ever. Under the silver moonlight, you twirl and run and even cartwheel in the open field. You have been forgoing any sort of sleep, utilizing all the hours in a twenty-four hour day until you pass out from exhaustion, nature as your mattress. No one in the village disapproves of it, seeing it as you embracing your God. Jade wishes someone would though. He has unfortunately been dragged out for the past seven nights by you, wanting his company.

And I still have seven more to go, Jade thinks, leaning against his statue. He never thought he would grow tired but even a human body has limits. Sleep addles Jade’s brain as his neck bends as if he is caught in prayer. 

He snaps back up when you shout. “Jade! Jade look!”

Seeing that you have his attention, you launch right into it. You take a running start, hands up in the air. Cartwheel, cartwheel, cartwheel, ending with a front flip. Supernaturally energetic, you raise your arms up in your success, dress billowing around you, ready to accept the claps. 

Jade manages a few light ones and says, “Well done, (Name).”

You smile happily. “Praise me more; this is the last week I’ll be alive to hear any sort of praise.” You twirl and watch the white of your summer dress puff up in a jellyfish shell. “Make sure they do not neglect to make mention of how good I was at cartwheels in the legends and stories.”

“I won’t, (Name).”

You fall back into it. Among the tall grass, you do a wide variety of different exercises and a variety of different dances. You move with the ease of an autumn leaf, trusting the wind. To the unheard and unsung song of nature and God, you gyrate around. Like God’s personal instrument, you bend yourself to the symphony that no one in your village has ever heard. 

I’ll miss dirt, you think just as you blindly twirl into a patch of fireflies. 

Fireflies explode around you like a firework. Wide-eyed and gasping, you pause with your hands raised up. Buzzing and rapid, the tiny comets of gold lift up from the flora and paint the night with tinier stars. Gripping the train of your dress, you rotate yourself to make room for the fireflies launching up to the west, laughing all the while. 

Eventually, they dissolve into the sky, leaving your eyes chasing after them. They dissolve in dying breaths and dying heartbeats. You watch the last of them flicker out, finding a new patch to lie on or traveling too far for you to see them. 

Oddly, an invisible bruise on your chest starts to ache. 

Dirt encrusted feet carry your body before you comprehend what you are doing. Wildly, like something monstrous is at your heels, you run into the nearby thicket of trees, determined to reach the deepest part of the forest which surrounds the village.

“(Name)?” Jade squints at your fast-retreating form. “(Name)!” He picks himself off the statue as you rush into the forest, almost like you are in a panic. 

“Catch me!” 

The chase prematurely begins. 

Jade dives into the forest after you. Pushing branches out of his way and jumping over protruding vegetation. Hundred elements of nature flicker across his vision as he runs and runs. Shadows elongate and distort under the occluding moon. He elbows his weight on a tree so it pushes him faster. Blanketed under nebulous black, the world beats with a thousand different songs. 

All the while you are hollering and screaming. Screams evolve into frantic giggles and hollering matures into singing. Do Re Me Fa Sol La Ti Do, your feet race down the cliff slide in the pattern of the musical scale. 

Your body is an instrument, Jade. Listen to it and you will be closer to God. Narcotic words you once said, deranged out of your mind. Narcotic words that you said while certain that patches of grass were growing from the planes of your skin. Narcotic words he had not paid much mind to. Closer to God, hm?

The crunch of leaves as you two run are like lyrics, right? Yet, the soles of his feet are like the percussion too? Guitar strings tendons pull with different frets and notes. Piano key fingers reach out and crush the branches in his way. His most powerful instrument is acting strangely though. His voice. That particular instrument is doing something it has never done before: laughing. 

Is this what being human is, always running? He thinks this might be the faintest sniff of what it means to be a human: always running away from time. The epiphany is not about being human through sweet acceptance or love. His first taste of humanity is in the sweat of running and running while chasing. 

Closer to God. Closer to humans. 

At times, your aptitude is unreadable to Jade … that aptitude that guides you to never fear death. He wonders why there is such a wide gap between you and others when it comes to the terms of death. Closing in, he thinks: This Is The One. His fingers reach out, A0 from C8 scale running across phalanges. He could push you. With the momentum doubled with the rocks –

Still running, you turn to laugh at Jade. The pure joy on your face is blinding, hands up your shoulders and dress swaying. Your smiling face brightens at the sight of him (one close-eyed, titanic grin directed at him) before it winks away, flickering behind a tree. Jade watches as he loses you as you gather speed and sprint harder. Miraculously, you disappear from his sight, breaking the distance Jade had attempted to close.

God and human, you two run frantically through the forest. You throw out insults about his speed and he throws out his laughter in your duet. When the ground starts to decline, Jade finally figures out where you are heading to. He pumps his legs faster as the thickness of nature decreases gradually. 

He breaks into the clearing by the stream, hoping to beat you, only to be confronted with the sight of you crouched by the water, twirling something between your fingers. 

“Th-The forest is teething. I can feel it.” You pant like a dog. Jade watches the process of deflate and inflate; with each behemoth breath you take, exhausted and spent, your shoulder and ribs move with the hard work of your lungs. “It –” You choke around the salvia in your mouth, breathless. “It is the start of something here.”

“Teething?”

“Yes. Like babies do.”

I’m teething, Jade contemplates, unsure of what that word really entails. He knows little of human babies. It is only until you show Jade what is in your hand that he thinks he gets it. 

“Look at this.” 

From your hand, you present a black dahlia flower with a bright sunny center to him. The sunny center squeezes into a tiny circle then widens out in the average size. It is like a nostril, flickering and changing shape with each inhale and exhale. It is trying to breathe but as a flower it does not understand how to do that with a lineage of photosynthesis written in its body.

That flickering feeling of the beginning is so thick in the air. The start of something is here. It permeates in your bones. All through your skin, it permeates.

“It is certainly …” Jade trails off, not really used to seeing this side of himself. 

“Beautiful,” you supply. There is a warmth in the space as Jade sits down besides you. The space between you is bright despite the midnight. “Can I tell you something? And you must keep it a secret.”

“Go ahead. I am as quiet as a church mouse.”

“I had this vision during the last entheogen.” 

You still remember it. Swallowing the wine and, from within, bringing out the divine. Psilocybin on your tongue, you laid in a technicolor sea, holding up the receiver of your brain and waiting for that connection with God. You had a vision about the sacrament that is less than a week away. You look up to the sky as you speak. The moon is past the peak of midnight noon.

“I was at the ceremony. The sky was completely cloudless so you could feel the warmth of the sun. I was walking down to the slab bed. Dressed and ready.

“But when the Reverend told me to say my final prayers, I couldn’t.”

The black dahlia gives a sneezing breath at that. “Why couldn’t you?”

“My mouth was full of bees. I opened my mouth.” You look at Jade and decide to demonstrate. A fist moves up to your face before stretching fingers out like you are cupping a ball. “And blaaah, a hundred or so bees flew from my mouth.”

“The singer’s last ballad.”

“Odd, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is your mind rationalizing with the fear of your impending death.” 

“Do not make me laugh.” 

You are smiling, secondary to laughter. Returning attention to the black dahlia, you see the breaths have dwindled down to delicate stutters. It only stops breathing when you set it into the stream, watching it float and spin once. A dance in water, the revelation makes you grin softer. Your little theater show is only interrupted by Jade. 

“What are your opinions on the ceremony? Now that it is so close, realer almost.”

You contemplate for a moment on the navel of the world, or as others call it ceremony. “I’m quite content with it.”

A picture paints itself: the stone rock, the slab bed, the omphalos alone in a field of psilocybin mushrooms, devoid of life beyond yourself. It is a bed you will eventually rest down upon and let the Father of your religion cut out the heart in your chest. 

“I’m not going to die,” you whisper. Rejuvenate with that fact, you shuffle your body until your knees are tilted towards Jade. You lean in with flame eyes, a whirlpool of heat in them. Your next words cause the black dahlia in the stream to go breathless in surprise. “I’m going to find out if I’m really alive.” 

“Th –” Jades breathes out a tiny laugh. “That is quite contradictory, (Name). Such an event would not inspire such a thought.”

“Well, it’s true so you have to deal with it.”

“I will burden myself with knowing it and trying to understand it.” He puts a hand to his heart in promise.

“Good. Agonize over it.”

You take to putting your feet in the stream as you reposition yourself. Spreading out your legs, you draw up your dress to your thighs. Dirt floats up and follows the path the black dahlia is being pushed away to as water cleanses your soles. The percussion of your heart beats through your toes as you wiggle them, trying to gather warmth under cold water. 

You look like a high renaissance painting: ideal and perfect in Jade’s eyes. You blink your own eyes when your body is slowly moved. “I waited.” Before you question Jade’s harsh words, his hand on your chin, the start of something new blossoms and the forest sings. 

You pull away from the kiss first. Eyelashes butterflying open, you gaze upon Jade with a fondness he has never seen. “How do I taste?”

If Jade will be your only kiss, he thinks it makes sense that you want to know what you taste like. He will not allow you to kiss another in the next six days. Considering it, his focus narrows to his mouth. Your bacterial corpse rests on his taste-buds, measuring and remembering the taste of you. Floral notes are encrusted with a sort of raw grime. 

“Earthy and sweet.”

Giggling, you dive back in for another kiss. 

You think this has been a long time coming which is why you can fall into it so easily. Your amygdala – once a ripe grape – is dried up like a sun-kissed raisin. 

Cupping Jade’s face, you feel no indication that is the wrong course of action. Grass and dirt tickles your flesh, teasingly happy. Nature reaches slippery hands into your brain, infecting you with dopamine. This all feels so unnaturally right. 

It takes about seven kisses in total before Jade’s hand starts to run itself up and down your thigh. Across a field of goosebumps, he draws his hand from the ankle freckled with water to the midpoint of your upper thigh. It is only when he moves up to the barricade of where you placed your dress that you grab his wrist. Partially in his lap, you squeeze the bones of his wrist. 

“You’re not here for too long so what could go wrong,” Jade, eyes closed, asks the question towards your hesitation. 

“Only two things are required of me in six days,” you kiss Jade to appease and because you want to. “That I die in six days on my twentieth birthday and that I remain a virgin.” 

“Surely we can negate one of these constricting restrictions. I say that God is being a bit selfish.” Jade seethers inside, hiding it well with his returning saccharine kiss. Hoping to persuade and because he wants to. There is no possible way that his own rules are going to leave him with a painful stiff, is there? 

“I think the man can handle one lapse of judgment from His prized singer. He knows you well. Say ‘oh dear God’” He vocalizes a facade of your frightful feminine voice, nipping at your ear. You giggle at the foreign sensation. “‘There is this awful, stealing, odious man down there and I. Fell. From. Grace.” Jade punctuates each word with a kiss. He moves down the musician’s scale of your throat, returning to his own deep timbre. 

You shiver and, against better judgment, relax the hold on his wrist. “I do not fear the wrath of any man or God.”

The tune of acceptance, Jade thinks as he kisses down to your breasts. When he cultivated from the ceremony, it was only the human hearts he ate. This meal will be a new experience for both you and him. “Good. If you started being frightened, I would find you weak.”

“Is that so? I thought you were always veering for me to be more,” you gasp, toes frozen in the stream, as Jade cups over your sex. He lies his hand over it but does nothing more. “-- Veering for me to fear death?”

“Is this your death?”

“It could certainly be close to that.”

“Well, let this be the sweetest death you could ever know.”

With skillful fingers, he unties the back of your dress with only one hand. Though it comes undone quite quickly as if he has taken scissors to it. Strange. You do not focus on it long as tiny knives fall over your shoulder, removing the sleeves of your summer dress. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. Jade sucks hard on your right breast. 

The sensation sends a ripple of goosebumps along your arms. It feels sweetly blasphemous, all the attentive kisses pepper to your breasts. A taste of something new and at its peak. You twitch when you feel Jade’s blunt nails move from cupping your sex to trailing a finger over the space where hip and thigh meet. 

“Wait,” you stop Jade. His mouth falls away, teeth sharpening a bit with annoyance. He looks up at you, big olive- brown eyes gleaming. “I’m – Well –” You glance down at his hand that is swallowed under your dress. “It’s not a pretty scar,” you whisper. 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful like the rest of you.” Before you can protest, the rest of your dress is pulled over your head. He leaves you in only your panties, sitting in the dirt by the stream. Your eyes widen.

“Don’t,” Jade grabs the hand that goes to block his sigil. It has never looked so appetizing on a sacrifice until you. He licks his lips. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s still a scar.”

“Not to me,” Jade says, pressing his body against you so you lay down. 

Delirious, like you are floating off a substance, you go to unbutton his long sleeve, wrestling your hand from him. Your skull is cushioned by your dress, bundled into a ball. The sharp point of sticks hit your skin. Wet sediment, a mixture of sand and dirt, clings onto you. 

Under the ground, a foreign heartbeat drums. It hammers in a rhythm over your spine, bottom, shoulders, and soles. It is a mimic of the heart resting in your chest, syncing with nature in some incomprehensible way just like black dahlia managed to breathe. Chary thoughts dissolve from your head when Jade moves down to press a kiss to the sigil. 

You manage to wrestle the shirt off Jade, using it as a rope to pull him, meeting in a kiss of tongue and teeth. Let go of your inhibitions, the forest beckons. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. You float with the floating pine-cones as Jade presses himself against you. 

“God,” you moan, breaking away from the kiss.

“Come now, you know my name.” Jade teases. He works himself out of his pants, patient in his motions. “Can’t you say it?” The head of his penis kisses the wet spot of your panties. His grin is so familiar like you've seen it somewhere else before .

“Jade.”

That is all it takes, panties torn by claws. A dozen frenzied thoughts crash into your mind when he pushes himself into you. You cling feebly to him like a caterpillar to a leaf. He thrusts in, starting slow and then fortissimo-ing the act. The sound increases, skin on skin, along with the speed, inch by deeper inch. It feels like your insides are being ripped out of you. I think I’m dying is your most prominent thought. Then, you cum, singing in moans. 

It is, in all senses of sensations, la petite mort. 

“Aaah — mmmmph my God aah!”

You push your hands against the trunk of a tree. On trembling, fawn legs, you stand with arms outstretched in a tight caress of the pine. Behind you, down the long arch of your spine, Jade presses kiss to each golf-ball indent of bone. Heat spreads like a virus to your shoulders, smoldering, as you feel his length lightly trace down the curvature of your bottom. 

Butterflying eyelashes glance up at pine. Your head feels heavy like a whirlpool heat courses through it, scarlet and yellow. Salvia holds itself heavy in your mouth; stimulation – if pushed any further – will have you drooling from your blissed out state. Even disoriented, you recognize nature and the creatures it keeps. 

Jade stills when he sees you moving your right hand off the tree. There is something on the tip of your finger. “Keep your hands there. You will need to keep yourself balanced.” He kisses your last vertebrae, eyes glowing, as you ignore his words. 

“Cen-Centipede,” you manage to say, breathing heavily. 

You hold out your finger to him. On your index, the orange legs of the arthropod flow like oil down your knuckles. With deep fondness, you watch it move. The same fondness is found in Jade’s eyes. He stills you look strangely beautiful: two leaves threaded in your hair, the streaks of dirt that birthed themselves on you when Jade plowed into you, and admiring a centipede in the middle of your third sex position change. 

“Yes. I see.” 

Jade says, resting his chin on your shoulder. Leaning over you, his length makes a pointed reminder of existing when the warmed blood of it hits and throbs on the center of your ass. “Pretty thing, isn’t it?” You nod before moving your arm down, letting it crawl off into the ground. Over your shoulder, you drag Jade back into another kiss. “Earthy and sweet,” he says, feasting on a taste he will have the pleasure of knowing for eternity. 

Around you, the forest sings happily. Surrendering to that wonderful melody of nature, you put your hands back to the pine, using them to keep yourself upright. A slug of drool falls off your bottom lip as a soundless gasp exits you. You and Jade met; he presses himself into your cunt, two harvests of cum soaping and sucking him in easily.

The taste of you is entirely sweet like a honeycomb. The sensation of him is hallucinogenic like psilocybin. Earthy and sweet. 

“S-Ssso deep.”

Your left leg twitches when Jade starts to move, experimenting with his speed. He was insatiable the first two rounds; he thinks he will test that beekeeping patience of yours. Yet, at only the first thrusts, Jade finds it a futile effort. 

Your hand twitches on the pine at a foreign sensation. Where Jade’s hands rest on your hips, there is a difference in texture. There is silk between his fingers like some type of webbing. You startle at the odd sensation. Going to look behind you, you ask breathless, “Jade?”

“Cl – ugh – Close your eyes. Listen to … fuck … Listen to the forest.”

The thought of that strange texture of his hands is punched out when he finds a finger to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Fucked dumbed and drolling, you manage a “Fuck Jade!” before all your vocabulary burns itself from your brain.

“You have kept me up for the past week … (Na-Name) – uuk! –” Skin slaps in a thundering clap. Subconsciously, you tighten and moan. Summoning his breath, Jade leans in towards your ears, “I hope you can judge my next words fairly: I won’t stop until dawn. It will be a sleepless night for us.” 

The night fills itself with the song of your moans. 

“Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.”

Like a bisque doll, you are washed by the village nuns. Two flank you on each side, one designated for your arm and the other for your leg. Assiduous, they move soapy towels down the length of your spidery limbs. Bisque dolls are beings without autonomy. You certainly do feel quite similar, disjointly watching a foreign hand lift your arm, twisting and rubbing soap on each finger with care. 

Joints and skin do not belong to you anymore. A sterile hand lifts your left leg higher. Heart, not your possession. 

Split into fourths like a filet, you try to remember who said those words: “Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” As you are being stewed and cooked into a gallimaufry, you find that the past is not what you think about.

You are thinking about the cloudless skies outside. You are thinking about what it will be like under real warmth, not the warmth of bath water. You are thinking about whether tomorrow it will rain or remain sunny. 

“Is something wrong, One?”

The image of skies dissolves in your mind. You blink in surprise. Head off in the cloud, you do not know which of the four nuns spoke. Between all the pallid moon faces cloaked in black, you choose to look at the one cleansing your left arm. You two met curious eyes.

“Your face was scrunching up. I was wondering if you were feeling any discomfort, One.” Your right arm talks to you. 

“I’m quite alright. Thank you.”

Your left leg chimes in, soapy brine slathered on it. “If you feel any sort of stress, please let us know.”

Now that silence has been broken, your right leg says, “I cannot imagine being stressed on such a wonderful day. Ah, I’m so terribly envious.”

“I am quite at peace on this holy day,” you smile as to appease the fear all your limbs display. Moon faces hum their agreement, tranquility only broken when you say softly, “but –”.  You gaze at the bathhouse’s windows, glass blocking off where nature carols. “How much longer? I long to be outside.”

You glare at the shoes on your feet. 

Flanking both your sides, the congregation sits in the village’s woodsmith-made chairs. Beyond you, the stone slab lies; behind you, the statue of your God. Yet, what is most vexingly is in front of you: the sight of shoes on your feet.

Each birthday, you were dressed in the ceremony clothes and made to practice. Each birthday, you gave no fuss over the attire. Letting them dress the bisque doll, you resigned to putting on the empire dress with the square cut to display your iron branding on your stomach. Down to the fiber of your being, now, you wish you could take off the blasted shoes. 

Your pointless glaring only stops when a voice approaches, asking, “Did I ever tell you about your grandfather?” You turn to the Reverend with a smile. The ceremony is commencing. 

With a soft voice, you answer. “Not often enough.”

The Reverend always walks the sacrifice down the aisle. You suppose this might be a bit more sentimental, considering who you are to him, which is why he talks to you. Gently, you two find yourself joined at the bend of your elbow. 

“He was a religious man. Devoted in a way the others around him were not.

“He would go out in forests people were too scared to venture into. The villagers would find him, sketching things they could not see in nature. It frightened and delighted them too, his sketches. He would polish that very statue like each day it would bring him luck. Each day before he went out in the forests, that was his routine. 

“When he died … he died saying it was all for vain.” Your lips press together tightly. “A man so devoted and so close to God, shaming it. It was perhaps the worst day of his sons and daughters lives. On his deathbed, he brought upon such … shame to his family. Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” 

Ah, that is where you heard it. You remember finally, you had heard it in the future which is now the present. That was why you could not remember the speaker because he had not spoken those words yet. You did not think you would find the future in the entheogens; how curious. 

You two start towards the stone slab. As nobody's buttercup, you keep your eyes straight and refuse to yield towards distractions. Devote unlike your grandfather. Devote unlike your unsourced father who knocked up your mother exactly twenty years and nine months ago.

“I tell you this because I am incredibly proud of you. I have witnessed such growth from you. Piety flows in your bones as if God has smiled upon you Himself. My child –”

You look towards the Reverend, curious. 

“You have been good.”

Nature stirs. At least, this time, the queen bee in my honeycombs is healthy. I leave behind something good.

When you reach the sacrificial table, you part like droplets rolling off a leaf in opposite directions. You press your hands on the omphalos, kneeling down and bowing your head. Eyes closed, you listen to the words you have heard since your tenth birthday. 

You cannot help it – your mind wanders back to the past. Not searching for the merit of life, simply remembering how you became the Chosen One. A decade ago … such a long yet short time, such a juxtaposition. 

The ritual involves the ocean. The ocean in which that faithful stream bleeds into. Every twenty or so years, just after the sacrifice predating them dies, everyone below the age of ten is made to stay underwater. The one who remains the longest is regarded as the Chosen One. Time slipped from your fingers like sand, underwater. A minute is an hour, an hour is a minute. 

When you walked out of the ocean, your mother ran to embrace and to collapse to the ground crying. You had been underwater for a full twenty-four. The villagers thought you got swept up a riptide and died like some three year olds and two year olds of the past. Blue-lipped and shivering, you told them you thought you were the first one out. 

There is no way you should have survived and felt as fine as you did. 

Since then, nature talks to you like a baby conversing with an adult. You can make some syllables, understand the babbles that make up baba mean dada, and read the unconcealed emotions clearly. Now, it sings along with the Reverend, soft and gentle … somniferous almost.

You know you shouldn’t but –

You glance, barely moving your head, at Jade. He is staring right at you. His eyes are different, tiger eyes of flaming black and flaming gold. Somniferous eyes stare at your soul. Promptly, you pass out.

You wake up. 

Your feet are encrusted with dirt. A multitude of trees enter your eyesight and the sound of a running stream worms into your ears. You are standing by the river where you washed clothes as a young teenager; the place where you and Jade had sex seven days ago; the place where you broke God’s trust. 

Yet, no fear is present. Chest unusually light, you stare at the familiar pattern of trees dotted across the opposing side of the river. To your limited knowledge, this is you facing divine judgment. Retribution must be collected for your only sin. 

You can accept that. 

Curious eyes fall across the wilderness as your vision clears. You can not really tell what song nature is singing; there is a disconnect between you and the world. Blocked from the majority besides a single instrument: buzzing. You hear the harmony of humble bees buzzing, which you search for the source of. When you find it, a gasp breaks apart your lips.

Spread across the planes of your two arms are a thousand octagonal holes. Skin drenched in a mixture of golden honey and scarlet blood, the only breakage is pitch black, tiny honeycomb structures dug in your flesh. The concave pits freckle the entirety of both arms. 

From the inner elbow and wrist of your left arm, two bees emerge from two separate holes. From the radius of your right arm, another bee. The rest of the colony is inside your skin, tickling your nausea. 

That is not all that summons that high-pitched gasp. Clenched in the Swiss cheese flesh of your hands is a knife covered in blood. 

You watch as the once cement knife starts to vibrate back and forth the longer you stare at it. Whole body shivers rape your bones and the shining red knife trembles with the movement.

For reasons unknown, your parted lips spill out one last rhythmic note, “J-Jade?” The world goes black.

You wake up. 

Black, directionless water swallows you. There is no end or no beginning, so you float in the abdomen of the universal ocean, body tilted and head heavy. No calamity stirs your buoyant bones. Quite peaceful, you exist like a free-roaming satellite, untethered and left to bounce alone in directionless galaxies. No light, pitch black.

This is what you have always wanted from death. No God paradise, just a nebulous space to drift. This is the ideal death. Body propelled and caressed by unsourced waves that rock you peacefully to infinite sleep. No stars, pitch black.

It stops being peaceful when you need to take a breath. Water instead of air travels in. You have no mouth or nose. Body manipulated, water goes in the waiting nostrils of the seven pairs of holes in your abdomen and the three pairs of holes in your thorax. And, suddenly, that tranquil black gains a blinding hue of pain. 

Depressing, the water does not float around you but pushes onto you. It clings like you are a magnet. The tiny caves in your thorax and abdomen flicker with agony, gathering more water. It clings to you like spandex. You throw an arm and leg into the atmosphere, and the absence of everything (beginning and end) is no longer a comfort. It clings like a leech, suctioning itself to you and filling the spiracles. 

Mouthless, your heart throws out an unheard scream. The world goes blinding gold. 

You wake up. 

The first texture you feel is the cold granite on your cheek. It is a welcome balm until the granite grinds painfully on your pelvic bone and the skin of your breasts. Disorientate, you push yourself away from the surface. The granite rumbles under your hands … no, the granite is soundless but there is a rumbling. Still sitting on the ceremony’s sacrificial slab, you open your eyes. 

The village is on fire. There is no building left intact. Flames rumble and tremble, fueling their physical form with all that a house has to offer. Red and gold climb upon the outer walls and black climbs out from the pumpkin innards of each house. 

Snip-snap-woosh-woosh. The conflagration’s volume drowns out any and all sounds of nature. Beyond the roar of fire, you hear absolutely nothing. 

Irrational, you turn your head in the direction of where you know the bee colonies are. You cannot see them through the thick plumes of smoke, separated from you by several burning buildings. You knew you would not be able to see them; why even look in their direction? Regardless, you squint even more to try to catch a glimpse. 

If the queen moves, they would too. Survival instinct would make them take flight, right?

On the verge of tears, you start to squirm on the slab, taking your hand behind yourself and moving it by your thighs, angling your body so you can lean closer and squint at the flaming barricade, one of your legs slides off the slab, perhaps there is time –

“(Name).”

You look behind and down at Jade Leech. He rests with his arms folded on the slab, knees in the dirt. On his index is the queen bee, walking around and around in circles on his nail. 

Your heart falls in despair. “She’s sick … She has a parasite.” Even when vocalizing the issue, you do not want to accept your own words.

“She does; she has had it for a while.”

“Is there anything I can do for her?”

“I’m afraid not. Soon the egg in her stomach will hatch. And the pupae will break out of her throat and head. It is truly odd. Usually, when bees have parasites like these, the bees throw them out of the hive. They kept her though. Even when there was something glaringly wrong with her.”

“Because she’s the queen.”

“Precisely.”

You and Jade watch on in a moment of silence. The queen rotates on twitching legs. Zombie-like, her tiny legs will give out momentarily and she tilts on the perch of Jade’s finger before getting back up again relentlessly. Circle turning into an octagon as she stutters in her steps. 

Your hand drags across your face, flustered. The single, heavy as an anvil tear spreads thinly on your cheek. You blink the rest away.

Jade glances up from the parasite-raped bee. “Are you afraid?”

“No … I’m sad.”

Jade considers that. Mourning is a human process when death happens; mourning is like kintsugi to the heart, repairing it layer by layer. In the face of death, one sheds a predictable tear. The queen bee twitches, losing her strength. Jade mourns that he might never see true fright on your face, like missing a piece in a chocolate heart-shaped box. 

He falls out of his pondering when you gently press your finger to him. Under the light of dozens of suns, gold and red flickering over, you are ethereal. His eyes fall helplessly to his sigil. He allows you to move him at your heavenly will. 

“What happened to the ceremony,” you ask, taking the queen from him. You cup her like she is the tiniest pearl or the fragilest shard of sea glass. “Do we still have time to complete it?”

You do not receive a verbal answer. Instead, Jade gently pinches your chin in his hand, pulling your focus away from the insect. A warm smile settles on his face, olive-brown eyes soft with admiration. Then, grip steady on your mandible, he turns your focus to the open field, on the opposing side of the burning buildings. 

When his hand falls away, your mouth falls open with the loss of stability. 

The attending nuns and villagers are dead. A deep cavern is cut like a mouth across their throats, blooming a million liquid roses that stain their white garments. In their chairs, their heads are tilted back to display the rings of muscles in their body. Dead eyes face up the heavens, ignorant of their God who is venturing on land and swimming in the oceans of Earth. 

The Reverend though – he lies in the middle of the walkway. He is headless, body supine and incomplete at the shoulders. All that remains of an indication he had a head is red splattered upon the grass. This butchery is inevitable. A priest of your religion is not allowed to impregnate women, under your God’s vow of celibacy. 

“Oh.”

Is this punishment? Life snuffed out from your devoted village, leaving you and Jade who had broken the rules. You look down at your dying companion; she is halfway through a rotation, legs trembling on a trembling hand. Nature feels disconnected from you and yet, simultaneously, you feel like nature nestles herself in you. 

“Oh, look at you. All alone.” Jade purrs, almost singing. 

“I – I’m assuming you did this. Or God did this.”

“You are correct on both parts.”

“Do not toy with your words, Jade.”

“I'm as serious as death. Here, let me show you.”

Raising his hands, Jade presses palms to mouth. As he tilts his head back as far as possible, he follows along with his hands, running them up and over. Upturned olive-brown eyes quell with the pressure. Cropped black hair trembles with the motion. And when his hands finally return to the granite slab, Jade stares at you with a new right eye that shines a honey gold. His hair is considerably different.

Different, not unfamiliar. Far from unfamiliar. You have seen that style of teal hair with a single black strand since birth. In paintings on your mother’s nightstand, in books shelved away in the school, and carved into a towering stone effigy.

You think you have always known, looking so intently into nature thus looking so intently into Jade as well.

The queen bee on your finger grinds to a halt and dies. Crushing down in enclosing fists, the ceremony narrows; all the world is lost to you besides God’s/Jade’s voice. Nature beckons. He beckons. The fists you make are a comforting caress. 

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Never.”

“Prove it to me.”

“How?”

“Sing for me.”

Swallowing thick saliva, your chest puffs with air peppered with ash. You two stare at each other. Then … you sing. 

Tongue volatile, you sing. It is not a melody that follows along with the rhythm of a river or the instrumental of an insect. You sing out your heart, sending it out on delicate honey bee wings. 

#jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland

[bangtangalicious]

bts smut recs | needy!jungkook

there is something about when our lovely jeon jungkook is portrayed to be a hormone crazy, super needy, greedy, whiny character that is so fucking hot. tmw readers. i know you’ll love these. the hyper-horniness and blatant hunger for sex is so sexy. these are all jungkook x reader 18+ SMUT recs based on this theme. more to be added as i find them!!! 

🔺 = yandere/taboo themes *ALL ARE SMUT

MILF (series) by @koosbabygrl | 🔺 ive read this so many times. like. SO MANY TIMES. this is PEAK needy!koo energy. its so fucking hot i cant even put it into words. theres this mommy kink moment and i CANT get over it holy shittttttttt. also the sequels are GREAT, in part 2 when he has her riding his cock while she does her makeup oh my fucking godDDDDDDD. amazing.

this specific needy!koo drabble by @voidswan | 🔺 i know its not a full fic but its literally so hot i cry. bunny!koo just wants to fuck so bad poor thing I DONT KNOW WHY IM JUST OBSESSED OK the stuttering gets me every fucking time. screams. 

clean up by @lonelyhobi & @scribblemetae | he’s drunk and he feels so guilty abt it but he cant help himself!! god its FEVERISHLY good. he’s all whiny and crying and he needs u so bad and the way its described is so fucking hot. the dirty talk is inSANE. dry humping. fuck. amazing amazing.

thunderstorms are scary by @lonelyhobi & @scribblemetae | same couple, but this innocent needy kook is just scared and comes to sleep w noona and then ends up groping you and poor kookie just cat stop bc you feel so good. he ruts into ur ass and whines and ugh. brilliantttttt. honestly recommend this whole masterlist of step-bro fics from them its amazing. theres also a fun loss-of-innocent taehyung one :))))

training wheels by @fithehunnybee | theres a twinge of like sneaky manipulation in this one which i love. y/n kinda a bitch but she drives poor lil koo up the mf WALL. we have some cumming in pants action which i know you all LOVE hehehehe. also i love that it builds the tension so well with koo getting so desperate and y/n teasing..poor lil bunny

the dark prince (series) by @jkeuphoriadreamland | 🔺 LISTEN. first of all, read all their works bc, chefs kiss, but focusing on the needy koo in this, he DEVELOPS mmkay, he starts off all innocent but once he has a taste oh boy does he know what he wants (its you, btw *wink). poor boy cant see at first but he cant fucking help himself your touch drives him insane. how can you resist? the slow burn. the build up. the teasing. IMMACULATE. 

thank you, baby (series) by @scribblemetae | 🔺 im gonna clickbait you ALL into reading this. its twisted in the best way. a few personal highlights for me are when y/n is wearing the VR goggles and jungkook is like yeah imma just slide my cock in real quick lmfaooo its really hot though. the sort of unraveling of the reader adds to the desperation and neediness of both of their sexual actions. its fanfuckingtastic. each part has a good dose of things we all crave: begging, whining goodness

born sinner (series) by @1kook | OUR GOOD LIL CATHOLIC BOY IS UP TO NO GOOD and its got so much of his POV and the GUILT is so well portrayed and makes the whole thing seem more taboo/intense and its just fantastic mmm. 

forbidden by @googikoo | 🔺 again, i read this more times than i can admit. its not so much loss of innocence and more like straight up NEEDY but essentially sneaky devious lil koo is dating your daughter but, obvi, he wants you ;) 

teeth by @sweetbunnykook | ITS LIGHT SMUT BUT ITS JUST REALLY HOT LIKE I CANT EXPLAIN IT JUST READ IT ITS HOT

and not to be entirely self-serving but in case you want more..i too have dabbled in this genre ;)

touch me wherever

tickle me there 

touch yourself here 

wanna touch you 

soaked n’ slippery

ALWAYS LOOKING FOR MORE!! if you know of any other fics that fit this niche please feel free to lmk!! im always looking for new reads :) this one is for my TMW readers. i know what you like hehehehe ;)

#bts smut #bts smut recs #jungkook recs #needy!jungkook #jungkook fic recs #bangtangalicious recs #yandere bts recs #jungkook smut recs #bts smut rec #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #bts yandere #yandere jungkook #bts fics #jeon jungkook smut

[giggly-squiggily]

Todobaku with I’m yours and love bug for the candy hearts please!!

{Candy Heart Prompts: OFFICIALLY CLOSED!}

AHH THE BOYS! :D I haven't written for Todobaku in forever- this was so fun! I hope you like it, anon!

I'm Yours: "You like being tickled, don't you?" + Love Bug: "What's so funny?"

“Pfft-”

Bakugou blinked, turning to look at his boyfriend as Todoroki turned away. “What?”

“Nothing.” He choked out, shoulders shaking.

“Not nothing! What’s so funny?” Bakugou poked at him, narrowing his eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

“N-No! Not at yo-ohohu.” The half-and-half hero jerked at the feeling, giggling more as Bakugou twisted his finger against his ribs. “Stahhap!”

“Why? You like being tickled, don’t you?” Bakugou added another finger, rapidly poking at the spot as Todoroki giggled and attempted to curl up. “Come on- tell me! What’s funny?”

“I tohoohohld you, it was nohohohthing- gah!” Falling back into the bed, Todoroki tried and failed to grab his boyfriend’s hands as they latched onto his torso, thumbs drilling into the sides of his stomach while the rest of his fingers scritched along his waist. “Kahahahhatsuhuuhuki gehahahahhahhaha!”

“Tell me! I’m not gonna stop tickling you until you do!” Bakugou growled, climbing on top of him as he worked his fingers up and down the other’s ribs, snickering at the snorts and squeaks coming from him. “Share the joke!”

“Yohohoohu wohoohohuldn’t gehehhet it!”

“I bet I would.”

“Nohooohoho, iihihihihit’ll go ohoohoohver yoohooohohur heheahhahad!”

“Oi, are you calling me dumb?”

“Nohohoho- noohohohot thihihis tih-EHEHHHEHHE!” Todoroki arched with a shriek when Bakugou switched spots, reaching back and squeezing his thighs. “KAHAHHHATSUUUHUKI!”

“‘Not this time’- you’re a dead man!” Bakugou let out an evil laugh as he continued squeezing the life out of Todorki’s legs, watching his boyfriend flail and thrash through hysterical laughter. “Gonna tell me?”

“YEHHEHEHES!”

“For real?”

“YEHEHEHS I WIIHIIHHLL!”

“...Do you love me?”

“KAHAHAHTSUHUUHHKI!” Todoroki cried, slapping the mattress rapidly in a time-out motion. The tickles finally came to an end, leaving him breathless and giggly. “Meehehehan!”

“Yeah yeah. Tell me!” Bakugou insisted on his earlier deal, watching Todoroki run a hand through his hair. With a nod, he pulled out his phone, going to his photos.

“Hehere…” Todoroki showed him. Bakugou looked at it…and stared. On the screen was a manga panel, a man in a boar mask hanging off the roof.

“What…?”

“I told you you wouldn't get it!”

“Is that a Demon thingy?”

“Demon Slayer, yes. It’s Inosuke.”

“...Dork.” Bakugou grinned, leaning back when Todoroki found the energy to sit up, glaring. “Hehe, I guess you were rig-Eehhehheheehahha shihiihihiht!”

“What’s wrong? What’s so funny, Katsuki?” Todoroki cooed at him, throwing his words back in his face as he drilled into his upper ribs. “Come on, tell me!”

#Candy Heart Valentine Event #chve2k24 #tickle #tickle dabble #mha/bnha #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #todobaku #fluff

[nikkisheep]

Midnight (I love yous)

Dean Winchester x reader

warnings: fluff, short dabble, tickling

Summary: While cuddling, Dean tells you he loves you.

The movie was playing but you were almost asleep anyways. That was when you heard the quiet and soft whisper fall from Dean's lips.

"I love you," He said, thinking you were asleep.

''I love you too."

"Wha-?"

"I love you too," You moved closer into his chest and looked into his eyes.

"I thought you were asleep," He laughed.

"I was almost because you are just so comfortable," You poke his side and he flinches with a laugh.

"Don't start a game you can't finish," He warned.

"Mr. Winchester, what would you do?"

Dean's hands grabbed at your sides, tickling you to the point you were crying.

"De-Dean," You gasped out, trying to catch your breath.

"Are you going to be good?" He asked.

You pretended to think about his question.

"No!" You roll of the bed when trying to escape his fingers digging into your ticklish spots on your body.

"Oh, sweetheart, you aren't going anywhere." He gets off the bed to tickle you some more.

"I love you," You rush so he might have mercy.

"Baby, I love you too but that ain't saving you this time."

The two of you fall asleep on the floor because of exhaustion when the two of you gave up on tickling each other until you peed your pants. Thankfully, you had not. Dean kissed your forehead when he woke up and placed you back in bed with him before dozing off to sleep again with you in his arms.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester dabble #dean winchester x reader fluff #spn #supernatural #supernatural x reader #spn fluff #supernatural fluff

[sunstone-smiles]

May I request ‘cuddles’ For Maxie and Archie? :3 ❤️💙

Hello anon! Yes you may! I hope you enjoy Day 6 of Tickletober: Cuddles!

TV Night Cuddles

Series: Pokemon

Characters: Maxie and Archie

Words: 540

Summary: While watching TV, Archie cuddles with his husband Maxie, but the situation soon takes a playful turn thanks to Archie’s antics. Enjoy!

—

The glow of the television fills the dim living room while Maxie and Archie sit on the couch and watch the screen. The reality competition show they enjoy plays out as contestants race around the Hoenn region, completing challenges and obstacles they find within each city. Although the program is fast paced, it allows Archie and Maxie to relax with one another as they wind down for the day.

Archie has his arms wrapped around Maxie in a hug, while Maxie leans into the warm embrace of his husband, almost as if he was using him like a back rest. The redhead’s legs are also bent in front of his chest, providing a more comfy position for Maxie while he sits on the couch.

As the show continues, Archie leans his head down and rests it on Maxie’s shoulder. With his eyes still on the screen, he affectionately rubs his face near Maxie’s neck, wanting to feel even closer to his husband.

The redhead lets out a soft huff of laughter and scrunches his shoulders up. “Archie,” Maxie says with a lingering giggle, “Careful, you're tickling me.”

The bigger man pulls his face back and looks down at his husband. “I am? Sorry, I didn’t realize. I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you,” Maxie returns his gaze to the television screen and comfortably leans back into Archie. But as his husband's words process in his mind, Maxie realizes that Archie’s response was not like him at all. He tries to ignore it and continue watching the show, but his assumption turns out to be correct when, moments later, Archie is at it again near his neck, this time purposely rubbing his beard across Maxie’s skin with affectionate cuddles, even more so than he was doing before. 

“Hehehe! Archie!” Maxie squeezes his neck tighter to his shoulders to avoid the tickly feeling and tries to pull away from his husband's hug, only to realize that Archie has tightened his hold on him to prevent the redhead from escaping.

“Hm? What’s the matter Maxie?” Archie innocently says as he moves one of his hands down to start lightly tickling Maxie’s belly on top of the tickly nuzzles on his neck. Maxie lets out an adorable squeak upon feeling Archie’s fingers wiggle into his tummy and continues trying to pull himself away from his husband’s playful cuddles.

“I shohohould have knohohown!” Maxie admits as more lighthearted giggles pour out of him.

Archie lets out a warm chuckle of his own into Maxie’s neck, enjoying the sound of his husband's adorable laughter. “Yes, you should have,” Archie teases as he rubs his face into the back of Maxie’s neck.  

“Wehehe are mihihihissing the shohohow!” Maxie tries to scold his husband and gently twist his head to the side to defend himself.

“Eh, we can always rewind it.”

“Ahaharchie!” the redhead says with a bit more authority.

The bigger man lets out another chuckle, “Alright. I hear you.” He moves his face away and stops scribbling into the redhead’s belly to allow his husband to relax. Once Maxie recovers, he shifts himself back into his comfortable position beside Archie and they continue watching their show, luckily not missing much after that little detour of tickly cuddles.

#Dabbles from Sunstone #augtickletober2022 #tickletober2022 #tickletober #pokemon #pokemon ruby and sapphire #pokemon maxie #pokemon archie #hardenshipping #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon fanfic #sfw fanfiction #sfw fanfic #sfw tickle fic #tickle fic

[moonlight-rider25]

Sorry, James Fraser...

Just a quick little lusty through of Jamie. Rated X; angry sex, orgasm denial, dabble of domination...

Summary  You’ve insulted Jamie in the slightest on the walk home through town.  A simple joke, or so you thought, as you both were poking fun at each other.  But taking an insult to Jamies name, one step too far has you in hot water…

“Jamie! I’m sorry!” You giggle through your gasps.

“Ay, like hell you are…” He replies, locking his hand up against your scalp with a fistful of hair.  “...But ye will be..”

Jamie leans his body up against yours; pinned between him and the cold concrete wall.  You swallow back a gleeful grin, as Jamies free hand creeps up under your skirts.  His huge, blunt, warm fingertips grazing against your sensitive soft thigh. You try to push back and free yourself of him, but at no use to his huge toned body. 

“Be a good girl, and take it, aye, for once?” 

You chuckle a bit in your throat, biting back your lip and giving into his hand creeping around the front of your thigh between your legs. His warm breath tickles the back of your neck as he pants against you, holding you still.  You await his touch eagerly, when finally the warm spark of his touch reaches your center. You jump a bit against him and hear him chuckle in his throat against you, edging him on. His fingers circle slowly around your sensitive bud as he leans in against you. You feel him breathing heavily, as you suck in a deep breath of your own before allowing a long moan to escape you. 

Jamie grips your handful of hair tighter and snaps your head back a bit as you suck in a sharp breath. 

“Jamie!” You pant against the brick wall. 

His fingers circle faster around your swollen core, as he presses up against you harder.  You hear him moan as he takes hold of your neck with his mouth, sucking in your soft skin, as his fingers trace elegant designs between your legs. You gasp loudly, your hands searching for him to clutch.

“We’ve only just begun…don’t you dare think about finishing on me already.” Jamie mutters breathessley against your neck.

You squint your eyes shut and try desperately to tear yourself from his grip. He only leans harder against you, while his huge fingers begin to dip in between your quaking folds.

You gasp against the hard cold wall as you feel him plunge his fingers within you, his thumb still circling around your pulsating bud with your slickness. As his fingers plunge in and out against the growing pleasure within you, his mouth meets your neck again sending shivers down your spine. 

His hand releases your hair and wraps around the front of your throat, gently clutching and making you gasp harder for air. 

“Jamie!” You moan, feeling your body beginning to tingle with the pleasure building up inside ready to explode. 

“Not yet..” He huffs, his hand working your core like never before. 

“...Not till I say!” He grunts against you. 

You try to suppress the pleasure as much as you can.

“I can’t Jamie!” You cry between breaths.

“No!?” he groans. “I thought you were sorry?!” He curses through breaths, “Aye! Show me, how sorry…you really are…” He instructs you through gritted teeth.

You groan helpless beneath him trying to hold back from spilling over as he plunges in and out of your core. Your body tingles with pleasure and your stomach twists into a chuning mess, far ready to come undone within his arms. You swallow hard, his hand clutched against your throat as you do and grind your back against him.  Your hands gripped as tight as possible while being grated against the hard brick wall. You bite back your groans trying to keep yourself from cuming, when you finally feel him release you and your eyes spark open. Jamie whips you around pinning you back against the wall; your legs trembling uncontrollably as he does. 

You look down towards the belt of his pants before his giant hand clasps your throat again and makes your eyes meet his. 

Your body; still tingling as he clutches your jaw and stares madly down into your eyes. Your chest heaves, your breasts spilling over the plunging neckline of your dress as he softly meets your lips with his. You groan against him and suck his tongue eagerly into your mouth, relishing in his musky sweet flavor of lust and vengeance. You slowly allow your hands to trace around the waist of his pants, trying to unbutton the entrance of them. He groans into you as he sucks your flavor into his mouth, cupping your chin in his huge hand and eagerly caresses your breast from its neckline. His blunt calloused fingertips revel over your sensitive nipple and send your body into chills. His buttons; one by one begin to free him, bursting at the last moment eagerly till finally the last one. 

Jamie's hands release you and gather your skirts up around your waist. He effortlessly plucks you up from the ground and traps you again between himself and the wall behind you, you wrap your arms around his huge broad neck, watching as his gleaming chests puffs up and down as he stares madly up into your eyes. You try your best to bite back your giggle as he slams against you, sending your body into the brick wall and your center expands around him deep seated inside you. 

Jamie grunts through a wicked smile as he watches your eyes flutter open and closed, sending himself impossibly deep inside you, as your body forms around him in his arms. Your core begins to quiver again, as he slams you repeatedly and steadily. Your body growing limp as the sensations spiral up through your skin, Jamie holds you steady and sends himself into the spot inside that makes your stomach twist with pleasure. 

“Jamie!” you pant as your climax grows near again. 

He holds you steady and continues bucking into your sweet tender spot, deep inside you.

“Are you sorry?” He mutters against your mouth. “For being a bad little woman, soiling my name?” He huffs through kisses.

“I am! I swear I am. You moan against him.

“Say it!” He demands, thrusting in against you.

“I'm sorry!” you grumble through him.

“Say it again!”

“I’m Sorry!” You repeat a bit louder.

“Say it like you mean it, woman!” Jamie demands, grinding perfectly in and out of you.

“I’m sorry Jamie!” You moan out.

“Say it again!”

Your stomach twists and swirls as he makes your climax boil in your core.

“I’m sorry Jamie!” you squeal while your core quivers with each of his thrusts.

“Jamie, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Jamie! Ahhh Jamie, right there!” You moan out before he finally captures your mouth and silences you. 

You feel him slow and the rush of heat within your stomach as you convulse in his arms while your high spills throughout your body. Jamie keeps himself buried deep within you, giving a few last thrusts sending jolts through your body as you heave from breathlessness in his arms. He pants against you, capturing your mouth and holds your face gently as he sets you down and finally pulls himself out of you. You wrap your arms around his huge broad neck and steady yourself while still trying to catch your breath.  He meets your eye and grins a playful smirk at you.

“Sorry James Fraser..” You tell him coyly through your own grin.

‘Ey, I know.” he replies before kissing you again. “But don't do that again..” He warns with a wink.

You smile up at him biting back your lip. “Well… not till we get home at least!” You tell him before running off ahead of him with a playful giggle filling the air echoing around you and Jamie, off the tall brick walls.

#james fraser #jamie fraser smut #outlander x reader #outlander jamie x reader #outlander jamie fraser #outlander smut #jamie fraser outlander #jamie fraser #outlander #jamie x reader #jamie x reader smut #jamie outlander #jamie smut #reader x jamie #outlander fanfic #outlander imagine #jamie imagine #james fraser imagine #jamie fraser imagaine

[thursdayisfriday]

🇷​​🇴​​🇺​​🇬​​🇭​ ​🇩​​🇦​​🇾​​🇸​ (1) ⋆˚✿˖°

⤑ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Pro hero! Husband! Izuku midoriya x Spouse! GN! Reader

⤑ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: (None) Fluff (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

⤑ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Midoriya comes back from work after a rough day (Short dabble)

Humming to a song silently to yourself, you finished up sweeping the cold floor of the kitchen. The warm air smelt like rain and apple cider, but that was only the work of the candle you got from the bath and body. The house was somewhat quiet, though the loud streets of Musutafu crept in. You had already set up the table the way you always did, every night he’s come back late from his job. The job that made you worry all the time. Pausing your movements, you hear the front door open and keys jingle. Heavy footsteps entered the house, Smiling to yourself you made your way to the front door. But your smile soon faded. A gasp escaped your mouth. You watched as Midoriya walked in tiredly. His face had a couple of scrapes on it, nothing major though. His hero suit had a few big cuts in it, hiding a few cuts. He was hunched over taking off his shoe when you walked up to him, but he didn’t really say anything yet. His jacket threatened to fall off his shoulders. The bag he was hold, had already been discarded to the side. He huffed, standing up fully. “..Hey sunshine..” His rough voice managed to get out with a weak smile. That’s what you love about him. Even when your husband was having a rough day, he always had a smile on his face. “Hey love..what happened?” Getting close to him you cupped his face and gave him a peck on his soft lip. You could already tell he was too tired to get any more words out. He just shook his head and sighed, resting and his hands on your waist and his head on your shoulder. “Rough day, huh?”. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was grinning. “Nothing I can’t handle”. You rubbed his back then tapped him lightly. “How about we go take a shower, get you to..relax a little?”. Izuku hummed, giving your hips one last squeeze before making his way to your shared bedroom. Finally in the bathroom you turn on the pipe and start running the warmish/ Hottish water. You plugged up the bath tube. Knocking on the door, Midoriya waited outside the door patiently. “You can come in you know” you mumbled as you tried to take off your shirt. Izuku walked in and sat on the toilet seat quietly. His towel held tightly around his waist (But it wouldn’t stay there for so long), while he ran his finger through his hair, yawning in the process. He was fixed on you, watching you closely with his tired eyes. Moving from your chest to your stomach to your hip- “You okay?” Your voice broke his concentration making the green- haired man blush. “U-uh.. yea. Yea..um let get in”. He discarded his towel from his waist. Before Midoriya could even get in first you stopped him. “Wait”. You quickly got into the warm water, already warming up to it as it hit your skin. Confused, Izuku follows you in. Usually Izuku would be behind you, but this time you switched it up. Your soft hands crept onto Izuku’s skin, making him hum gently. You massaged his shoulders and kissed the little scars on his back. He let his head fall down and hand massaged your feet, giggling a little when he tickled you. You hummed, enjoying the feeling of his warm body against yours. His fingers tracing imaginary lines on your legs.

“You always know just the right thing to do, sunshine”

I hope you enjoyed (⁠人⁠⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠ﾟ⁠+

#x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #fanfic #mha x reader #anime #anime x you #anime x male reader #my hero academia #izuku midoryia x you #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku mydoria #mha denki #mha deku #deku x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #mha fluff #fluff #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #boku no academia

[nikki-tine]

Pretty hastily slapped together, but here's a comm sheet for those who were wondering about the prices in my pinned post! I'm a little nervous about taking comms from social media again, but I'm open to it as my family needs the money so often now...

More recently, I've taken to working on iPad - this will be a more common thing as the summer months roll around and it becomes too stuffy to stick to my PC for working on art.

Here's what I CAN do, for the moment:

Cute, simple designs - Pokemon and simple (rookie-level or earlier) Digimon are a strong suit of mine, but if you have a wonderfully simple OC I can work with too then it'll do!

Cats. I loooove drawin' cats! If you have a Warriors OC, chances are I can draw em.

Fluffy stuff overall! (As long as it's simple enough, obviously - Fluff is another comfort thing I looove to work with. This means literal fluffy stuff like fuzzy animals/critters, and figurative fluff like cuddles and tickles!)

Sans!! (No seriously, I funkin love drawin' sans. If you got a Sans I can draw, I will happily draw him!)

Here's what I CAN'T do, for the moment, on the other hand:

NSFW art (This is because a) there's minors who follow this blog - I have to keep that stuff away (and keep them safe)! and b) I'm not ready to take NSFW commissions, and probably won't be a for a while.)

Heavy gore and themes (It's a lot to work with, and it's not something I personally dabble in if at all, so the result would NOT be to your liking if I tried more than likely lol)

Intricate Detail (I have my reasons for this! My wrist has been acting up more often in the last few years and so intricate detail is... overwhelming for me, right now, outside of personal work. It's just not a strong suit of mine, as much as I'd love it to be - it's not quite a part of the art style as it is right now.)

Added notes:

- I have the right to decline a commission if it either makes me uncomfortable to work with it or otherwise is overwhelming. That is to say, if one artist can't achieve what you're looking for then usually that's an indicator to hold onto your money for a bit until you find the right person!

I send the paypal link at the halfway point (the sketch, just before lineart) normally - but if you want to pay upfront, then please let me know. (I don't wait until the piece is completely done as a safety measure to ensure the person commissioning me doesn't nab the piece and run lol)

I CANNOT REFUND ONCE THE COMMISSION IS PAID FOR. The money goes STRAIGHT into family-related necessities like bills and groceries, and I absolutely CANNOT afford to return money when we are consistently struggling to even get food for the house, nevermind commissions. (It's also just kinda mean?? :c)

I am on commission burnout - what this means is that my work may take longer than usual to get done, but I hold to my word that I get it done no matter how long it takes. If you need the piece done as priority, then make sure you specify when giving the details for your commission! (I do best, however without a time limit or deadline to work with.)

As of right now, I'm practically (metaphorically) crying for simple designs due to this burnout! I need something I can just fly through to get done so I don't stress myself out further on a queue that's been waiting to be done for a hot second.

#If y'all need to check if my comms are open please remember to check my pinned post first before asking in DMs or asks! #art #nikki-tine #commissions #comm sheet #commission sheet #commission details #chibies #chibi art #digital art #sfw tickling community #sfw tickle community #commission work

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 9 EDITION -- SEX, RELIEF, HYPOCRISY, AND A MEDITATION FOR THE HOES

There's a lot to dig into, so let's git it. This episode was more complicated than it actually seemed on the surface -- THANKS, TOP.

@lurkingshan and @respectthepetty came OUTTA the GATES as soon as yesterday's episode dropped, swinging their chanclas at the hypocrisies that larded this episode. Shan read almost every last one of these motherfuckers for filth in her post, naming Atom (there goes my NeoTitle dreams already) for unfairly shaming Boston; Ray, for clearly cheating on Mew; and Sand, for equivocating Ray to Boston -- all while Boston is actually still clearly communicating his preferences to not date, despite people all around him judging him for the sex he has. RTP Senpai points out that Sand is pissed off at Top for stealing Sand's ex-boyfriend -- but that Sand full well knows that while he's sleeping with Ray, Ray was technically still dating Mew. So -- is Sand stealing Mew's boyfriend from Ray? Why, oh yes he is, and Sand ain't holding himself accountable for it, Big Boba Kanaphan Eyes.

Hypocrisy. It was the name of the game of this episode. Or.... was it? It was actually way more complicated than that.

Atom in particular, just like -- where's my chappal -- but let me get back to him in a sec. As the hypocrisies were starting to click in, I saw something else going on in this episode, an opposite to the hypocrisy. I saw some clear revelations, and a learning and leaning into love through the inexperienced eyes of Mew, as compared to the painfully experienced eyes of Yo.

The episode started with Mew waking up at the hostel, unaware of Top's behaviors after Mew passed out at the Halloween party. (Top, by the way, was just -- CHEF'S KISS -- drippingly condescending, hypocritical, and sneaky this episode. Force just laid it awl out. What a performance. More on this in a bit.) Mew parties with Yo, who is like, the friend we need the MOST in this series, and asks her about whether or not he SHOULD like Ray. And Yo has to remind Mew to check himself before he wrecks himself over any sense of obligation he may have to Ray.

Yo's starting to help Mew's thoughts tickle away from obligation to a reality of his heart. At least -- one reality.

I thought of this scene when we went on the camping trip with Sand and Nick, and we had, I think, the best scene in all of Only Friends so far (cc @wen-kexing-apologist and @lurkingshan who were very, VERY right) -- in Sand and Nick clicking into their moment where they're both single, they both real cute, and why don't we see if something's there? Because that happens among friends, sometimes, and if you don't try, you won't know, right? Especially in a queer friend community that will almost always be smaller than a het community, making love that much harder to find. So you might dibble and dabble with your friends here and there.

And they smooched, and they laughed, and they were like, this doesn't work, and they laughed more, and moved on. And they were just so mad cool about it.

The way that this particular line of engagement ended with two pairs -- with Sand and Nick finding clarity, and Ray and Mew together at the social services office and communicating, to confirm that Ray and Mew just would not work together -- was a kind of relief that I haven't experienced in Only Friends yet. The slight lift I got from seeing these considerations and interactions reminded me of how I felt when the tide of trauma began to turn in Bed Friend, where the second act of that series was just trauma pummel after trauma pummel -- how much more could Uea take, I wondered. As we saw, in this episode of Only Friends, clarity roll through SandNick and RayMew, I felt relieved that there was some closure, somewhere, among some of these individuals who had tried, even ever so briefly, to pair up.

But -- this being Only Friends, heh -- it was not only relief that I felt in this episode, but we also still saw a lot of sticky toxicity and hypocritical judgements.

Atom couldn't just leave Boston ALONE. As ever, Boston has communicated to his hook-up that he's not a dating guy, not a relationship guy. And Atom doesn't take the hint.

I love that at this point in the series, at episode 9, we STILL have people judging one-night stands as "awful." What a stark reminder of the ways in which people use judgements against sex to forever condemn those who choose to engage in casual sex.

After episode 6, I wrote a little about the phenomenon of having "feelings" after sex. Many, many people have a biological urge (or even a socially expectant urge) to care/have feelings for for the person they have slept with, whether they had sex after a one-night stand, a friends-with-benefits arrangement, sex in a relationship, etc. Others, like Boston, don't.

Either of these phenomena are okay and utterly normal -- as long as you're accountable to yourself for your feelings, and not placing on anyone else any obligation to respond to those feelings that are only emanating from you, yourself.

In other words: even if Atom had "feelings" for Boston after sex -- what is Boston's responsibility to respond in kind to those feelings?

Boston had the right answer to Atom here. Boston says to Atom: no one (meaning, me, Boston) asked you to care for me. And I'm not here to hold that caring for you. I don't owe you that, Atom. That's not what's assumed when two people have sex as casually as we did.

Compare this to Nick's farewell monologue to Boston (right before Boston is about to have a hook-up, oh my god, Nick). Nick had a thing to say about his feelings ("I like you, Boston, and I am sorry for everything I did, and I am going to move on from you"), he said his piece, and he moved on.

At first, I was CRINGING at what was happening, because I thought Nick would make an embarrassingly grand and dramaaaaatic farewell, of a kind that I saw many of my drunk girlfriends make to their exes at bars when I was in my 20s, all with an intent of making their exes feel guilty for the break-ups that had previously happened.

But Nick, in that moment, actually owned his feelings, despite the timing of the conversation. And we saw Boston respond, ready to approach Nick -- and Nick had bounced and moved on with Daddy Dan, right then and there.

What a MIRROR of behavior between Atom ("Boston, you owe me") and Nick ("I thought about this, and I'm going to end it, for your happiness and for mine"). While Boston and his reputation still remain as a kind of bottom standard for people who want to feel superior when they compare themselves to him (ex: Top, Ray, Sand), Boston himself is direct about his feelings, or lack thereof, and Nick demonstrated that he himself has moved on from equivocating about a feeling of like/love that at least, he thinks, is not there anymore. (Which, from Boston's eyes -- we know now is not the case, as Boston continues to give hints of regret.)

I gotta tell y'all something. I was a party girl, like this group of friends, in my 20s. And I was heavily judged for being a ho. The terms slut, ho, whore -- were all used to describe my behavior in dripping judgement that I wasn't, instead, seeking safe and Puritanical monogamy. I was having fun with and in sex, and I was very heavily judged for it. Maybe, in part, it was because some of my friends had a harder time finding sex? Perhaps. But because sex is so EASY to judge, based on the majority popular judgements against sex -- isn't it easier to roll with the tide, than to think outside of the box and to not judge someone for having casual sex?

While Boston's ho reputation precedes him -- it is a reputation based on an unfair, almost Puritanical judgement against sex, and against people who have sex. (Once again: hello, Khai.) I give major applause to the hoes in this episode of Only Friends. All while people around them are judging sex, and judging people like Boston for having sex: Boston and Nick are not hiding anything -- they are not trying to equivocate away their actions. Their own timing isn't right. Nick knows he's about to go and hit that with a new dude. But they both have clarity about what's happening inside of them at their given moments, and they've become better about communicating what's happening inside of them over the course of the series. It's yet to be seen if the timing will work out for Boston and Nick -- but they're inching towards a clearer line of openness than we've seen in the past.

So. While awwwwlllll of this is going on: Top continues to try to infuse himself in Mew's life. Man. THIS GUY.

Top? Shut the hell up. Condescending foo. And then showing up to invite yourself to accompany Mew's moms? All while Mew doesn't know that you crossed his boundaries the last episode? And that you recorded Ray smooching Sand? Stooping to the very same tactics that got you, Top, caught? AND YOU CALLED A BOOTY CALL? While trying to win back Mew?

And...... amazingly. For Top, it worked. Or at least, it was working for a second. Mew was reconsidering.

To me -- in my opinion -- Top's behavior seems conniving, sniveling, more about winning than about love. But he also knows that he still has a hook in Mew, and was pulling rapidly on the fishing line.

And Mew... Mew began to follow that fishing line again, showing up to Top's building, and hopping into that elevator, with another person that Top had on his hook. And, good lord, now with Mond (MOND!) in the mix, we're going to have ANOTHER dramatic pile-up next week.

God, for me, while there were these notes of relief in this episode, these moments of clarity among people like Sand, Nick, and Boston, I just, like, wanted to tear MY HAIR OUT when I saw Mew and Boeing both approach Top's door at the same time. What the fuck will happen next.

And while Top will try to convince Mew to stay with him, surely, in episode 10 -- Top will also continue to judge Boston to Mew, I am sure. Top will judge Ray. Top will try to "heal" and "protect" and "take care" of Mew.

Top, leveraging judgement against sex by others to build up his own supposed moral and ethical fabric, "taking care" of Mew and leading Mew to think that Top is still a viable candidate for dating -- Cheum even interprets Top's behavior at the Halloween party as "taking care" of Mew -- will it come crumbling down as Boeing the Ex shows up for a little boing-boing?

Dudes, I have no idea, because Top keeps catching breaks! For people at The Top -- that's so often how it works in society, no?

Like I said: this was a hella complicated episode. We have three more to go. This episode captured in a snapshot a group of gloriously imperfect people making equivocating decisions as they bumble along, minute by minute. SandNick and RayMew got CLARITY. Boston got CLARITY on his feelings for Nick. Cheum is getting CLARITY on her association with the hostel. Atom got CLARITY on where Boston stood. I don't know that we have CLARITY on SandRay yet, but.... I dunno, I'll let the capitalists at GMMTV decide that, ha.

Where we don't have clarity is now with Top and Mew, with Top acting clearly duplicitously, and how Mew is going to manage this latest fall-out. I have no idea if Boeing will serve as competition to Mew, if Boeing will be the lug nut in the polycule we're all dying for -- I have no idea. I just know that Top -- who purports himself to be above all moral judgement, winning the hearts and minds of at least two moms from out of town, wtf -- will face yet another challenge in winning Mew's heart that he likely has a stronger chance of winning, due to his station in life. Top was about to come out on Top in this episode, and I wouldn't be surprised if he hangs on for another playoff win next week. We shall see.

I'm tagging the Ephemerality Squad in permanent fury over the permanence of people judging sex, let's go! @ranchthoughts @chickenstrangers @twig-tea @distant-screaming @thatgirl4815 (THATGIRL WITH THE THEORY THAT BOEING MAY NOT BE THE EX THAT TOP AND SAND SHARE, OH SHIT!) @lurkingshan @neuroticbookworm @wen-kexing-apologist @clara-maybe-ontheroad @kayatoasted

#only friends the series #only friends #only friends meta #forcebook #force jiratchapong #book kasidet #topmew #firstkhao #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #sandray #neo trai #mark pakin #neomark #bostonnick #jennie panhan #lookjun bhasidi #title tanatorn #papang phromphiriya #ranch pointed out to me that we had THREE NEW KISSES IN THIS EPISODE #markfirst #neotitle #and markpapang #fuck yes