#bubble wrap inflatable

[little-cereal-draws]

Mike is almost always dying.

Almost struck by lightning, got stuck on the roof, fell off a drainpipe, got locked in the safe, got stuck in that inflatable plastic ball (twice), considered jumping out the window, almost was exploded by a landmine, and I’m sure there are a few more im forgetting abt

Alison either never finds out or shows up right at the very end and misses all the real danger. I wonder how much she knows abt what Mike does all day

[fromadifferentperspectiveautism]

Special Interests

Hi there! If anyone would like to talk about or has sfw experiences/stories with

Tickling or being tickled

Massages

Being buried in sand or burying others in sand

Arcade games like the Addams Family Generator, the Raging Ape, the Hot Seat, the Shocker, the Screamer Seat of Terror, etc.

Inflatable games and obstacle courses

Mechanical bulls (or the Inflatabull pool float), mechanical sharks, and mechanical surfboards.

Foam sumo suits

Wipeout (or similar obstacle courses like Thrillz in King of Prussia or Danbury)

Slippery Stairs

Being wrapped in a blanket like a burrito

Trampoline parks

Large, deep bean bag chairs

Stage hypnosis (or hypnosis/hypnotherapy in general)

Chinese finger traps

Foam cube pits

Foam bubble pits

Oversized boxing gloves (regular material or inflatable)

Velcro-covered suits, walls, or obstacle courses

Arm wrestling arcade games

or anything similar to the above, I would absolutely love to talk about them with you!

[davenporttf]

Gaynz: Luke

Luke was loving the results of the protein powder his best friend, Dillon, gave him. He was working hard at the gym to gain muscle but it was proving to be extremely difficult. Dillon stopped by Luke's place and gave him a new powder he never heard of before called "Gaynz." He said it was the best protein powder out on the market, and it would get him seriously shredded.

Luke prepared his protein shake and headed to the gym. He always saved his shake for after an intense workout to replenish his body with protein. After a killer workout, he slipped out of his gym clothes in the locker room. He chugged the drink and he felt the effects immediately. His veins bulged out of his skin as protein surged through him. His body began to inflate with every pump of blood. Wave after wave, his pecs ballooned with pure muscle. The fat that was giving him such a hard time melted away to reveal an 8-pack. His arms cracked and shifted as his biceps gained mass, and his arms became heavier. His legs became sturdier and his glutes inflated to fill out his boxers.

"Bro! This shit is crazy!" His boy Dillon really came through. He needed to head over to his place to show him. He got into his truck and drove out of the parklot. With his large arms on the wheel driving down the highway, he felt a contraction in his shorts. His boxers were starting to tighten around his ass. "Ughhh, the fuck?!" He felt the material of his boxers began to shift and move up his cheeks. It began to round his dick in the front, and mold into two straps around his ass in the back. With one hand on the wheel, he pulled down his shorts to reveal a hot pink jockstrap where his boxers used to be.

He was dumbfounded, and felt like he was losing grip on reality. He was starting to love the way the jock wrapped around his muscle butt, outlining his best asset when he snapped out of it. "No! This is crazy! I need to find out what Dillon put in this shake." He finally reached Dillon's and pulled into his driveway.

As he turned the car off, he felt a tingle in his dick. He pulled down his shorts to catch sight of his dick shrinking in the jock. He squirmed in his seat from the sensation of his bulge going from a mound to a thimble. He needed to talk to Dillon now. He walked up to his door, the mesh shorts sliding against his bare ass. He knocked on the door, and Dillon answered with a smile on his face.

Luke wasted no time, and pushed Dillon backwards into his house and pinned him against the wall. "The fuck did you give me, bro!!" Dillon chuckled unaffected by Luke's demeanor.

"Let me go and stand at attention." he said calmly. Luke felt himself resisting against his body as he backed away from Dillon. His arms went rigid against his sides and he stood tall in his best friend's living room.

"I see the shake has been working wonders for you, bro. I forgot to tell you that it also makes you super submissive as well."

Luke's guard started to come down as he started liking the idea of being dominated by his best bro. He snapped back again, "No, bro! Wtf! I'm not into dudes!"

The words fell on deaf ears, as Dillon moved closer to Luke. "I want you to be the little bitch I always thought you to be. Take off those shorts, and get on my bed, slut."

Luke's resistance was no match for being called what he truly was. He became filled with lust for such dominating language. He pulled down his shorts, and crawled onto his buddy's bed.

Dillon pressed himself up against Luke's ass, and started to slap his dick against his cheeks. With every smack of his bro's dick, his thoughts became more and more aligned with that of a pure bottom bitch. His 2" dick didn't needed to be the center of attention anymore, and he only felt the need to be dominated by his best friend.

Dillon dropped a wad of spit onto Luke's revealed hole. The splash against his hole was driving Luke crazy. He leaned further back as Dillon slid his 8" cock into his perfectly round bubble butt. "Ohhhh fuckkkkkk brooo" Luke moaned as Dillon thrusted into him.

"That's right my big slut. You only serve to be my fucktoy." Dillon said in a deep sultry voice while he piledrived Luke's bussy. Luke's reality continued to shift away from his straight fuckboy life to being a perfect muscle stud for his bro to enjoy when he desired.

Luke began to diddle with his tiny cock as Dillon hammered his p-spot over and over again. "Such a good slut. Here comes your reward." Dillon said as he slammed into Luke one final time. Wads of cum shot into Luke filled him with the juices of his master. The sensation sent Luke over the edge and he came into his pink jockstrap.

Luke slowly flipped over onto his back and looked up at Dillon with a small belly bulge from all the cum in his abdomen.

"I'm ready for round 2 when you are, bro." Luke said smiling.

--------------

Two stories today for the long wait :)

[tokyo-terror]

YOO IM IN LOVE WITH UR HCS THEY TASTE LIKE CHOCOLATE COVERED STRAWBERRIES AND FRUIT TEA :3

Request here 🙏🙏🙏

Could you possibly.. *leans on Bugatti with graves wrap on it + an inflatable eagle and American flag flying from the bonnet* write some hcs for 141 + König with a gn s/o that has had a really bad day and just needs some comfort? So eg, just being pampered and having their hair washed, being told they’ve done well, that people are proud of them and love them, etc?

Ive been having a really shitty past few months with my depression and anxiety and it’s really overwhelmed me so I’m kinda projecting.. 🧍🏼🧍🏼

If you can’t do it, that’s ok!!! No pressure <33

But if you can, may your skin be clear and may your crops flourish 🙏🙏🙏 (with america rizz) (im british)

i hate brits but ill make an exception for u 🫶 /lh i hope ur day gets a littol bit better for u pookie :< ik how hard it gets fr <3 we r in this together :)

cw: depression (not delved into !!)

simon "ghost" riley:

☆ this guy getss it !!! he doesn't open up much about his feelings directly but let's all be fr and agree he's not the most mentally stable

☆ your self care day is hiss self care day, thrives on cuddling and using you as weighted blanket while he rubs your back

☆ has himself a tea while you both cuddle, and trust me it's good tea. the night might turn into a cuddle and see how many teas simon can make before you run out

☆ before you fall asleep fully he kisses the crown of your head and says that he's proud of how far you've come

john "soap" mactavish:

☆ tries to be more lowkey w how he comforts you because he doesn't want to come off as overbearing

☆ has mastered the perfect balance of praise and touch, he holds your hand while you tell him about your day and he makes comments trying to sympathize w you

☆ lets you scritch his mohawk while he tells you how much he loves you and how glad he is that you're around and here with him

☆ lays his head on your chest when you both go to sleep so he can listen to your heartbeat and tap your arms to the beat of it, has both of you asleep within 5 minutes

john price:

☆ kinda awkward with comforting but he tries his best, he's always a little bit confused about how somebody like you could be so upset about anything

☆ he knows that it's not his place to fully understand though, so he sticks to doing what he does best: being an old ass man

☆ showers with you and washes your hair while you vent (or not) about how you've been feeling, he stays mostly silently except for humming to let you know he's listening

☆ towel dries your hair and changes the bedsheets to clean ones so you can be fully clean because he's a firm believer in being a little more tidy can greatly improve somebody's feelings

kyle "gaz" garrick:

☆ king of pampering in general, he's waiting on you hand and foot constantly. honestly he probably knows it's going to be a bad day before you even start your day

☆ he's always making you food to eat throughout the day, little snacks that aren't too big but are just enough to keep you energized and full

☆ ditches his military soaps for your nice ones when you take a shower, secretly (not rlly) loves when you laugh at him building bubble beards on himself and doing price impressions

☆ making you laugh is his goal in life tbh he's constantly cracking jokes while you both cuddle, some of them are so bad it's funny

könig:

☆ another guy that genuinely understands everything you're talking abt, his anxiety also makes him have awfulll days and due to being the military around lots of people he's learned coping mechanisms

☆ takes hot showers with you a lot in general, but even more when you're having one of those days. he's already washing your hair and face as soon as you get in

☆ lets you braid his hair while he talks idly about how missions are and how he adores you, though he says that in german. you've picked up on him saying cheesy stuff in german though so it's fine :)

☆ lets you sprawl out on him like a starfish when you both finally go to sleep, around 2am because of how many shows he wanted to watch with you

[fatguarddog]

Disclaimer: This audio is intended for audiences of 18+ only 🔞 If you like my content, please consider giving me a tip

An audio commission for @the-chubby-berry 🫐 After a long hard day at work, your stress overflows and begins to inflate you into a juicy berry, causing you discomfort until a soothing presence eases you through the transformation and juices you

If you're interested in a commission, find more info here

Transcript under cut

Rain drops slide off of your umbrella as you finally make it home after what feels like the longest day in your life. To think, you left for work at dawn this morning when there was hardly any light in the sky and now all you’ve had to guide you home late this night has been dark, wet rain.

You kick off your shoes and throw your overcoat onto the rack, trying to huff out all the tension and stress that has built in you over the course of the day as you flop onto the couch, but it’s no use. Placing a hand on your stomach, you can already feel it burbling and twisting over, a gentle swelling beginning beneath your clothes. You moan in discomfort as you rub at your belly, now partially exposed to the cool air of your living room, enough for you to see the blue and purple specks blossoming on your skin as the gurgling feeling continues under your hands.

You really didn’t want this to happen now. Standing up, you feel the juice sloshing inside of you, rocking your belly back and forth, tumultuous like the storm outside and causing so much pressure on your body. Were your face not turning blue, it’d be red with a hot flush of embarrassment as your engorging gut inflates with even more juice, hanging heavy on your body. You will yourself to resist the change, until you feel a pair of arms wrap themselves around you, a strange yet relaxing voice speaking, “Shh… Just relax. Let it happen. I’ll be here to help you.” The purr in your ear is so gentle and kind as skilful hands rub at your belly, easing out the growth into something more pleasant. “You seem so tired and stressed. Why not let the transformation happen and I’ll be here beside you to relieve the strain along the way.”

What up until now felt like a boiling bubbling volcano within you began quieting down and softening into the gentle waves of an ocean, less like the storm outside and more like peaceful rain on your coziest days. The hurt still lingered as the swelling continued, but nowhere near as harsh or painful as before. Your calming visitor’s hands run over your skin as the blue spreads and spreads until you’re completely covered in the bluish purple hue, looking so perfectly like a big swollen berry.

They hum gently as they rub your body, completely relaxing you as your belly takes over your form, making you rounder and rounder, smoothing out any hard lines, any hint of a shape other than that of a big bloated berry. You’re rocked lightly from side to side, making the juice inside of slosh in the most comforting way. Even as it begins to overflow and leak from your chest, all you can feel is amazing, moaning in pleasure while those helping hands aid in squeezing out the excess juice. “My what a perfect little berry you’ve become,” you hear the smile in that relaxing voice as you grow to be completely immobile.

Usually, you’d be in pain now and fretting over how long it would take to get back to normal size, but right now, all you feel is calm and mostly unbothered. Whoever has been helping you has made sure that you remained completely comfortable by massaging out any cramps or pain. Their voice was the most relaxed you’d ever heard anyone speak, “There we go. My oh my all that stress turned into this. No wonder you have trouble keeping it all in~ No one has been here to help release it for you, at least not faithfully. Have no fear though, I shall become that presence for you~” Listening to their voice, it feels like all the stress left in you is melting down into a puddle, mixing with your sweet berry juices. Their hands tracing and squeezing over you sends shivers through your big berry body, making you oh so sensitive. You never want them to stop, you don’t want this relaxing feeling or this mysteriously helpful person to go away. They seem to notice from the look on your face and gently roll you to speak more directly to you,

“My dear berry, do not fear. I will appear anytime you please, or whenever you are in need of my assistance. I’m here for you.” Hearing this you begin to drift off to sleep as they continue to relax and juice you. You smile to yourself knowing now that something once so painful and stressful may just become something you look forward to.

[selfishlove-tf]

‘Hey.’

His low voice snapped me out of my disbelief at what I had just seen. My step-father, the most average Joe, had just grown into a massive hunk in minutes... and I was hard as a rock!

‘Hi,’ I replied shakily.

‘You like?’ I could only nod. ‘You want this, kid?’ Again, I nodded. ‘You want to be like this?’ Wait... I could be like him? ‘Before you answer, just know that it comes with a side effect.’

‘Yes, oh god please!’ I almost shouted.

‘Wow, someone’s desperate, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, son.’

He stood up, watermelon-crushing thighs supporting a tapered waist below heaving, juicy pecs. He was so tall, a foot taller, and then he walked towards me, his pendulous snake of a cock swinging back and forth until he reached me. I was practically drooling, unable to keep my mouth closed.

‘Y’know son, this family has been a bunch of nobodies for too long. I think that should change...’ he grabbed my jaw and tilted my head to look at him directly into his deep brown eyes. ‘Don’t you agree?’ He almost growled like a predator as I nodded again. ‘Good boy. Let’s get started.’

Dad leaned in and pulled my mouth towards his. Soon, our mouths connected and we started to kiss. He shoved his tongue into my mouth and he hungrily ate at me. It was a little after that I realised a taste of honey. It was a thick consistency and Dad was feeding it through his mouth into mine. The more that flooded my mouth, the quicker my throat went into auto-swallowing. We made out (I swallowed the honey) for so long, I was losing track of time and I was getting dizzy.

When Dad pulled away, I almost followed but he stood me still with a devilish smile on his face as he stepped back and lounged in the chair behind him. At some point, he had taken my clothes off of me and I had not realised. I was left in my blue briefs. ‘Stay there and wait.’

I was confused, but not for long. Soon enough, my body started to buzz and I felt wave after wave slowly creeping through my body and gained in both speed and ecstacy. It became lightning through my body, lighting every nerve in my body. I glanced over at Dad whose giant hand was rubbing his throbbing, meaty dick as he watched before a huge wave hit me and my eyes closed tightly.

I felt my body strain, skin started to stretch, bones started to crack, and muscle started to expand. The waves starting from my feet carried the effect north, through my torso, down my arms and into my head. I flexed my toes involuntarily as my feet started to elongate from a size nine to a bigger size twelve. my calves shapened into sharp diamonds following my thighs that grew until they touched. My hips widened and my ass inflated like ballons into two perfect bubbles but the growth skipped my dick. A deep V carved itself following a set of cobblestone abs and my back flared out like wings. My pecs pumped up slightly to a more toned look, nothing like my Dads firm pillows. Veins ran down my biceps that tensed, increasing to the size of baseballs, my forearms and hands complimenting the size. My shoulders bouldered up and my neck thickened and the wave moved up to my face. My features sharpened, my jaw able to cut paper, my cheekbones were high and my lips puffed up. To say that I was a heartbreaker was not enough to what the transformation did to my face and, judging by my quick glance at the mirror in the room, my eyes allured like my Dads.

Speaking of my Dad, he stood back up and walked towards me again, his python hard and directing his way to me. He wrapped an arm around my lower back, looked down to my dick and shook his head. ‘You always were a grower.’ With that, his free hand gripped my hardened dick concealed inside my blue briefs and he started to palm and yank at it. My nerves were on fire, and I started to moan loudly.

‘You like that, boy?’

‘Yes papi!’ I exhaled. ‘Please, more!’

‘Your growth is complete, now I get to have some fun.’

With both hands, he grabbed my asscheeks and dug into them, pulling me towards the couch again. With his strength, he tore my briefs from my body, pulled me over his dick and slammed me down onto his monster. ‘Fuck papi! Yesss!” I yelled, but not from pain. Pure ecstacy coursed through me as I realised my ass was self-lubricating.

‘The best thing about bottoms is that their ass leaks sweet, slick honey,’ he breathed. ‘So it’s easy to get to the best parts.’

He scooped up a bit of the slick and shoved his finger into my mouth, and I suckled like a baby, my wanton moans desperate for more. This sexuality, the need to be fucked grew and grew and I found myself riding his dick faster and slamming my hips down as hard as possible.

‘You’re such a whore - no, you’re Daddy’s whore. That’s the side effect. You keep wanting more... don’t worry, so do I. We’re going to be fucking for a while, Son. Get used to it.’

He tilted me back, lifted my legs up and started to jackhammer into me. I was in pure bliss and knew that I would never want this to end. I can’t thank my Daddy enough for transforming me.

[darlingsfandom]

Neil Lewis goes to a sex shop with y/n. Picks out toys and costumes for you

It took a whole five seconds before Neil had already disappeared into the costume section of the store. This wasn't your first time to the Red Devils Shop , in fact you had a rewards card for it but this was your first time with your boyfriend Neil. Truth be told Neil had been here before too.

"hi Y/N!" cindy called out from behind the register! She a cute bubbly girl who always helped you out and gave you discounts wherever she could! After all she's the owner.

"hi Cindy!"you waved back as you looked down the aisle to find Neil holding the Star Wars costume.

"No Neil!" You yelled and he gave you a pout. You shook your head and looked to see Cindy giggling to herself before it clicked in her head.

"Oh, Y/N is that the cute boyfriend you've been talking about ?" She asked making you blush as Neil walked over holding a sexy nurse costume.

"You talk about me here?" Neil's ego inflated ten times its size as he wrapped his arm around you.

"She does! You're much cuter than she described and her last boyfriend!"

"Cindy!"

"Last boyfriend?"

"Yeah , we still have some in stock!" She pointed to the wall of realistic dildos, you face palmed yourself and groaned as Neil's face turned pink. You grabbed Neil's hand and took him back into the costume section. The two of you stood in silence for a minute before Neil sighed.

"Can we get this one?" He gave you the sexy prisoner costume and you sighed.

"Neil... you know I love you right ?"

"Of course!"

"And that was just a joke! I mean I had a boyfriend three years ago and then he dumped me and then I found that toy and you get the picture."

"Don't worry! I'm not mad.. a little confused on why that all happened but I'm not mad at you! Can't be mad at prettiest girl in the world who knows how to give the sweetest kisses " Neil leaned in closer "and the sloppiest blowjobs" He gave you a peck on the lips as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Is that your way of asking for one.?" You raised your eyebrow at him before palming him in his pants gently.

"Yes please." He gave you puppy dog eyes. "Let's just go home already."

"Better yet..." you bite your lip and palmed him harder. "Let's buy the costume, you take me back to gum shoe and we fuck on the couch."

"God you're naughty!" He grabbed your hand and took you to the counter, bought the costume along with a Bluetooth vibrator and some more lube. Cindy said goodbye and you two were out the door so you could go back and make your own special prison movie of the week.

[qqtxt]

[🌸] can i call you tonight? w/ txt

✿ pairing: ot5 x reader / fluff, cheesy 🌸🧀 / idol!txt / non.idol!you / employee!you / lowkey mutual pining  ✿ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 400 words for each member / altogether, word count: 1,237 words  ✿ in which they take a chance on asking to call you for the first time... ✿ a/n: i was listening to can i call you tonight by dayglow (honestly, a fave) and was inspired to write a little something! (also give the song a listen, it’s so dreamy and cute >:)) [masterlist 🌸] / other members under the cut! / @kflixnet​ ☎️

[🐰] soobin soobin is nervous as his fingers hover over his carefully crafted text of ‘i’m bored, can we call? 👀’. yet, he doesn’t have the guts to send it with his fingers trembling, heart racing and pounding in his chest. his head is ringing so loud despite his room being empty, filled with his thoughts of ‘what if’s and ‘should i’ swirling all over. in the midst of him impatiently fidgeting his legs stretched out on the bed, he takes a deep breath and builds up the courage to ah, screw it. i’ll just–his eyes widen when he actually sends the message and it’s delivered. he holds his breath as he waits, half-refusing to look at the phone, half-anticipating your response like a lifeline. his heart thrashes uncontrollably in his chest when his ringtone starts playing and he sees that–y/n ✨ is calling... soobin can’t even hide the smile on his face when he answers the call, subtly making out that he can hear you smiling just as you greet him over the phone. he clutches onto his phone as he sinks deeper into the pillows, into his mattress, all while being hooked on the sound of your voice coaxing him at ease.

[🦊] yeonjun the question lingers in yeonjun’s mind the whole time he walks you back to your doorstep. despite being active in the conversation you two had along the way, he can’t help but allow his mind to wander further and further, wrapped in a question he wants to ask. it seems to be minuscule but it’s something that would change the course of his night entirely. he snaps out of his reverie when you–”jun, hello? we’re here.” he visibly blinks back to reality when he turns to his side, now noticing you’re a couple of steps away when you’re in front of your door with him remaining by the walkway. you snort and give him a wave, “thanks for walking me back. let me know when you’re back, okay?” he gapes at you, robotically nodding as he forces himself to wave at you. the time is ticking, in slow motion as he watches you unlock the door and step in, not before turning around to offer him a smile that–”c-could i call you tonight?” he sees that you’re visibly stunned at first, but the smile that tugs your lips upwards is what makes his heart soar to the heavens. “i’d like that, jun-ah.” (yeonjun nearly sprints all the way home just so he’s able to call you quicker, all with a smile on his face with the giddiness and excitement bubbling in his veins.)

[🐯] beomgyu beomgyu knows that this could either be very annoying or very endearing (he just hopes it’s the latter). he shamelessly spams you with a couple of messages and stickers to get your attention; seeing your name with online next to it makes his heart skip a beat as he rolls around on the bed. he licks his lips and presses play to your voice note, your voice echoing in his ears with yah, what are you playing at? too free as it seems? he huffs when the voice note is too short, clearing his throat as he brings his phone to his lips to ask: yeah, too free. i’m bored. can i call you? as he releases the recording button, it immediately sends over to you before he can regret it. he’s about to record another voice note, something along the lines of how he’ll buy you lunch if you keep him company but when his ringtone starts to play with your name flashing on his screen in big, bright letters that make his grin grow wider is more than enough to inflate his heart with joy. he answers after the third ring and smugly taunts you with: “augh, seems like someone misses me too, huh?” he tries not to laugh when you–”getting cocky now, eh? should i hang up–”he’s quick to pacify you with: “ah no! okay, okay. stay on the line, i wanna talk to you.” it’s quiet on your end, and beomgyu wonders if he was too forward but then you–”...me too.” beomgyu does his best not to tease you on it, not when your quiet admission sets his heart on fire.

[🐿] taehyun taehyun waves the rest of the members goodbye, nudging them to head on home first as he lingers behind. they give him a knowing look and he brushes it off, approaching your table as you seem to be buried in work. he makes himself known by gently giving your table a knock, which makes you lift your head to–”hey, taehyun. headed home?” he clutches onto his bag with a smile, “yeah. you done yet? we could leave together.” he watches as dejection fills your eyes with the reflection of the files in front of you. shaking your head you offer him an apologetic smile, “sorry, i don’t think i can leave just yet. there’s a lot to finish now...” you give him a small wave, “you head back first.” taehyun nods and rocks on the balls of his feet, squeezing his bag strap as he asks: “c-could i call you tonight? after your work?” he watches as the surprise takes over your features with wide eyes, raised brows and slightly agape lips. then, a small, shy smile that takes over as you reply with: “i’d like that, taehyun-ah.” he tries not to show you how your answer affects him but it’s clear as day that he’s too happy with the response. his signature smile appears, wider and wider as he nods, starting to step away with a soft chuckle, “i’ll call you tonight, then.” (you hear cheers and the ruckus down the hall after taehyun disappears and you sink deeper in your seat praying no one else asks what it was all about.)

[🐧] kai kai found another way to subtly ask you if he can call you without needing to see your reaction. he left a sticky note on your desk with the best handwriting he can muster up: can huening call you tonight? (๑>ᴗ<๑) [yes :D] [no D:] it was adorable and it made you chuckle the moment you saw it. he chose a cute sticky note design that was already obvious it’s him and your answer came as quickly as you read it. kai returns from lunch, making his way back to where he’s needed, thinking about the note he had left you all day long. he sighs when he sees that he hasn’t spotted the note anywhere. it’s not until he’s back in the practice room and grabbing his water bottle for a sip that taehyun–”there’s a paper on your bottle, huening.” kai’s eyes widen as he pulls back the water bottle a bit too quickly, water dribbling his chin that it makes taehyun snort at the sight. kai swallows the water in his mouth and turns the bottle around to see the note that–kai’s smile is so wide, taehyun feels like he knows what’s happening even though kai hasn’t said anything yet it says it all. kai stares at the way you’ve circled ‘yes’ and added a bunch of smiley faces over that option along with a time you’re expecting him to call. he holds the paper to his chest, sinking to the floor with a contented smile on his face.

[chimielie]

there are many benefits to being a marine biologist

summary: Goshiki x F!Reader. Ponyo!AU. one part fairytale, one part growing up, one part love language exploration. you fall in love with a human boy and then move mountains to find him again.

word count: 8.7k

cw: nothing. gets better as it progresses imo

a/n: i started writing this maybe two years ago for a contest held by two users who are now both inactive i think? the outline for this planned for like two more acts, but i thought it should stop rotting in the drafts and i like it as is now. i do have quite a lot of worldbuilding not in the fic (mostly regarding goshiki's family, who i named after the original ponyo characters lol) so please, if you happen to read this and have questions about this little story that's been living in my head, feel free to ask :)

The day before he finds you, it storms like the world is going to end.

Seawater washes into the road as the sea swells in thick knots, rising and never quite falling as far as it should. Blooms of white—foam and algae and debris, and drowned souls if folklore was to be believed—swirl on the surface, which waits to break against the cliffs until the wave inflates to grotesque proportions, as though it’s a fist hammering against a wall. The wind tries to match the hysteric sea’s beat, and comes screaming in from the horizon, wrapping around whatever it finds in its path if it cannot blow through it and squeezing like a python. With it blows in the fog, until the atmosphere brings a river of milk, writhing over the pine islands so they become black spikes against which the ocean hammers.

Tsutomu stands against the back door of his home on the cliff, hands pressed to the glass, careful not to let his breath obscure his vision any further than the mist already was. Even inside the house—where the air is still warm, where the wind can’t creep in—he can hear the crash of waves and the shriek of the typhoon, even if they’re reduced to a low-crooning song punctuated by the steady rhythm of his mother’s voice.

“Transmitting from JA4LL. JA4LL. Come in, Koichi. This is Risa and Tsutomu.”

She’s been speaking steadily into the microphone for a few minutes already, and Tsutomu pads over to press his cheek into her side, fists his hands into her shirt while she pats him on the head. When the headset crackles to life, he jumps and she doesn’t. His parents’ voices wash over him warmly, and he relaxes, hoping the weather will calm soon so they can all go to Tashirojima together.

Sound asleep in a bubble deep beneath the sea, you don’t even know that there’s a storm on the surface.

“Wake up, girls.” You wake when your father speaks to you, swim eagerly to the border of filmy water and press your nose to it in a sort of nuzzling good morning kiss. “I—yes, good morning, hello—I said I’d take you all to work with me today, if you’d like—stop pressing on the bubble, you’ll pop it!”

You do happy flips when you’re let out of the little aquarium, linger at the back of the school of your sisters as your father quickly becomes engrossed in his work. He’s often distracted and always scatterbrained, but centuries of experience have made him an expert at marine wizardry. There’s little he loves more than his work, except perhaps your family, but he’s unfamiliar with the care and keeping of young goldfish and your mother is away right now.

This is how you slip away: with discretion from your sisters, distraction from your father, and a rush of excitement you’ve felt almost never in your entire life. It’s not that you don’t love your family, that you want to run away; it’s just that your sisters are all still babies, freshly hatched, and you get bored in the little bubble, always having to watch your father work and never getting to do anything. There’s no room for anxiety in your fish-body as you swim towards the surface, wriggling your fins frantically and buoying yourself with upward currents whenever possible. 

The first sight of sunlight streaming through the aqua is mesmerizing, and you kick doubly hard for the remainder of the journey. 

The surface is the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen. Exhausted from the swim, you flop onto your back on top of a passing jellyfish and stare in wonder at the coastline. There’s a road, and little metal vehicles crossing it, and houses tucked into every crevice in the hills. There are jagged cliffs that look like they were hewn in half by some godly hand (one of your uncles, maybe). And on top of the tallest cliff, there’s a little house, so small you can hardly see it, yellow and red and white, and you find yourself fascinated by it.

When he wakes, Tsutomu finds himself in bed, his eyes stuck together with leftover sleep. He remembers, just barely, being carried by his mother’s strong arms to his room, the press of her lips to his forehead. It’s not an unusual occurrence, so he starts his day as usual. Breakfast is leftovers from the fridge, his mother is still half-asleep sipping coffee at the breakfast table (she’s always groggier after a late night up speaking to his father), and he walks down the path to the beach, carefully balancing his favorite toy—a beach ball light enough for him to carry and shaped like a volleyball—in his arms. 

It’s clear today, almost like there was never a storm at all. The sky is a cheerful blue dotted with puffy white clouds, the temperature warm enough to only require a t-shirt, not cold enough to make him uncomfortable. The sun shines down on the beach with a smile, the morning light nearly shining a spotlight on the red lump just above the waterline.

“Eh?” Tsutomu says to himself, walking closer and struggling to peer past the bulge of his volleyball. He sets it down carefully, stopping it from rolling away with his foot, and bends at the waist to look closely at you.

You stare, eyes bulging, back up at him. A little boy, the likes of which you’ve never seen before, fringe falling into his face, is the most magical thing you’ve ever seen.

“A goldfish!” He declares triumphantly as he identifies you. “Hello, Miss Goldfish.”

You flap a fin at him as best you can. He giggles and scoops you up in both hands, wading into the water and holding you just beneath the surface so you won’t dry out. You spin in his hands, and nuzzle his chubby palm. 

“Tsutomu!” Someone calls from above. “Time to go!”

“That’s my mom,” Tsutomu says to you. “We’re going to work at the senior center. Well, she’s going to work, and I get to go to school right next to there, ‘cause I’m five years old.” He adopts a wise expression. Five is the oldest he’s ever been, and it feels very big. You splash. Me too! Me too! “It was nice to meet you, Miss Fish. My name is Tsutomu. I hope I see you again. Bye bye!”

He lets go of you gently, and turns to find that his ball has rolled into the water, a little too deep for him to reach without soaking his clothes. You, still watching the curious human boy, see the frown on his face, the tremble of his lips and watery eyes, and dart off quickly. When he looks down, you’re gone. He stands on the sand in front of the ball, watching it float further away, listening to his mother’s increasingly aggravated shouting for him to come up from the beach, and feels stuck with the tide of unhappiness rising in him. He reaches up with one fist to wipe at his watering eyes.

Shock overwhelms him when a stream of water hits the ball, pushing it against the current, intermittent splash carrying it all the way back to shore. His eyes stop watering from the pure amazement of it all as he watches a little red spark flash with every spurt of water, and he has to shake himself before wading back in to grab it.

“Thank you, Miss Goldfish,” he cheers when he finally lifts the ball clear of the surf. “You’re amazing!”

There’s nothing but pure childish admiration in the words, which makes you as happy as he is. You like this boy! He thinks you’re amazing!

You flip in the air, coming down with a splash that sends droplets of saltwater all the way to Tsutomu, who shields his face and twists his whole torso away with shrieking laughter. 

“Tsutomu!” You say happily. He untwists to look at you, bobbing in the water. 

“You said my name! You really are amazing!”

“Tsutomu!” You cheer, and then again for good measure.

“Tsutomu!” His mother roars, coming into view on the beach, and her ferocious tone hardly seems to dent his mood. 

“I have to go now. Thank you a lot, Miss Goldfish,” he waves at you and begins walking back to his mother, who’s standing with her hands on her hips and her lips set in a scowl.

“Tsutomu!” You say in farewell, and begin the swim back home.

“Mom, I made a friend! I saw a goldfish, and she talks, too. She said my name! Isn’t that so cool?” Tsutomu bounces up to his mother with his fists clenched and raised in the air, as though he’s declaring victory, and her irritation dissipates almost immediately. She laughs and swings him up onto her shoulders.

“That is cool, but we’re going to be late. Think I can drive over before they open the drawbridge?”

You’re lucky your father doesn’t notice and you know it. For the rest of the month, you listen attentively as he explains, half-mumbled and face pressed up against a blackboard, the things he believes children ought to know: potionmaking, mostly, the way that those potions affect the environment, and the filthiness of humans. You try your best to be good, but you file as much information about magic away as you can and know in the deepest depths of your heart that it’s so you can see Tsutomu again.

You sneak away again, maybe every month, and rarely have to wait longer than a few hours for Tsutomu to come rushing down the path from his house, huge smile on his face, shedding his backpack and shoes. During low tide, he can reach what becomes a tide pool, and often he shows you things from his day-to-day life. You love hearing him talk, sometimes practicing human speech by following along with his words. He gives you a name, better than the one your father calls you, you think, shaping it in your mouth. While you watch with great interest, you never bring him anything.

You are a fish, after all.

As the years pass, your visits to the surface become more infrequent. You worry about your human-hating father catching you, and your education has intensified as you age. Your little sisters are starting to grow up and, though they’re still captivated by stories of your Tsutomu, you worry about fostering jealousy of the dry world in them. One daughter your father may not notice missing for a day, but where one of your sisters go, almost all the rest will follow. 

“What does Y/N mean?” You ask innocently one day, when the two of you are eight years old. You bob in the water, and he sits on a rock, the surf spraying up around him but never reaching high enough to soak him.

“Mm,” he says, looking down and kicking at a pebble. “Beloved.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know,” his grin is childish, and the effect is only lightly diminished by the way he’s clearly struggling to maintain eye contact with you. You splash him, and he shrieks and falls into the water. Both of you come up giggling. Whatever the true meaning of his name for you, you know that whenever he says it, that’s what he means; and that is all that matters.

Although he waits patiently for you for many years, Tsutomu tells you one day with a serious face that he’s going to be going to school further away, in Sendai, and will have less time to spend watching out for you. You have a year left before this happens, he says, so your visits resume a near monthly routine. Sometimes, you simply spend hours after he’s left staring at the house on the cliff and imagining living there with Tsutomu and loving him the way he tells you his mom and dad love each other.

When he leaves for school, crying a little while you blink up at him, you absorb yourself in your studies. When you really, really miss him, you swim up to the surface and remind yourself that someday, you’ll be old and strong enough to live up there with Tsutomu. The next time he sees you, he’s twelve years old. People call him Goshiki-kun, not Tsutomu-chan, and his voice cracks when he speaks. On the train ride home from school, he worries that you’ll laugh at him, like his peers do, that the way he’ll surely tear up upon seeing you is unmanly.

It’s July, the month of salt-making rituals, and this becomes the marker of your visits to Tsutomu. To his immense relief, you still call him by his first name, you don’t laugh when his voice breaks, you throw your whole body at him to smack his cheek like you’re trying to hug him with your fins. You missed him as much as he missed you, he can tell, and the both of you spend hours catching up.  You get two more years before disaster strikes.

The day you’re due to visit the surface, it storms again. You know what lightning is, now, know the acrid scent of sky-fire splitting the air, the brutal strength of riptides and currents. When you break into the air, you find that a gray mist lingers over the bay and the mood of the few people you see appears dismal. When you look up to Tsutomu’s house and see that it shines as cheerfully yellow as always, that yellow and red seems to creep into your bones until you feel sure that everything is alright. This is a kind of magic your father has not yet taught you.

This has always been your secret, safe harbor. You don’t expect anything to go wrong here—not when you’re accustomed to submarine chemical vents and shining anglerfish in the deep blue depths. Here it has always seemed safe, calm, kind.

You learn today why your father despises his former kin so much.

There’s silt in the water, probably stirred up by the storm that took away the cheeriness of the sky. One fish swims by you, its eyes bulging frantically. Then another, and another. It’s only when an entire school passes in the same direction that you hear the ship coming closer and realize that you should probably be heading that way yourself.

You’re too late, and so are the rest of them—something huge, bigger than the mouth of a whale, you think it must be, traps you, pressing you together with sifting mud and other scales and glass, like your father’s bottles. You try to move your tail and push yourself out, but you’re packed so tightly in with a million others doing the same that the action is impossible. 

You’re starting to panic.

Then, the boat attached to the net you’re in swings around, taking you and everyone else with it, and you find yourself face to face with a glass jar. Worse, you find yourself slowly being pushed into it by the sheer unluckiness of your position and the crush of animals trying to escape the churning mud and human garbage.

You push more frantically than before, thrashing your entire body violently.

“No, no, no, no!” You wail, the words bubbling in the water. Then you fall through a gap in the net.

Unable to right yourself in time, you find yourself stuck halfway into the jar, and your wriggling only makes it worse.

You can’t—you can’t breathe. This was a mistake. You’re so scared.

You have to take the last resort. You send up a prayer to your mother—please, don’t let him be too angry—and send out a spell with the last bit of energy you have. A signal that will ripple all the way to your father.

You run out of oxygen, and everything goes black.

Tsutomu has been waiting a long time by the beach. He got up early to watch the sunrise, carrying a thermos of hot tea with him as he sat by the water and wondered what your life was like through the months you don’t see him. As he wakes more fully and the air starts to warm (though not by much) he walks alongside the waterline, testing how far he could go in without getting the hem of his pants wet, how long his toes could stand immersion in the cold seawater. He ponders why you keep visiting him, year after year, bringing him good luck and sunny skies.

You’re more to him than a symbol, though; you’re amazing.

As he settles himself, he starts to walk back to the tidepools, hoping you’ll be there. He knows it’s a little early for your visit, but you’re unpredictable; besides, he’s sure you care about your weird human friend as much as he cares about his fishy one.

Near the stairs, something rolls on the sand, flashing gold. Tsutomu squints at it, then picks up his pace. Shit, shit, is that—

It is. He picks up the jar, lips pressing into a pout when he sees that you’re unmoving. He runs up the steps to his home, taking them two at a time, all the while talking to you like you can hear him through the glass barrier.

He collects a bucket and stands next to the garden hose, trying to shake you out of your jar. He thinks that it would require too much force than would be safe to get you out, but you’re clearly suffocating in there. He squats on his heels, turning the jar over in his hands and wracking his brain for a solution.

“Tsutomu, you’re gonna be late for practice!” His mom rounds the corner, startling him, and he drops you. “Tsutomu—what was that?”

You’re out of the jar, but now you’re lying in pieces of shattered glass. Eyes round in distress, Tsutomu snatches you up and plops you into the full bucket of water.

“Nothing,” he says, voice suspiciously shaky.

“Okay, well, we’ve gotta go, so get in the car now.” She jerks her thumb towards the vehicle. He nods and peeks into your bucket. You stare up at him, as alert as ever, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

In the car, you swim happily in circles, raising your head out of the bucket to peer out the window.

“What’s in the bucket?” His mom says with interest, and he presses a hand over the opening of the bucket, trying not to giggle as you nuzzle his palm. 

“It’s for a group science project—Mom, watch out, you’re gonna make it spill!” She side-eyes him, knowing her son has never been so conscientious of a school project or of his own messes before, but lets it slide. There’s no point in prying when there are only so many options to be found on the beach. The worst that can happen is that he lightly traumatizes some sea creature, and she doubts that Tsutomu’s conscience and childhood obsession with marine life could let him do that. Besides, she smiles to herself. The sea is basically in his blood.

Tsutomu rushes out of the car, managing only a “Thanks-Mom-love-you-goodbye!” before he’s dashing to the gym, gaze bouncing between your bucket and the ground to avoid tripping so fast watching his eyes makes you dizzy.

He sets you down on the bench closest to the court.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He whispers, picking you up to make sure there’s no glass embedded in your skin. 

“I’m okay!” You beam up at him. “Tsutomu rescued me!” 

He smiles at that, blushing faintly, pretty eyes squinting, and you pop out of the water to splash him lightly.

“Hey, I have to practice in this,” he frowns.

“Sorry,” you say, abashed, but he shoots you a small smile and you know it’s alright.

Listening to Tsutomu explain volleyball is entirely different from watching him play it. You didn’t really understand it when he spoke, before, but now you understand the difference between a fishing net and a volleyball one, as well as other crucial aspects of the game. There’s a lot of yelling, and squeaking, and it’s a little hard to see from inside your bucket, but you don’t mind. You bob up every so often, trying to find Tsutomu on the court, though it’s hard when he moves around so much.

At one point, he jumps up and slams down the ball in what’s clearly a perfect line even to the untrained eye. Around him, his teammates burst into cheers (“Nice going, bowlcut!) and you get so excited you mimic them, whooping and doing a flip in the air.

“Eh? What was that?” Someone you can’t see says, and then Tsutomu is there, grinning widely at you from above, eyes watering slightly.

“Oi, Goshiki,” a boy with hair as red as your scales slides an arm around him. “What’s this you’ve got?”

Tsutomu opens his mouth, but you beat him to it, using the name he gave you without a second thought.

“Huh? Wow, you have a smart goldfish! Reon, come check out Goshiki’s goldfish!”

Reon simply looks at you and says, “Cool.”

“Be nicer!” The redhead says, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “She can talk!”

“I can talk!” You echo. Reon repeats cool, unfazed.

“What are we looking at, Tendō?” A boy whose shirt reads Yamagata slows his jogging to a stop, one hand running through his hair as he looks at the red bucket.

“This is Y/N,” Tsutomu says. “I found her on the beach.”

“Are you going to eat that?” A voice deeper than the others makes you poke your head further out of the water than before. It’s a boy like the others, with greenish hair and a huge stature. He reminds you, oddly, of your mother. Big and bea-uti-ful!

“No!” Tsutomu yelps. “No, we won’t! Ushijima-senpai, sir,” he adds, voice calming to a lower pitch as he does.

“Are you sure?” Asks Tendō, a sly expression crossing his face. Tsutomu pushes him away hastily and steps protectively in front of you. 

“Yes! I mean no! I mean—”

“Alright,” Ushijima-senpai says slowly. “Welcome to our practice, then. I hope you enjoy watching volleyball.”

“Enjoy!” You do another flip. “Watching Ushijima-senpai!”

“Okay—” Tsutomu says, picking up your bucket, looking around as he tries to find his way out of the circle of boys.

“What’s wrong with your fish?” A boy with long bangs and pointy features grabs the bucket and peers at you. You don’t like this pointy human. “Why is it talking?”

You say nothing, hollowing your cheeks in preparation to spit at him.

“Give her back,” Tsutomu narrows his eyes. “Careful, Shirabu.”

“Is no one else concerned about the talking goldfish?” Shirabu looks around at his upperclassmen. “What the fuck, Goshiki?”

“He’s right,” Ushijima says thoughtfully. “The fish could be a spy. For Karasuno, perhaps.”

“What?” Shirabu’s outraged yell is shortly cut off by Tsutomu’s fearful-yet-determined denial that you would ever do such a thing to him or to Shiratorizawa.

A deep sigh, sounding somewhat like it’s exhaling the speaker’s entire soul, interrupts them both.

“Can we please stop staring at Goshiki’s pet and get back to practice?” A boy with ash blond hair says, and immediately, a few of the others nod and disperse.

“She’s not a pet,” Ushijima says, while Tsutomu splutters incoherently. “Or sushi. She’s a friend of Goshiki. But you’re right, we should be practicing.”

“T-thank you, Ushijima,” Tsutomu says haltingly, eyes shining in admiration. “I really appreciate it!” The captain only needs to look back at him, his face unsmiling but not at all unfriendly, for him to continue. “And I apologize for distracting everyone, I’ll get back to work now! Thank you!”

The rest of practice goes smoothly, although you get a few lingering stares and an odd few minutes of interrogation from Shirabu while they’re on their break. He tries to explain that you can talk, and this is bad, and it’s a demon, to an old man with white hair, who merely hums when he looks at you and tells him to do an extra fifteen laps as a punishment for talking nonsense about magical goldfish.

Once the games have all finished and Goshiki’s changed into street clothing, though, something horrible happens. He’s picking you up, ready to transport you to his mother’s workplace so you can drive home, but then someone taps him on the shoulder. He startles, water sloshing over the sides of the bucket, and lifts up the bucket to his chest to prevent any further instability.

“Goshiki-kun,” a girl human says. “Could I speak to you outside?”

“Ouuuu,” you hear Tendō’s voice from across the gym. “Little bowl cut is receiving a confession?”

“Uh, um, yes, you can,” he says, and when you turn his cheeks are scarlet. “Let me just pack up the rest of my things, and I’ll m-meet you out there.”

“Sounds good!” She says, and you don’t like the cheery note of her voice or the way she brushes her hand against his bicep. You make a face up at Tsutomu, but he doesn’t seem to notice, lost in his own head.

You swim all the way to the bottom of the bucket, only to feel him poking you not a minute later.

“Don’t be grumpy,” he says. “Please? It’ll be just a second.”

You flap a fin at him and make an enthusiastic noise.

It is not, in fact, a second. You wait for an eternity (and you know about eternities) for the girl to stop stuttering her way through telling Tsutomu that she thinks he’s really smart, and she likes his bowl cut, and you can just see the word amazing forming on her lips before she says it. Her hand is stretching out, dropping something shiny into his hand, and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it.

You act before you think. Your cheeks puff up and you take a big breath in and then there’s water, all over her pretty pink cardigan. She shrieks and then starts to cry a little, and you stick out your tongue and blow a raspberry at her before diving back down, flipping your tail with sass as you go.

“I’m really sorry,” Tsutomu says frantically, offering her a wrinkled handkerchief. “It was an accident, I swear. I-I really appreciate your confession and, um, I’m glad you were comfortable enough soo that you could come to me, but, oh! My mom’s here, I have to go! Bye!”

You swivel and watch as he picks you up and bolts away; her tears seem to have dried a bit as she stares after him in bewilderment. Not for the first time, you wish you had two legs and hands to hold onto Tsutomu. You wish that you could stay on shore with him, and keep away all the girls like her forever.

You know it’s childish, but you don’t care. Does it matter that it’s an immature thought when it’s completely impossible?

In the car, Tsutomu is quiet. Even his mother seems to notice his pensive aura, and frames her questions about his day carefully to avoid sounding like she’s prying.

“What’s that?” She asks, and he unclenches his hand, looking as mystified by the object in his palm as you feel. It’s a pin, gold and pink and shaped like a heart. “Oh, my gosh, is that from your girlfriend, Tsutomu?”

“No,” he says immediately. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

You frown, bumping the red walls of the bucket, and he trails his fingers through the water. Something coppery floods your senses, and you dart over to nuzzle his hand instinctively. In his palm, there’s an angry red mark, oozing little droplets of blood. When you poke it, he winces. 

It tastes weird when you lick it.

“Hey!” He jerks his hand out of the water. “Whoa.”

Where Tsutomu knew he had been pricked by the pin a few minutes ago, there’s no sign of injury, even though the water surrounding you still has a faint tint in places. You watch him with round eyes, and he offers you a smile and a pat on the head. Amazing.

“What did you think, Y/N?” You stick out your tongue.

“Girlfriends suck,” is your opinion. “Pbbbt.”

The wind blows the longer strands of Tsutomu’s straight hair to the side as he stands next to the garden hose, refilling your bucket with fresh water. Above you, the sky is a weak blue, it’s brighter shades concealed by layers of white mist. A lush, slightly overgrown garden is what hides behind the picket fence you can see from the seashore, full of plants that look so familiar to the kelp forests you’re used to, yet so different. The upper lands are so strange. You’re glad Tsutomu’s mom doesn’t keep her garden dry and cut into shrubbery, like some of the houses you saw on the way to his school.

“Who are you?” Tsutomu’s voice is stiff, like his form as he drops you into the now-full bucket of fresh water while you crane your neck to see past his legs.

“Where is she?” Booms a voice you know all too well. It cuts off when he sees you, lips pursed while you try to look as inconspicuous as possible. “Captured by a human boy? Bad, that’s very bad. Give her here—“

“No!” Your friend yelps. “You want to take her? Y/N, I’ll protect you.”

“Protection?” Your father sneers, his hair puffing up threateningly. “I felt her signal for help—very good, by the way, your spellwork is coming along nicely. Give her here, now, I’ll be drying out soon.”

“I don’t care! Y/N wouldn’t do that, we’re friends,” Tsutomu says, casting a glance down at you. You nod, your tongue feeling stuck.

“My daughter would not befriend a human—“

“Y/N loves Tsutomu!” You cry. A light blazes in his eyes at the words, and his posture straightens.

“And I love her!”

“Eh?” Your father looks between the two of you. “That’s nonsense, Brunhilda, you know what humans are like, and what’s a Y/N, anyway?”

“It’s me!” You flip in the air, surging with defiant energy. “It’s my name.”

You choke midsentence as a hand closes around you; the world goes up in bubbles, and all you can hear is Tsutomu screaming your name, over and over.

Over.

And over.

And over.



“Again!” You sigh and twitch your fins lazily, watching with hooded eyes as lines only you can see race across the model mountain, glowing faintly before they settle into the material. The warding spell is clean and simple, requiring no complicated incantations or strange ingredients. However, it needs time to sink in, and when a hermit crab scuttles over the map and right onto your now-invisible lines, the whole thing goes up in a puff of smoke.

“Y/N,” your father says sternly, having given up on Brunhilda some time ago, when you refused to answer to it. “This is meant to be a demonstration for your sisters. These spells require layering, you know, one spell to ward and a secondary spell to, in a way, ward that ward. This creates an effect…”

You say nothing, merely letting a current of water roll you onto your side, your eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. You can feel the sympathetic gaze of your father—you know that he didn’t intend for this to happen. He only wanted to save you; he couldn’t have known that Tsutomu wasn’t the threat. You know he worries about you when he thinks you can’t hear him. You hear his every prayer for your mother to come back, to make things right, to help you see things his way. It’s only on the third point that he loses you. You didn’t want things to be this way either.

When you lost Tsutomu, something inside you boiled up and nearly steamed over. You can only remember wanting to go back, to go home to him, desperately trying to rejoin him on land. You love your father, and you only want his understanding. He left behind his humanity for your mother; why can’t you gain it yourself for Tsutomu?

The lid had clamped down on that furiously bubbling emotion, and in response it had gone to sleep, simmering but never fully boiling away. At first, you had been unmotivated even to eat or wake when your sisters did. Four years later, you still miss him: you go about your day to day life just fine, but you lack your childhood verve.

Even now, you can feel yourself slipping into slumber, exhausted by just a few minutes of magic. Your father’s voice and the clamor of your sisters meld into a comforting hum, lulling you further. You barely register the feeling of your father carrying you to your aquarium, the whisper of his goodnight lost on your drowsing mind.

When he was fourteen, Tsutomu’s mother found him in the garden. There was a wet trail leading right off the bluffs, a red bucket lying on its side, and her son, sitting with his knees under his chin and crying his heart out. The garden hose was still on.

She didn’t ask what happened, just turned off the hose and crouched next to him, arm over his shoulders, until he looked up at her with puffy eyes and wordlessly followed her into the house.

Risa had always known that she could be a little sharp with her words, and so she used food to express herself more often when she wanted it to be soft and soothing. She mixed her son some tea, the way she had every time he’d gotten sick when he was little, slid two slices of bread into the toaster, and hoped that the warmth of what she gave him would travel into his heart and help it heal a bit. Tsutomu cried into the toast a little, once it had been lavished with butter and honey, but it was just sniffling and not silent sobs, so she didn’t mind much. Then they sat on the couch and she rubbed his back while old tapes of his very first volleyball games played on the TV.

Tsutomu never told her what had happened that day. He could tell that she was curious, but unwilling to pressure him, and he wasn’t sure how to explain it. She’d always spoken about you in the same manner most adults used to describe the imaginary friends of children, and correcting that assumption seemed beyond the dignity of the man he wanted her to see him as. He knew that she guessed that he’d knocked over the bucket and sent his fish back down into the sea, and it wasn’t an unreasonable explanation. Fourteen year old boys weren’t the most rational creatures, and he could very easily have been sent into a similar kind of spiral had the fish just been a regular goldfish. It wasn’t, though, and he’d never cried so hard over any girl since.

He misses you. Though it doesn’t ache as sharply as it did when the fear of facing off against your father was fresh in his mind, he still thinks of you with a pang of sadness. There had been a sense of belonging with you he knows was more than a fleeting feeling. He hopes you’re happy in the ocean, learning new magic and spending time with your sisters, and once you’re queen of the sea, maybe you’ll come visit him. He’ll show you his cross spike.

“Again!” Shirabu barks, and Tsutomu has no trouble complying. He empties himself of every concern outside of the game and slams down a serve, just outside of the zone he wants it to land in. Without prompting, he picks up another ball and does it again.

Over and over and over.

Electricity was already crackling in the air when he woke up.

Everything felt uncomfortable, like the pressure in the atmosphere would pop and the sky would fall down in flaming pieces around them. It’s gray, like it was the day you went home. You’ve been lingering even longer on his mind than usual, and he just hopes that the knot in his throat will go away if he hits enough perfect shots. It would probably help if his partner for the day weren’t allergic to acknowledging when he does something right.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Shirabu says. Tsutomu makes a face at him and serves one more ball, the sound of it hitting the ground echoing obnoxiously. These days, he and Shirabu are good friends, though they’re still hiding behind the thin veneer of antagonism they’d held for each other in their first years. Being teammates at Shiratorizawa means being bonded for life, after all. There’s no sense in fighting it. The powers that be (also known as Coach Washijō) are as inexorable as fate, after all.

During the school year, Tsutomu lived in the dorms, like most other academy students, but living a mere half hour ride away meant he often visited the school over summers, too. It’s a little bittersweet now to know that each day spent practicing in this gym could be his last; though he has some time before university begins, he’s not sure when graduates are supposed to lose access.

“I drove with my mom,” Tsutomu says, “so I’ll be meeting her at the senior center. You’re coming over to watch the Rockets game later, right?”

“Sure,” Shirabu says, slinging on his backpack. “I have to bring some homework, though, I have too much preliminary coursework already.”

“You asked for it, smartass,” teases his friend.

“That’s gonna be Doctor smartass to you.”

Despite the short walk between the academy and the senior center, Tsutomu is soaked by the time he walks inside. He’s careful when taking off his raincoat and shaking out his umbrella, placing it into the designated stand, stamping his boots on the absorbent mat a few times to be safe. Just past the welcome desk, he can see his mother, pushing rambunctious Mrs. Suzuki down the hall, probably to her daily bingo game, where she’ll fleece the other players just like she’s done every day for years. Mrs. Fukuyo is sitting near the terrace doors, gazing out of the big window at the wet world outside.

“Hello, Tsutomu-chan,” she says, beckoning him to sit down, taking his hand in both of hers. “Or should I say Goshiki? You’re an adult, now, aren’t you?”

“Basically,” he says, lifting his chin. “One more week.”

“Oh, yes, you’re very grown up,” she says. “I remember when you were just starting secondary school. You were a bit skinnier then, and you wouldn’t eat fish.”

Tsutomu flushes.

“A lot can happen in a week,” says Miss Itoh, who often plays Mrs. Suzuki’s partner in crime when she deigns to attend bingo, as she passes by. “You be careful, Tsutomu, with all this weather. It’s bad luck.”

“There’s always weather,” sniffs Mrs. Fukuyo. “And we need the rain.”

“I’ll take care, don’t worry,” Tsutomu says politely. “You do the same, please.”

“Good, good,” Miss Itoh sounds distracted. “Happy birthday. Keep out of the rain, you’ll get sick. And don’t go sailing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he stands to bow as she leaves the room.

“She’s crazy,” Mrs. Fukuyo sighs, half-joking. “But even a broken clock is right twice a day. You’re a good kid.”

“Thank you,” he says, stiff and awkward, cheeks glowing red.

“Tsutomu, there you are. Sorry to keep you waiting, I’m done now,” his mother lands a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Hello there, Mrs. Fukuyo. Doing well?”

“I am, thank you,” says the elderly woman. “Just telling your son what a strong man he’s grown up to be. He’ll take good care of his mother.”

“I will,” Tsutomu says with conviction. His mother’s pride beams down on him like the sun splitting the clouds.

“Thank you,” his mother says. “The storm rages on; we should probably go.”

“The roads aren’t safe,” says the the woman at the check-in desk as they prepare their rain gear to leave. “You should stay here for the night, Risa.”

Her jaw tightens. “I need to be there if Koichi radios in. We’ll make it just fine, don't you worry.”

On a nondescript day in August, you wake up.

Something tastes different on the current, and you feel almost like you’re regarding the world with new eyes again. You remember, with fierce and reckless abandon, what it is to love.

“Good morning,” you greet your sisters cheerily.

“Good morning!” They echo back, beaming at you. They feel it too, you can tell.

You eat your breakfast with gusto, examine your scales and scrub each until they shine. You kiss every sister you see on top of her red-gold head.

“I want to see Goshiki,” you tell your father, watching as his hair stands on end at the name, bracing yourself so the surprised jolt of power he emits doesn’t knock you down.

“No,” is all he can muster for a moment. “The human world isn’t safe. Look at what happened to you the last time you went up there.”

“I would have been fine because of Tsutomu,” you say, “And I’m even more powerful now than I was.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps back. “They taint everything they touch. You’d have to-to literally, actually become a human to return to the surface. I don’t want them taking you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” You take a deep breath.

“Fine,” you say. “Then I’ll do it myself.”

You exhale with controlled force, closing your eyes and concentrating on the slow beat of cold blood in your veins.

“What are you doing?” Starts your father, nervously, but you don’t hear as you focus intently on the warmth spreading through you.

Pop!

You open your eyes, magic still swirling around you, and beam.

“Feet!” You chirp. “I have feet!” A little more pushing, and—

“Are those legs?” Your father shrieks. “Stop this right now!”

“No,” you say fiercely, and release an explosion of power so potent it rocks you backward. Seconds later, you realize that you’ve blasted a hole in the wall and the barrier ward; seawater rich with plankton rushes through, followed by barracuda with bulging eyes and squirming eels. You have hands, now, and something odd is happening to your scalp. You use one of the new extremities to reach tentatively up and pat your head.

“Hair!” Your sisters, freed from their own bubbles by the commotion, float around you. A shock of hair has sprouted from your scalp like a crop of coral. It tickles your forehead.

“I did it,” you say quietly, breathless. “I’m human.”

You look around for your father, but only see the tail end of him dashing into one of his back rooms, his nervous muttering echoing around the room.

Perhaps if you were human from the beginning, your mother would have taken you to the sea, held your hand as you beheld the glittering waves for the first time, and warned you never to turn your back on the ocean. Alas, you weren’t and she didn’t, so you fall with no resistance forward when a rush of water slams into your back, grinding your face into the floor and sweeping you away while you flail your little hands helplessly.

You’ve only felt so powerless in the water once before. Scrabbling for purchase as you freewheel through the halls of your home, you catch your fingers—there’s still a little rush of joy from it, you made them, you have fingers—on the spokes of a great wheel and cling for dear life. It creaks and turns, and you yelp, your words turning to bubbles that rise and pop against the ceiling, against which the water now reaches. The wheel turns again, and you try to hold your breath (something you’ve never done before) as something in the door clicks. There’s a moment where you think it’ll hold, and then you rock forward a little more, and it swings open. The ocean, eager to fill everything and make it its own, changes its course, and you tumble into the room, eyes widening when you see the enormous cauldron filled with something richly luminous and golden. Even submerged, the scent of the potion is strong, reminiscent of plant rot and blooming flowers, the same perfume that your mother exudes. For a moment, you gain breath, lungs and gills morphed and confused, and then you’re pulled back beneath the surface and pushed right into the pot.

You shut your eyes, the golden glow permeating even through your eyelids, and oddly enough, you can breathe like it’s pure oxygen. You can feel your spell being taken away from you, your limbs becoming fins, and you open your eyes.

I want to be human, you cry. I want to see my love.

The cauldron erupts, pushing you out of it on the top of a geyser. You hear popping noises and try to stand, looking down to see several of your sisters caught up in the fount of bubbling-over magic, thrashing joyfully as they try to wave at you with suddenly huge fins. 

You wave back, and gasp involuntarily when you see your own hand. Five fingers, covered with soft skin, veins carrying warm blood and strong bones beneath it. Your sisters may have grown far more in the span of the last few seconds, but you’ve reached an entirely unfamiliar size and shape yourself. You stretch your legs, examining your toes, the way your dress—the same color as your scales and a little iridescent, just like they were—flows around you, and beam at your sisters.

Thank you, Mother. You bow your head quickly in short prayer.

“Let’s go see Tsutomu!” You call out, and your sisters leap in answer. The surface world is so different through the eyes of a human. Your head is turned constantly to the shore as you race on the bubbling foam towards the highest hill you can see, a speck of yellow and red on top of it growing closer with every step. Lights turn on and off in the windows of homes, a thousand little fireflies glowing smaller in the distance. Trees, shivering and shaking in the wind, make up the landscape, shaping it into something that looks almost soft from so far above.

The broad panorama isn’t without more minor detail, though: with some fascination, you see two glowing eyes staring at you from along the road. Their owner steps out of the shadows—a furry creature with pointy ears and a tail and a sleek white coat of fur. Another cat follows him into the light, this one black and her eyes shiny green, unlike the first’s calm blue. The white cat rubs his cheek along the other’s, winding around her while she stands stock-still. Quick as a minnow, the black cat swipes at him, but the white cat darts away, checking over its shoulder to see if she’ll follow. You beam broadly and speed up, eager to situate yourself in this strange and exciting new world Tsutomu comes from.

Tsutomu can’t remember a time his mother’s spent the night away from home. Every night, without fail, if she knows that his dad will be in the harbor, she sits at home and waits for him, beaming their signal in start-stop patterns, having whole conversations with him in flashes when the radio reception isn’t to be used. It’s not often he’s away from home, either; it makes him uneasy to be away from the open sea. A closed horizon is a strange sight to him, like being a bug trapped in a bowl.

His parents’ commitment to each other has shaped him, something he’s always known. In sickness and in health, they swore to each other, and they kept it. For better or for worse.

His mother certainly seems intent on plowing through the worst to get to his father, now, the rain hitting their windshield in sheets and the water sloshing around their tires. Tsutomu doesn’t protest at all, just hangs on to the grab handle and stares out at the behemoth waves.

A flash of red shines in the corner of his eye. He sucks in a sharp breath, twisting fully around. He squints, trying to make out shapes through the rain.

“Get back in your seat,” his mother blindly swats at him with one hand, eyes focused on the road. “You’re throwing off the weight distribution.”

Tsutomu ignores her, white knuckling the cushions of the car as he watches you, dancing in the rain, running with the waves. You duck and weave, your dress red against the cold, gray sea.

“There’s a girl in the water!”

“What? Where?”

His mouth lies, but his heart knows the truth, knew it as soon as he saw you.

“There,” he points, but you pull ahead of them, and then there’s nothing but lightning flashing in the distance. “Never mind. Never mind. We just—we just need to go home, sorry.”

“Right you are,” his mother says, and drives the gas pedal into the floor.

Tsutomu is a shipwreck. Tossed around on the waves of his thoughts, he finds himself cresting and falling, one emotion followed immediately by another. It can’t be you. It is you. Tsutomu doesn’t care what you are, just that he can see you again. He wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

Their wipers battle to slough off the buckets pouring from the sky, and Tsutomu’s heart drops to his soles when a smudge of red reveals itself just to be his old bucket, hanging off the fence. His mom parks and he tries to regulate his breathing, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car on shaky legs.

“Is that…” His mother says, trailing off, and his head snaps up, the car blocking him from whatever she sees.

He walks around, trying desperately not to break into a run, trying not to get his hopes up.

Barely audible over the sound of storming, the pat-pat-pat of rapid footsteps is his only warning before—

You crash into Tsutomu, both faces scrunching up from the impact, both losing your footing on the wet pavement and falling further into each other. He knows it’s you even with his eyes closed. He would know you in every world and the next; he would know you from the beat of your heart and the touch of your skin and the way he loves you, loves you, loves you.

For a moment, before you hit the ground, you feel like you’re flying with him.

You spill together onto the driveway like an egg cracked into a pan, still holding each other in a bone-crushing embrace. You inhale his scent deeply and nuzzle into his wet-rain-jacket shoulder, and he cracks his eyes open, afraid you’ll disappear when he comes back to reality.

Tsutomu says your name quietly, on tenterhooks, almost all the breath in his body taken out of him.

You lift your head and say his louder, eyes wide and bright and wet. He can’t stop his tears from welling up, but he can blame them on the rain.

You kiss his cheeks where the salt might dry, one then the other, soft as the breeze. Tsutomu can still feel your smile, unfading. The sky turns gold around you.

[softnsmole]

(Original work by me, @softnsmole)

(contains size difference, fearplay, soft oral v°re, sexual content)

Til gingerly stepped in to the bath, finally having gotten the perfect temperature. Her eyes quickly flicked towards Mole, making sure he was still perched safely in his little inflatable flamingo floaty before lowering herself in to the sparkly, bubbly water.

"It's always magnificent, watching you step in to the bath," Mole called up to her, his grip on the flamingoes neck tightening with a squeak as Til's arrival upset the water. Little waves threatened to bowl it over completely, but the bubbles on either side bolstered it enough that he was able to stabilize. A silly grin, bordering on a smirk, plastered Mole's face as Til rolled her eyes and smiled.

"You're a dork," Til replied, a hand reaching under the flamingo floaty to hold it steady. She could see the shoulders of her tiny partner relax a little more, his vice grip around the poor flamingo finally loosening with a clipped squeak. He exhaled gratefully, a small, adorable sound that made the corner of Til's lips twitch in amusement. She settled further in to the bath, gently drawing the flamingo towards her as she lay down, her face nearly in the water and eyes level with Mole.

"Goddesses Gardens, how did I end up with such a handsome little bath toy?" Til teased, twitching her eyebrow in the way she knew would make her bathing partner react. She looked him up and down, idly swirling her free hand in the pink and blue shimmering water. Mole remained locked to her blue, blue eyes and shivered involuntarily. Til could see little goosebumps feathering across his opal skin. "Oh, dear," she murmured, "you look cold. Here..."

She slowly started pulling the flamingo down, into the bathwater. A little bit started spilling over the sides, just enough for Mole to slip on and stumble back, landing flat on his back with his feet sticking straight up in the air, arms still flailing for grip even though he had nothing to grab on to. Til chuckled at his gasp and subsequent huff of indignation.

"Hey!"

Til pulled her other hand out of the water, reaching for Mole. His indignation melted away as he felt warm, wet fingers wrap around him and pick him up gently. Til smiled softly as he relaxed in to her hand, arms loosely wrapped around her thumb.

"Sorry, love. You're just magnificent, the way you get in the bath."

He responded with a loose snort, recognising his ability to be graceful was definitely limited in situations like this. Taking a deep breath, he held Til's thumb tighter, reveling in the warmth and safety. He exhaled, feeling the days stress leave him and trickle down Til's hand with the dripping bathwater. Idly tracing circles on his back with her middle finger, she brought him closer to her chest, cupping her other hand around him and gently lowering both hands in the water, sloping them and making a sort of basin shape. She stopped when the warm, shimmery water was to his thighs. She could see his skin flushing as the pleasant change in temperature painted itself across his small body.

He relaxed further, letting himself slip in to the warm water, sighing deeply. Til opened her hands, guiding him to settle on her submerged chest, just above her belly. They lay like that for a while, enjoying the warm water and soft scents of the bath bomb swirling around them, the ambient spice of an incense stick hovering assertively in the background.

Mole dozed, eyes half lidded as Til continued tracing up and down his arm with a finger. She loved looking at him, admiring all his perfect little features. His scars and tattoos, the small lines of definition in his chin and cheeks, his tiny but deft hands. She shifted, settling herself again, and a low growl tremored through the bathwater. A blush was already blooming on Til's face by the time Mole opened one brown eye and peered up at her.

"You forgot bath snacks again, didn't you?" Mole teased. He was a little disappointed in all honesty; he had never liked the idea of snacks in the bath, but the first time Til dumped mini m&ms in a bowl with him and floated the bowl in the bathtub like a little candy island... How could he not be hooked? Til just huffed a little, biting her lip, annoyed at herself. Mole shifted his body against her stomach, pushing his feet in to it gently and illiciting another growl.

"Isn't it so interesting how the water seems to make it louder?" Mole asked innocently. Til could have sworn he was batting his eyelashes at her.

My boyfriend's a bath hussy, she thought to herself. But then a devious thought crossed her mind.

"Yeah... I wonder if it sounds even louder from in the water," she mused, hoping to appeal to his curious side. He thought for a second, trying to come up with how that could work, and was completely unprepared for Til quickly curling her fingers back around him and lifting him out of the water, making him jump and squirm a little.

"Hey! Hey, Til, kinda tight there," Mole yelped a little, trying not to sound as startled as he was. Til relaxed her grip a little, but not enough for him to wriggle away. He pushed out as hard as he could, trying to squeeze at least an arm free. He was panting at that point; he knew there was no earthly way he could ever be strong enough to push her hand open, but it didn't stop him from trying. It was all in good fun anyway, he thought. Right?

Finally, either through sheer luck or Til's taking pity on him, he was able to pop his left arm free between two of her fingers.

"Oh, what's this here for? Offering to give me a hand?" Til crooned, slowly opening her mouth and introducing his hand to the soft, warm darkness.

He could feel each of her tastebuds flitting over his skin like slickened stones, the bumpy surface pliant under his fingers. It slowly started creeping up his arm, approaching his elbow, wet warmth bleeding outward from everywhere her tongue touched. His face flushed crimson, a mix of sheer heat, a little desire, and fear partly to blame. He gasped as she pulled the rest of his arm in, her lips now hovering just inches from his face as she sucked gently on his forearm, and he felt a different sensation, one that felt less like a squeeze and more like a-

*glk*

In one smooth motion, he jerked his hand back right as Til swallowed. He felt the very top of her throat grasp at his fingers as he frantically tried pulling his arm away from her, feeling her soft palate and the back of her tongue teasing his fingertips, squeezing around them just enough to remind him he couldn't move without her cooperation. And she wasn't feeling in a very cooperative mood.

She pulled away from him, just enough that she could keep his hand within reach of her tongue and mouth and still look at him. He spluttered, lost for words. Had it been five minutes or five seconds? He jumped a little as a soft "mmmm" vibrated around his fingers, still pressed involuntarily in to her tongue. She finally relented, releasing him.

"Sorry, little Mo, you just taste so *good*." She smirked. His heart dropped. She only called him that when...

He didn't have time to finish the thought before her tongue was back, this time pressing at his feet. She exhaled on him, her warm breath causing him to shudder, all his tiny hairs standing on end. He gasped, wrapping his free arm tightly around her finger as she slowly dragged her tongue up his legs, stopping just short of his pelvis. He saw the corner of her lips turn up in a smile as he shivered under her tongue, grasping her finger tightly. She hummed softly, though he was unsure if that was because he held her tighter or she liked the way he tasted.

"Even better," she murmured, sultry tone dripping from her words. "You're wet..."

Mole gasped as her tongue returned, licking up further, teasing across his untrimmed mound, the wet heat sinking down. He was wet, probably had been before the bath in all honesty. But the constantly shifting, silky sensation of Til's wandering tongue commanded his attention as it inquisitively prodded him between the legs. With a jagged exhale, he let her in.

Warmth shifted to heat, and soon her tongue had snaked fully between his legs and scooped him up. Mole slipped on the slick surface, unable to grab hold of anything to brace himself as he melted in to her. Alarm bells rang distantly in the back of his mind, his body distracted by the shifting sensations everywhere and the mixed sense of safety and arousal dulling his sense of danger. Til tucked his feet in to her lips and slowly started sucking his legs in, tongue teasingly rubbing along the back of his neck, distracting him further. He bit back a moan as his hips met her lips.

Til chuckled lowly, holding Moles tiny hand between her fingers and gently squeezing. She exhaled another warm breath over him, enjoying his subsequent shudder and the smallest of lewd noises as she deliberately pressed her lips in to his hip bones, firmly pressing her tongue against his back. He tasted so *good* when he let her have him, she thought. But he was in this position because he was being punished, and Til mused that he was perhaps enjoying this a little too much.

Mole was snapped harshly out of his stupor by the realisation he was in far deeper than he thought, just in time for the back of Til's throat to coil up and close around his ankles.

"Til, what's going on-"

*gLK*

Slick, rippling muscles rolled up around his feet, gripping them frighteningly tight in their spongy but strong embrace. He tried to squirm free, but Til had her lips firmly pressed around his middle, tongue flexing beneath him as if to remind him who was in charge. He only slipped in a few inches, but it had cost him enough ground that he was beginning to feel more afraid than aroused. He realised she was holding one of his hands and pressed against her face with his free one, knowing he wasn't strong enough to stop her if she really wanted to...

"Mmm?" Til hummed around Mole, slowly wrapping her fingers around him and pulling him out of her mouth, smiling. Her eyes were locked on Mole, making him blush and squirm half heartedly in her grasp. "Something the matter?" Her words rolled over him like dense fog, pulling him back down to her like a trap. He stopped struggling for a moment to catch his breath, hunting for words.

"Jeez, Til. You.. You really got me worried there, for a second I thought you might, you might've actually... I was worried you were going to..." He trailed off nervously, reluctant to say it out loud as her gaze stayed locked to his, an almost predatory look on her face. She waited, watching him struggle for words, watching the hesitancy and fear and anticipation on his face, and she reveled in it. In perfect timing, another assertive growl came from her midsection, punctuating the silence. Til smiled wickedly.

"Say it," she breathed, the candlelight flickering off her face, hovering inches from his.

She could see the tiny beads of sweat on his face, adorable little diamonds that betrayed his feelings so that Til knew exactly how he was feeling, no matter whether he said it or not. But he took a deep breath, steadying himself, and she felt him tense faintly in her hand.

"S-swallow me..."

The last thing he saw clearly was her tongue rushing towards him. He threw his hands up, a reflexive response to protect himself, or at least tell himself he tried to. Then everything was dark and wet.

Til pressed him face-first in to her tongue with a finger, holding his legs together while she carefully tasted his front before flipping him over and pushing him in up to his thighs. Her tongue slid under him, buffering his legs from her teeth before curling up between them and pulling him the rest of the way in.

Mole panicked as his world became much, much smaller around him. The only sounds he could hear were the wet squishes from her tongue, tasting him throughoughly, her breath rolling in and out of her lungs somewhere below, her heartbeat lowly pulsing in the background and all around him. Everything was moving, and hot, and wet, and he was profoundly disoriented. He pressed his hands blindly in front of him and felt hard, smooth ridges, and realised he must be on his back, facing up, and his hands were currently pushing against the roof of his partner's mouth.

He squeaked at the sensation of her tongue lewdly slipping between his legs, searching for his folds. Til knew she found them when she saw Mole's little feet twitch outside her mouth.

Overwhelming was an understatement. Mole was barraged from every angle with sounds and sensations, and that very distracting tongue pressing firmly against his sex, making him moan and arch his back. He felt her palate firmly against his chest as her tongue continued pushing him.

A gasp escaped him when her tongue finally found his entrance and pushed against it. He couldn't help himself as he relaxed his hips and, for the second time, let her in, his fear overruled by her dominance.

Til reached up to grab his legs and try to hold him still. She wanted to taste him, every last little inch.

Her tongue tip prodded and pressed against him more firmly, finally feeling some give. Mole gasped and dropped his hips, grinding against it as it started slipping inside him. Her absolute control was intoxicating and he had yet again forgotten about what he was afraid was happening.

Til began firmly fucking Mole with the tip of her tongue, managing his squirming by keeping hold of his legs and gently sucking on him to keep him from bucking around too much. She felt his small hands running over her tongue and palate before one of them wandered lower and lower.

Naughty boy, Til thought, before swallowing.

A jolt of pleasure shot through Mole as Til's tongue slid deeper in to him, before his orientation changed. He realised he was tilting backwards slightly, just before feeling the unmistakable sensation of her throat closing around him. He tried to let out a muffled cry, but it choked off as she plunged her tongue even deeper inside him, hot and wet and pressing deep and firm in to his most sensitive places. All Mole could feel was Til, everywhere. Everything was Til.

He took a ragged breath. The throat slowly retreated from him before he heard another groan, slowly building from below until he felt her throat opening before him again, the sound of the growling gurgle from her stomach rolling up and over him like a tidal wave. He squirmed lightly in fear again before Til flexed her tongue inside him, causing him to moan and arch his back again while she giggled around him. He was so completely hers, whether he wanted to be or not.

He fought weakly as he felt her tongue stiffen again, recognising the feeling before another swallow enveloped his head and shoulders. This time, he felt his legs slip further in and her tongue began fucking him harder, her lips around his feet the only thing stopping him from being pulled completely in to her throat. He knew he was wet, but it was completely lost on him how much this was turning him on until he felt himself starting to come. He tried pulling it back, tried to pull his legs together, but she had him exactly where she wanted him and wasn't going to let go until she had her prize. He panted, grinding harder against her tongue, relinquishing himself to her and this moment completely.

He cried out as he crested, gripping her tongue with his knees as he spilled all he had in her mouth. He felt her moan softly around him, her own heartbeat speeding up around him as she continued fucking him, her tongue rolling beneath him as she swallowed his pleasure.

He was still coming as he felt her throat, familiar now, reaching up and wrapping around his upper body. It was hot and tight and so, so wet. He couldn't fight if he wanted to as he weakly bucked his hips in to her slowing tongue. She gently started pulling it out before licking him clean and swallowing again.

He whimpered softly as the throat embraced him tightly, taking charge now as it squeezed around him. Til lay back, letting his own weight and movements sink him further in to her throat. He could feel her tongue pressing against his legs, tucking them up before another languid gulp embraced the rest of his body. He wriggled in her throat as the ribbed, rippling muscles shifted and pulled him deeper inside her. It was too slippery to get any kind of grip or even slow himself down as another rolling swallow pressed his face to a firm ring of muscle. He barely had a moment to explore it with his hands before it opened before him, squeezing him out in to the dark, humid chamber.

It was dark, but not absolute, and as his eyes adjusted he could see the wrinkles in the walls, softly lit with a pinkish tinge. His heart fluttered in his chest as the stomach moved around him, gently squeezing him in a full body embrace before relaxing around him, cradling his small form gently. He curled up against the nearest wall, hand pressed to it as he breathed deeply. He could feel her heart.

Til smiled, placing a hand over her stomach, feeling him flutter within her. The water was warm around her and she sighed, sinking deeper in to the bath, the swirling waters dancing around her.

"You okay in there, little one?" She murmured, stroking her belly. She felt him tapping against the walls, their signal that he was okay. She smiled, wrapping her arms around herself, loving the feeling of the warm water around her and her lover within her.

Mole knew she had settled deeper in to the bath because the sounds around him changed. Her heartbeat became slower, her stomach relaxing around him. He could hear the water shifting around outside her stomach, every sound in her body amplified and enveloping him. It was warm and soft like wet silk. He lay back and closed his eyes, dozing off, the familiar feeling of his lover surrounding him.

[transformation4life]

Chain Reaction

It all started with that gold chain you found abandoned in a store dumpster. You thought it would be a great piece for an outfit. Little did you know it began to lengthen and wrap itself around you, molding your body bit by bit into a musclegod.  You could feel your pecs inflate, arms becoming tree trunks, abs forming, and thighs increasing in meat. Just as your ass become bouncy like bubbles your clothes ripped off thanks to the chains and formed into a golden thong quickly putting itself onto your body. The scenery quickly changed to a bright stage as your face became increasingly more korean. The roars of a crowd were waiting for you.

You knew what to do.

[zushimart]

the feeling scara x gn!reader modern au, fluff, no warnings, 504 words

scara’s working on emotional regulation with his therapist. he’s got a couple of tools under his belt that he knows how to use when he’s in a pinch –– like if he’s on the verge of crying in public or if he experiences an anger so big the color red consumes him. this feeling’s new, though, and when he attacks it with his tools… nothing seems to happen. 

it’s nine pm in the wintertime with the sun having set hours ago. washed and perfumed, he cozies up to the radiator by his desk. still-damp hair, a cold nose, and perpetually icy hands make him reach for a sweater to pull over the rest of his comfy clothes. scara stretches big like a cat and settles a hand over his notebook. most recently, he’s taken to journaling. 

he doodles as he waits for the words to come to him. blue ink flowers against a new, white page until the start of another petal turns into a letter. over and over, he writes. again and again, i think of them even if i don’t want to. he bites the end of his pen, leaning back in his seat and curling up with his knees pressed against his chest. he’s contemplating. and then he’s scribbling something else. i don’t dislike it. actually, i like it. like a song on repeat. and then he doodles you. 

it’s a bad drawing. you’ve got stubby legs and arms and a pair of dots for eyes. you’re smiling. he draws himself beside you, penning this mini-scara with a frown to match. when he’s done, he catches that new feeling swelling in his stomach, pushing up against his heart. it’s warm and glowy like the embers of a fire. he bites his lip, trying to maintain a level head, but he can’t bite back the laugh that bubbles up his throat. 

“i’ve lost it,” he mumbles to himself. “i’ve finally lost it.” 

maybe, if you’d caught him just a year prior and infected him with the same delirium, he would’ve pulled the feeling out of himself like a weed. he’s different now. he entertains the thoughts of you. he draws hearts around your head and lines the margins of the page with your name. he’s a lovesick schoolgirl. 

was he going to tell you? he blushes at the thought. scara pinches his wrist, embarrassed by his own embarrassment. no, you’d have to chase him. around you, he’s curt and cool and a little mean. he can’t shatter the persona just yet with a messy confession. 

oh gosh, because if he did… his face soured. your inflated ego would kill him. an ugly, smug smile marring your pretty face –– the glory of having the famed feral kitty kuni wrapped around your finger… “couldn’t help it, could you? loving me,” you’d tease, your confidence the size of childe’s. intolerable. charming. 

smiling to himself in the lamplight, he chews on the end of his pen. 

i like the feeling… i want to keep it. if they’ll let me.

[tparker48]

After the battle with belos, Liz and the others started to rebuild from the damages of their fierce battle. In the afterlife, Belos awoken to a void surrounding him, golden orbs of of light spiraling the sky.

"What is this place?" He stretch a hand to the one of the orbs, its sphere like form dispersing in to the air. His foot sinking into sludge below him. "What wretched place Am I in?"

"Welcome, to the world between worlds, or at least somewhere in between." A voice reverberated through the void.

The sludge boiled around Belos, his foot pulled by the current to a whirlpool that swirled in front of him. Its pull tempted to suck it inside, but he yanked it from its chunks, backpedaling as the spiraling sludge grew wider. A splash uprooted the center of the whirlpool, a skull.hovering to the sky above. Eyes opened within the eye sockets, air puffing from the nostrils.

"Hello, Belos" Papa Titan said.

Belos gazed at the towering titan. "As if my days couldn't get any worse, now I've got a titan to deal with."

"That's papa titan to you." He replied, approaching the skinny man. "It seems your time in the mortal plane wasn't a fond one. How was that blast of my magic Luz borrowed?"

"So it was your doing, I knew that brat couldn't get that strong in such a short amount of time. If I had known you were to lend your power to child, I would've flattened the entire realm when I had the chance."

Papa shoved his hands into his pocket. "Seems to me that someome underestimate his opponent. Its good to see that part of you hasn't changed."

It was mine! And I would've gotten it too if weren't for the owl and that cursed child of yours."

Papa titan squinted at the thought, a hand wrapped in a crimson glow slipping from his pocket. "Watch your tone about my son, I may not have been present for your misdeeds, but I'm more than capable of tending to you now."

Its glow illuminated around his body, hus form turning to sludge. "Like what? Kill me? Hah, I've already died once, what makes you think you can kill me again?"

"There are worse things than just death"

Papa flicked his wrist, spinning Belos beneath him. His face stopped as the thick skull was enveloped by the giant belly. He looked around to his limbs, struggling to unlock the golden chains that wrapped around his arms. They refused to budge, ooze from his flesh seeping into the cracks. This cursed magic has been a thorn in his side since the beginning. And he'd eat his omw arm before he succumbed to its might.

Thick footclaws stepped over his shoulders, sinking into the sludge. Belo's sunken eyes widened, the clothed backside hurtling to the ground. When the sturdy legs caved inward, a shroud of blackness blinded his sight, thin fabric laying over his eyes like a curtain. He pawed at its surface in efforts to drag it off, but muscle filled the folds as quick as he could cling to it, its weight crowning over the bridge of his nose.

"Get off me you big buffon! Your too fat to be on a face like mine!"

"Not just fat, im big boned" Papa replied, a sense of glee in his tone, his body growing heavier.

The muddy sludge soaked into his earholes, a claw poking at the corners of his face as it pulled a cheek away. Belos peeked from his left side, an eye socket staring back as it winked with anticipation. A blast erupted from Papa's backside, souring Belos' nose with a foul stench that climbed through his nose holes. He scowled in disgust, pawing at the blubbered backside.

"Disgusting!" Belos pawed at the thick legs.

Papa giggled a bit, overlapping his efforts with a simple rock of his rear. "Told ya there's things worse than deaths, take a century of built of flatulence for instance."

Belos could only face the forward, locked by the muscle beyond the fabric as gurgles lingered beyond. Slowly a bubble cushioned at his face, inflating the muscle as it climbed to the corners of his eyes. It's pop was as strong as a bomb, booming with intense force as muscle slapped onto his nose.

His palms retreated to the muddy sludge, paddling them around as if he were making a snow angel. "All right, what do you want?!"

"Apologize for your your misdeeds, and for mouthing about my son"

"There's no way I'm succombing to those demands, the land could've of been perfect if I had succeeded.

Papa Titan nonchalantly shrugged, easing his claws behind him. "Suit yourself."

He slouched into the watery pile, Belos head succumbimg to his weight as it connected to the sludge. Papa inhaled a heavy breath, the muscular glutes stiffening as if to lock him in. Slowly sulfuric gas spewed from his depths, its musky gust heating his very lungs. No amount of squirming he'd try freed his face from the vice grip of the titan's backside, a single clenched dragging him in as the wrinkled skin beyond the fabric pinched at his nose.

"Alright..Alright!"

Papa tilted his head. "Go on then."

"Im sorry for the damage I caused. And.." He choked on his words, fanning away at the aroma surrounding. Papa squeezed his glutes tighter, a swift blast sending his senses abalze.

"Annnd?" The titan beamed, placing a hand at his chin.

The air began to dissipate, the hole beneath starting to suckle at his nose. Inhaling the dirty air in disgust, he finally caved. "And for mentioning your son."

Papa Tapped at his skull, putting his weight to his knees. "See? That wasn't so hard."

He rose off of Belos, his form slowly starting form back to his human self. When he opened his mouth to speak, a quick blast connected with him, a sour sensation spreading across his tongue. "I thought you said that was it?!"

"That was for me, gotta get my papyback somehow." He chuckled.

[bodybeyondstories]

Just ignore it - 6

After things get heated, David finds himself back at the gas station. Then again. And again.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (Previous)

Male TF // Dick Growth // Growth // Butt Growth // nsfw

This is sort of a non-conclusion to this story arc with a weird idea that I had that I wasn't sure how to execute well (the usual lol). Had a lot of fun with this series, lot of threads yet to play with, eventually, maybe...

---

“That you?”

The Mystery Machine. Lee lazily scrounging around in the bag of cheese puffs. The gas station attendant power walking away, bubble butt jiggling uncontrollably. Me sitting in the passenger seat, staring into space. And not unleashing a higher dimensional being through some magic portal and eating out a giant-size Blake. 

I had never had a dream that vivid. He had grown to monstrous proportions, I was awash in his thick musk, his deep, almost subsonic groans shaking me to my core, body lengthening and muscles inflating, his ass like two planets trying to fill up the entire dome–

“We’ll assume yes,” said Lee. “Looks like he didn’t see that coming,” he continued, long fingers reaching into the bag.

“Be careful with those, I heard they go straight to your…” I’ve said this before. 

“Ass? Allegedly,” Lee chuckled. “Apparently dudes mix these into their protein shakes on leg day or crush them and down entire family size bags on a dare or whatever and see what happens. It’s an urban legend, but I guess urban legends keep us employed. We’ll have to look into it right after all the other magical calamities spawning off around you.” He gave a cheese dusted smile, leaning lazily over the window, reaching back to adjust the seat of his pants.

Armand plopped himself back into the driver's seat and grabbed the aux cord, began scrolling through podcasts as he started the van. “There’s a great episode I think we should listen to, it’s on…let me find it…”

“Spectral informatics?” I offered, confused as to how I’d come up with that.

“Yeah! I didn’t know you were a fan,” said Armand, excitedly snatching a few cheese puffs from the bag. I squirreled it away before we had to deal with any further snack-based complications.

“Um, sure,” I said, as we pulled off onto the road.

It was actually a pretty interesting episode, and settled into the background of the muted scenery rolling by. Lee was asking lazy but helpful questions in the back, and before I knew it we were engaged in a deep side conversation that complemented the soft radio voices of the podcast hosts. Armand seemed genuinely pleased. This was maybe the longest actual discussion I’d had with him. I was present in a way that the right jolt of caffeine makes the world feel crisp and new.

Because Synt wasn’t there.

I don’t know why it had taken me this long to realize, but Synt’s overbearing metaphysical residence in my mind was nowhere to be found. It was like a weight had been lifted, but I felt the absence of agonistic tension that I had gotten so used to. I involuntarily reached out for that itch of power and possibility, the wild tangle of transdimensional multisensory perception and found only the walls of my own psyche. What happened? I thought, with growing suspicion. Where had they gone?

As county roads turned to back roads and we passed the vine covered “Marshlands State Park” sign, the trees in the landscape seemed to stretch up and yawn in the breeze. I felt small among this ancient, imperceptible community, had the feeling of a convening that I had once been privy to but was no longer. I had a brief impression of a figure strolling through the forest, towering over us as they stretched with them, like an overexposure or an afterimage. Here and then gone.

The episode was wrapping up as the van turned off the small forest road onto a poorly maintained gravel path that led to a patch of dirt currently occupied by a shiny new park ranger truck. Armand pulled up next to it as Lee and I scanned the area for our collaborators, seeing only a path through the trees that led down to an expanse of shallow water. As I stepped out of the van, a shiver went down my spine. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been there before. Not just in this landscape, but this exact point in space and time.

“What’s up?” asked Lee, as he emerged and let his hand briefly scratch my lower back.

“Nothing,” I answered. “Just…deja vu.”

“Happens out here a lot,” came a voice from nowhere.

It felt like I had perceived Blake speaking before registering him as a physical presence making sound. I turned to see him walking up toward us and couldn’t look away. He looked…big. Not just bigger since the last time we met, which for some reason didn’t come as a surprise. The hems of his sleeves fraying at the edges against his biceps, the small tears along the sides of his quads, his shirt fully unbuttoned to reveal a shelf of pectorals that seemed to fill any available space, the sides of his glutes visible from the front. That I had seen coming. 

But there was something else that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looked at me briefly as if picking up on the force of my attention, moved as if to say something, then quickly turned away, lips pursed in concentration as he continued to unload gear from the truck bed and waddle back down the path.

“He is getting bigger,” came another voice suddenly in our vicinity.

“How are you both so good at that?” asked Lee, turning to see Logan walking up. 

“I actually needed to talk to you about–”

“And what’s with the waders?”

“Oh. I, well–”

“Only thing that fits?” offered Armand with uncharacteristic sincerity.

“No, well yeah, well they’re–”

“Airboat,” I said, unaware of how I knew that beyond a crisp image in my head of the five of us gliding across the water. “Blake’s piloting an airboat.”

“I’m piloting a–yeah,” said Blake, emerging from the path. “Water’s still high, so the island is still an island.” He gazed off, staring intently at the cluster of trees in the distance as the rest of us began hauling stuff onto the Swamp Hag.

Under the roar of the propeller, we cruised over golden brown fields of late season wetland grasses, and there it was again. The feeling that this configuration of people, in this airboat, moving through this scene was a repetition with a slight difference. I had the sudden image of a massive eye on the landscape, energy crackling, something coming through. I looked up to see Blake behind and above us in the pilot seat, eyes locked intently ahead towards our destination, left hand nimbly controlling the rudder stick.

I couldn’t tell if it was just my imagination, but his pipe in his shorts seemed to creep slowly down his left leg, leaving dark spots of precum and even pulsing with an occasional lurch further and increase in girth. With his meaty quads looking ready to burst through his pants, he looked like, felt like, a concentration of size and weight. I let my mind wander, imagining what would happen if that prodigious bulge–

One side of his face scrunched in a grimace of concentration, his eyes briefly making contact with mine, a fleeting look of warning–or pleading–before returning to the task at hand.

As we landed on the island, Blake looked stressed, almost flighty, as he lifted the apparatus with the artifact with ease and started following the winding trail towards the center. I followed him along the vein of the iris of this landscape-scale eye as the others got their bearings. He was difficult to keep up with, his tree trunk thighs pumping powerfully as they moved around each other, his form giving the impression of an elephant about to clear a forest path.

“This site feels pretty weird, right?” I said, thinking of his earlier comment about deja vu.

He whipped around in surprise upon hearing my voice. Thrown off balance by the apparatus sitting on one shoulder, he grabbed one of the nearby trees and crushed half the trunk in his hand. He stammered for words as the unsuspecting cypress continued to crack, tipping away from the path and falling into the surrounding woods, leaving a gap of heavy silence.

“I, um, didn’t see you there…” he muttered, his eyes straining under droplets of sweat across his brow.

“Let’s deal with that later,” I said with a helpful smile as I heard the others catching up in the distance.

—

“This is where you found it?” asked Armand, eyes scanning the uncannily circular clearing. “It looks untouched.”

“It’s where it found us,” Blake quipped, his voice level. “And yeah, it just sort of appeared. Right there in the middle.”

That feeling again. I felt with ghostly certainty that I had been there. That I had never left. That I was standing here across an unknowable set of timeframes converging on this temporal point. Beneath that, I felt something deep and subsonic, something I hadn’t picked up on since I was an unsuspecting subject of one of Synt’s energetic outbursts. I could feel an energy seeping into local space, something crescendoing to some sort of threshold, before– 

I snapped back to reality. While Armand and Lee had set to work setting up a makeshift cleanroom, Blake had opened the apparatus to remove the artifact and move it to the center of the clearing, complex linework of lavender and gold forming and reforming across its surface. As he let his hands slip away, it remained stationary, rotating slowly in the air.

“Now that’s cool,” I said, walking up to it, entranced. Its motion was flawless, like it wasn’t so much moving of its own accord but the rest of the world was rotating around it. Like if I stopped it with my hand, the celestial motion of the solar system might gracefully fall apart. 

Blake, possibly with a similar idea, lifted a finger and brought it to the surface.

“Wait,” I warned, apprehensive but unclear as to exactly why. “Maybe don’t–” 

In a fraction of a second, the curls, diagrams, and fractals covering the sphere converged around Blake’s fingertip in a multicolored spiral and sent a jolt of electricity across the short distance.

“Are you okay?” I asked, as Blake winced, bracing his palms against his forehead.

“I…can’t…”

“Remember what we practiced,” said Logan, looking at him with intention.

“What do you mean what you practiced?” I asked.

Before he could answer, a pulse of iridescent energy shot out from the artifact, passing through us and stopping a few feet before the perimeter, forming a dome that resembled a giant soap bubble.

“Oh, hmm,” said Lee, lightly touching the whirls of energy a few feet in front of him as Armand scrambled to adjust their instrumentation. “It’s like a, um–”

“Forcefield,” I said with acute certainty. “It’s a forcefield. I’ve…seen this before. Where have I seen this before?”

“Take a wild guess,” Blake eked through what looked like a head-splitting migraine.

“We’ve been debating whether we should mention…” said Logan.

“Mention what?” I cut in. “And Blake, really, are you okay?”

“It’s Synt,” said Logan. “They took up residence in Blake’s head. I’ve been trying to guide him through it.”

Ah, fuck. Well that explains that.

“Ah, fuck. He’s not trained for this. Blake, you’re not trained for this.”

“I…realize…” muttered Blake, carefully delivering each word, “...that now.” He grimaced, doubling over in pain and intense concentration, actively trying to hold himself together, every vein and sinew along his over muscled body seeming to glow with ethereal light.

“You got this,” coached Logan, moving closer toward him. “Just breathe.” He reached out a hand to steady Blake as he stumbled again.

“No, wait!” I yelled, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

But it was too late. Logan caught Blake’s meaty forearm and was thrown into a full body spasm, every muscle pumping slowly with the power flooding into him. But there was one in particular that was thrown into hyperdrive, the bulge in his waders inflating to even wilder proportions, and showing no sign of slowing down. He managed to let go of Blake’s arm, gasping for breath through beads of sweat.

“You guys alright?” asked Lee. “Looks like it’s gettin’ pretty weird in there.”

“Really incredible readings, though,” added Armand. “You’ve gotta see this.”

“Maybe not the time, dude,” I said, more concerned about Logan’s exhausted whimpers. “You doing okay?”

“It’s not…” Logan looked at me in terror. “It’s not stopping. I–augghhh…” The straps of his waders finally gave up, snapping off his corded shoulders as the mass in his crotch continued to expand. He fell onto his butt, frantically peeling what was left of the fabric off, enjoying a moment of relief as the beast inside was finally freed, before his precum-smothered cockhead landed solidly on his face, covering his entire head and continuing to grow along the ground, before lifting itself, miraculously, into the air. His shaft was thicker than his waist and showed no signs of lessening as his mega dick began to approach at 90 degree angle, swaying gently as it continued to pulse and lurch with mass. 

With his legs pushed apart by his beach ball sized nuts, Logan was rendered immobile, powerless to do anything except lose himself in a deluge of orgasmic bliss, his face a contortion of pleasure and panic. As it touched the upper edge of the dome, it stopped, crackling against the force field, allowing Logan to briefly return to lucidity.

“This feels…unbelievable,” he whispered as I approached, hypnotized by the tower of cock before me. I could barely wrap my body around it, pushing myself into the intense heat of his flesh, quickly covered by the constant stream of precum gushing from the tip that was at least 15 feet in the air, pressed against the dome. Whatever I was doing, he seemed to be enjoying it, his breathing quickening as his massive balls contracted and his cock pulsed with additional girth, shoving my arms apart, patterns of fractal static appearing across the force field as his unbelievable trunk pushed angrily against it, cracks appearing and deepening in the framework as it finally pushed through, shattering the bubble into a multitude of iridescent shards.

And then–

—

“That you?” asked Lee.

The Mystery Machine. Lee lazily scrounging around in the bag of cheese puffs. The gas station attendant power walking away, bubble butt jiggling uncontrollably. Me sitting in the passenger seat, staring into space. And not using my entire body to jerk off the monolith of cock attached to Logan.

Ah, I thought, my face scrunching in annoyance. A time loop.

“We’ll assume yes,” he continued. “Looks–”

“Like he didn’t see that coming,” I finished. I looked at him standing in the car window, pausing in surprise with cheese puffs halfway to his mouth. “It’s a time loop.”

His eyes widened in thought for a weighty few seconds, twitching back and forth as if doing quick calculations in the air between us, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Well that’s fun,” Lee said, returning to nonchalant snacking. “How many iterations?”

“I think this is the third.”

“Oh that’s fine. Time loop protocol doesn't start until at least the fifth or sixth.”

“Well I don’t feel like waiting that long.”

“Waiting for what?” asked Armand, hopping back into the driver's seat. “By the way, is there a new style I’m not aware of or was that you’re handiwork with the station attendant? It’s less than professional is all I’m saying.”

“Dave’s stuck in a time loop,” said Lee.

“Of course,” groaned Armand, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Time loops are so much paperwork. How many iterations?”

“This is probably the third,” I offered. “At least the third.”

“Last update on time loop protocol says to wait until the sixth.”

“See that’s what I said,” Lee interjected, easing into the back seat, leaning his lanky self conspiratorially forward.

“And I don’t think we have time for that,” I retorted.

“Well technically we do,” said Armand, a helpful, oblivious smile as he started the car.

We cruised through the rolling landscape, discussing the same podcast (at this point, I was really coming around to spectral informatics). We pulled into the Marshlands. We greeted the pair of Blake and Logan who had a consistent, but slightly different dynamic of weird and antsy.

Protocol called for as few people as possible being informed of a potential time loop, even if both of them, Armand stressed, had been possessed–and were possibly currently possessed–by a cross-temporal trickster deity.

We take the airboat. We get to the island. We fall, somehow unsuspecting, into some wacky bullshit. And then–

—

“That you?”

I sighed into the mist of ass enhancing cheese dust kicked up by Lee’s questing fingers. “Fourth iteration.”

“Oh a time loop! The plot thickens.”

“Yes. And yes, that was my handiwork. And yes, the cheese puffs are causing more than the plot to thiccen.”

Lee paused in brief trepidation, then shrugged and grabbed one last handful before easing into the backseat. “What’s this one like? I don’t think time loop protocol starts until at least the fifth or sixth.”

“The sixth, according to Armand’s last memo.”

“You read Armand’s memos?” asked Lee, incredulous.

“No, he just–”

“You read my memos?” asked Armand, hopping into the driver's seat and taking a minute to nonchalantly wrestle with his bulge into a slightly more comfortable sitting position. 

“No, you mentioned it earlier. Earlier for me, meaning you haven’t actually mentioned it yet.”

“Dave’s in a time loop,” Lee offered. “Fourth iteration!”

Armand paused, his eyes shifting around the middle distance just passed the hood of the van, looking like he was very carefully piecing his next words together. “You know I really shouldn’t eat these,” he muttered, reaching into the bag of cheese puffs. 

The podcast. The Marshlands. The airboat. The clearing. The great watery eye in the landscape on the verge of winking at me in jest. The artifact, hovering.

“What could possibly happen this time?” I asked myself. “Maybe aliens touch down and retrieve their toy.”

“No, I don’t think that would happen again,” came a voice from just out of sight, but not out of earshot.

I turned my head slowly, making eye contact with the oh shit look painted across Logan’s face.

“What do you mean again?” I asked, eyes narrowing.

“Well, we were trying to tell you, or, debating whether to tell you yet,” he stammered, before catching himself. “Wait, what do you mean this time?”

We stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first.

“Tenth iteration,” he said.

“Fourth iter–tenth iteration?! You never thought to mention this?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to tell anyone until like iteration twelve,” said Blake.

“Iteration twelve…” Armand seemed to deflate.

“No, no, they changed it,” said Lee.

“Does no one read my emails?” asked Armand, a vision of exasperation.

“Oh buddy,” said Lee, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Of course not.”

“You’ve been through this nine times?” I asked. “And every time, what, something weird and catastrophic happens?”

“And then we reset,” Logan confirmed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Armand mused, “maybe this whole ritual with the artifact is a strategy for Synt to fully enter this plane of existence, but maybe it fails every time, essentially short circuiting this local timestream and resetting it.”

“So Synt keeps breaking the rules and the game restarts?” said Lee.

“There are…rules?” asked Blake, heading tilted slightly in wonder.

“There are laws,” said Armand, “for this corner of multidimensional existence. There must also be for higher planes and more complex configurations. At least guidelines. Maybe some sort of natural adaptive system, or even a higher dimensional defense mechanism.”

“A higher dimensional defense mechanism,” I began, “that reins in the higher dimensional being that we can already barely fathom?”

“I mean…possibly?”

We sat in the soft moss for a while, contemplating our shared existence as specks of cosmic static. We bounced around half baked ideas and speculations about quantum field theory, supernatural entanglement, simulated realities, clockwork universes. We waited for some ridiculous happening to send us back to start over again. We debated why it was or wasn’t. 

“One time Dave turned into a giant and started throwing trees around,” Blake said, perking up with enthusiasm.

“Oh hell yeah,” said Lee. “Can’t believe we missed that one.”

“I think you died in that one, actually,” said Logan, with a quick, sympathetic smile.

“Oh dude, c’mon,” said Lee, turning towards me.

“I’ll buy you a beer when we get this figured out,” I said, throwing my hands up. “A whole round!”

The Sun moved to the tips of the trees along the western edge of the clearing. The sphere spun smoothly on its axis.

—

[Meanwhile, at the gas station…]

Okay, sharp inhale, hold it, hold it…cinch your entire body inwards, and pull. I yanked up the waistband of my khakis, giving it a few jumps to get gravity on my side, and gasped in delight as my backup pants miraculously made it over my glutes. Not all the way, I turned to see them riding low in the back, but good enough to make it through the rest of my shift. They were my last pair, the others laying in tatters, strewn around in frustration. 

I still couldn’t believe that three of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen rolled into this little gas station in the middle of nowhere and I actually ripped my pants. And then the backup pair. And then the backup pair to the backup pair. They had fit just that morning. Not well, but well enough, considering the shelf I was dragging behind me. I didn’t think it had gotten that much bigger since the last time I had had everything adjusted. I had always been proud of my bubble butt, but it seemed like any weight I put on went to one place and one place only, and it was getting ridiculous. And expensive. I had just been joking when I mentioned the cheese puffs, but maybe I should cut back. At least I had this final pair, practically painted on to my backside, but stable so long as I made no sudden–

“Hey Kes!” I wheeled around to see what Zac wanted, grimacing as I realized far too late what I had done. The sound of seams ripping, the touch of cool air across my butt cheeks, the look of unbridled glee on Zac’s face.

“...Fuck,” I said, hanging my head in resignation. “What is it?”

“I was going to ask if you did inventory yet, but I see you got some bigger fish to fry.” The easy smile, the lean against the side of the doorframe. The bulge in his pants that I knew from personal experience was a 7” softie–and that I knew from personal experience was a serious grower. “Is that, like, a harness?”

Ugh. “It’s a, ah, support system,” I corrected, glancing back at the array of straps and elastic bands holding my round cheeks in place, now fully visible to Zac from the doorway. “I found it online, they’re made special for guys with unique, uh, proportions. Didn’t think I would need it, yet, but I had one on hand just in case.”

“Hmm,” his eyes settled closed as he nodded, putting on his active listening face. “So like a bra.”

“It’s not a…” I sighed, giving up mid sentence.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” his palms out in acquiescence. “You know I’m a big fan of your unique proportions.”

That was putting it lightly. Zac’s one of my oldest friends, a very endearing stoner type who always manages to stay cool as a summer breeze. He’s had a habit of bouncing from one scheme to another, the latest of which is this run down gas station he acquired a few years ago and has somehow managed to keep operational. He lets me pick up part time work in the offseason, and most days it’s just the two of us looking after things and managing the slow drip of business, allowing ample time for the benefits of our friendship. He had always been a big fan of my assets, and my now constant wardrobe struggles only worsened his enthusiasm.

“You know it’s hard for me to find pants that fit, let alone get alterations out here,” I said. “I almost asked one of the guys in that van just now before I had to run back in, you should’ve seen…” I trailed off, holding an invisible beach ball between my hands.

“You’re more than enough for me,” Zac said with a smirk. “I think there are still those stretchy purple shorts in the office, from back when we did the Incredible Hulk promotion.”

“Don’t remind me.” My cheeks blushed as I thought back to the comical sight of my ass stuffed into that spandex costume, going viral on social media.

“How ‘bout you stay behind the counter and I’ll handle the pumps. You only have to be presentable from the waist up,” he added with a wink.

“Deal,” I said, my eyes lingering for a few seconds as he meandered off.

The stretchy purple shorts–with tattered fringes and cosmetic tears, of course–weren’t exactly my style, but they were at least comfortable. And chances of catastrophic failure were minimal with me perched on the stool behind the counter, ringing up the occasional customer and flirtatiously shooting the shit with Zac as the hours ticked by.

It was a normal enough day, but I couldn’t get my mind off that trio who came through earlier. I could feel, I don’t know, an energy about them, like the air around them was shimmering but not in a way you could see, if that makes sense. I guess it doesn’t. I would’ve written it off as the usual weirdness out in the boonies, but it lingered all day. Felt deeper and deeper. Like a presence had stayed behind after they left, some sort of gravitational pull hovering in the back of my mind, making my skin tingle and my hips flex with the feeling of phantom touches. Like a cosmic pressure growing. The opaque, dream-like impression of a trickster smile.

Not that I much cared. I grew up around these parts, there’s all manner of haints and spirits and cryptids, or whatever you want to call ‘em. You learn to deal. Pay attention to the hot/cold patchiness in the woods, watch out for fairy circles in suspiciously quiet clearings, don’t stare too long at the crotches of trees that look too much like doorways. Not that I had a habit of putting my nose where it didn’t belong, but I paid attention to the stories and had done plenty of reading of my own. I knew enough to know that sometimes a being that may or may not be of this world decides to spend some time with you, and sometimes that being may or may not want to have some fun with the fabric of our mundane everyday reality. Didn’t mean you had to take ‘em all that serious.

Pretty sure the park rangers out in the Marshlands get paid to deal with that kind of stuff. Seems like a fun job. Apparently you just have to take some classes at the university. I’d been considering it off and on but maybe this is some kind of sign. In the meantime I thought maybe I was craving some quality time with Zac that evening. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe his seven inch softie was looking more like eight.

I had the impression of tectonic plates in the back of my mind moving in agreement.

[pamithebunterfly2007]

Fall Out Berries (Written By me and made it for my friend @nicky-toony)

The Concert they held in California was a complete success after the last song they played for their fans was incredible, The Band they called Fall Out Boy decided to take a break just to look over some fan mail left from their fans. Members Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, Joe Trohnam , and Andy Hurley look over some fan mail. One Saying that when are they going to come over to the state of Ohio to preform which is asked by a fan named Micheal and another one saying how much they love their music and when are they going to plan a new album from a fan girl named Isabelle.

“Wow, People really love us and our music” said Joe “Yeah, My hands are killing me after playing the drums during the concert” exclaimed Andy. As the rest of the band look for more fan mail, they found one that looks suspicious and a little sketchy, the paper the revive look crumpled up and there are four little strips of chewing gum wrapped around in silver wrapper that fell, and the writing looks a little sloppy but very visible to read and it saids:

“Hello there, I won’t say my name, gender, or the location of where I lived, I’ve been a huge fan of your music and reputation, so I left you a little treat for the four of you, make sure you try it out, I hope you won’t burst after this. From Anonymous.”

“hey, look, is that supposed to be gum?” Pete said as he picked up the little strip and as he unwrapped it, It reveals to be a blue strip of gum. “Wow Pete, How’d you know, I wanna try it out.” An excited Joe said as he also unwrapped the gum “Uh Guys, What if it was a trick, what if it’s gum laced with poison?” Said a worried and skeptical Patrick. “Don’t be such a wuss Pat, try it” said Andy “And it already taste good, Mm, like blueberries.” Patrick was hesitant a little but then he decided to try it out and And teas right, the gum does taste like blueberries, the members are enjoying this piece of gum so much that they feel like swallowing it (although they did so). “That gum was so good” exclaimed Patrick but the rest of the members look at Patrick strangely. “Okay, Why is everyone giving me looks?” “Patrick, your . . . . . Nose.” Said a worried Joe. “You should look at your nose Joe!” Pete pointed out at Joe who has a blue splotch on his nose. “What’s happening to us?” Said Andy as he looks at his arm and he could not believe his face, his arms are turning into a rich shade of blue, also the members of Fall Out Boy are in deep shock and terror as they are turning blue all over them and their garments. “What. The. FUCK?!?” Said the bands members until they heard some strange bubbling coming from their stomachs, that’s when their faces turn into complete horror as their stomachs are swelling up with a weird liquid churning inside of them. Which is nothing but blueberry juice inflating them, they feel their behinds also filling up with juice and they feel like they’re starting to lose their balance and they feel juice rushing towards their mouths by inflating their cheeks looking like chipmunks and all they see that they technicolor world they lived in turn into a monochrome blue color thanks to the juice affecting their vision. They started to round out and before they knew it, they all transformed into four giant blue balls, or so in case, 4 giant immobile blueberries standing in the backstage. They feel like calling for help but unable too because of the juice in their mouths but can only release a flow of blueberry juice. A stage crew member goes to the backstage and found the four blueberries rocking back and forth in their crotches moaning and groaning while the juices inside them are noisily sloshing inside of them. “Holy Lord, need they call the rest before you all grow any bigger, or worse leak or burst!” Said the male stage crew member as he grabs his walkie talkie “We’ve got a code blue on the backstage.” A few minutes later, several crew stage members rolled Blueberried Band to find a juicing machine, it took a while to find it until they already have near at a fruit juicing factory, one by one, Each Fall Out Boy Member gets the jucie extracted out of them which only took like 1-2 hours until the Fall Out Boy Band are back to their regular, slim, but blue selves.

“Whew! I’m glad to back to my old normal self again!” Said Andy. “Look, I’m more flexible without getting hurt!” Said Pete as he twist his hips around with no pain. “At least we’re alright, but please, whatever you do, do not eat anything from an anonymous fan mail from an unknown fan” said Patrick in an annoyed tone. “And I have no idea how is this blue pigment from our skin is going to wear out.” Suddenly an idea came from Patrick’s head “Guys I think there’s a new song idea coming up!” “A new song?” Answered Andy “what song is it now?” Patrick exclaimed “Andy, I think we are going to call this song Blue Pigment, Get it? Because we have Blue Pigment on our skin?”