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skzdarlings · 10 months ago

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lady-like ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: ❛ i'd say you need someone to put you in your place. ❜ W CHAN I BEG OF YOU + original ask: requested by anonymous: “You want gentle? Wrong fucking address”+ Chan <3

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: enemies to lovers, established lovers. criminal!chan, masked!chan. dom!chan, sub!reader (background mentions of switching). choking, floor sex, rough sex, dirty talk. brief mention of some sexism in the workplace. word count: 2050 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

It is the middle of the night and you are patrolling the art gallery yourself. You do not trust your colleagues or the security team tonight. No one believes there is any way to track the SKZ gang but you have found an undoubted pattern. That motley band of thieves have struck this gallery more than once, making off with paintings and artifacts alike, but tonight you will catch them.

Tonight you will catch him.

Your thought conjures him like a devil. You turn a corner and a gloved hand escapes the shadows, covering your mouth. You are yanked backwards, right into his chest, your back to his front.

You feel a moment of satisfaction because ha, you were right. No one believed you but you knew SKZ would strike tonight.

Then you are furious because those rotten thugs are probably making off with a priceless artifact while their leader holds you hostage.

“Hey there,” Bang Chan says in that too-friendly drawl. “How’s my favourite girl tonight?”

You try biting his hand but the leather of his glove is quite thick. Probably on purpose. You have left more than one bite mark on him in past encounters.

“Ah-nah-nah,” he says, steadying you when you wriggle. “Stop that. We both know how this ends. Let’s play nice this time instead, yeah?”

You answer by stomping on his foot and throwing your head back. The smack surprises him and he stumbles, giving you an opportunity to turn and brace yourself in a more defensible stance. You face him, hands up, adrenaline thundering through your body.

Chan is wearing all black, including a beanie and mask. He removes the hat, revealing hair just as black, but keeps the mask while rubbing his jaw. The half-hidden face somehow makes the dark intensity of his eyes look even more severe.

You and Chan have a played a long game of cat-and-mouse. You are so used to his teasing that you almost forget he is dangerously competent man. A criminal. A criminal you despise. A criminal who is undoubtedly grinning at you under that mask, given the way his eyes crinkle with mirth. It should not make your heart race.

“Ouch,” he says. He takes a step towards you, inching out of the shadows. “You’ve been training. Impressive.”

“Not like I had a choice,” you snap. “Some no good criminal keeps attacking my art gallery.”

“Criminal, yeah,” Chan says. “But no good? Really?” He flicks a hand your way, not so much striking as testing your reflexes. You bat it successfully and his eyebrows lift, showing he is moderately impressed.

“You’re a dirty thief,” you say, taking a swing of your own. Yours is much more deliberate, swinging at his head, but he dodges just as easily.

You scamper backwards, his booted steps following swiftly. You keep your hands up in defense. He is still smirking under that mask.

“Thief, yeah,” he continues to tease. “But dirty? Well… I suppose you’d know…”

Heat pulses under your skin.

This cat-and-mouse game has crossed many lines. You cannot even remember how it first happened. It feels like Bang Chan has always been in the shadows, stealing paintings and kisses alike. One moment you were snarking at the infuriating cat burglar, then your hands were in his hair and his mouth was on yours.

Sometimes he wins, distracting you or holding you, giving his team time to make off with something. Sometimes you win, trapping him or his men and only letting them go if they relinquish their prize. Weirdly, Chan seems to like it when you outsmart him. It quite literally puts him on his knees.

Flustered, your next swing is more emotional than strategic. He catches your arm and spins you again, trapping you against his body. You grunt and struggle in his arms.

“That’s not very polite, you know,” he says. “I thought you said you were a lady.”

Yes, you have made such an insistence in the past, reminding him you are a lady of class, an educated woman, an intelligent academic. He did not argue. He did pin you to the wall and choke you in that infuriatingly delicious way, the way that gets you coming all over his hand in a second. That’s it, he said, with a hand around your throat and another under your skirt. Tell me what a lady you are. Letting a criminal like me make you come. Tsk, what would your co-workers say?

You stamp the memory down because it is getting you hot. He is holding you differently than before, so you cannot swing your head back again. You writhe uselessly.

“I didn’t just say I was a lady,” you snap. “I am a lady. I am a respected professional, unlike you—”

“I’m respected and professional, thank you,” he says, his tone still bright like he is having fun.

It is fun. You hate to admit it, but it is. Before he started breaking into your galleries, every day was the same. Your life was such a monotony and you dread returning to it. There is a reason you never call the authorities on him. There would be no triumph in that demise. You would lament his absence and forever feel like business went unfinished.

You are satisfied when you can face this dangerous man and win, when you can push him on his back and put him in his place, when all that danger and power and skill surrenders to you and you alone. Because Bang Chan has a notorious reputation for a lot of things, but fraternizing with civilians is not one of them.

Except you.

Except right now.

“You know what I say, little miss lady?” he asks.

He gives you no time to answer. Your breath catches when he circles that gloved hand around your throat and squeezes. It softens every part of you immediately, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, instinctively and animalistically submissive in the claws of something powerful.

You whimper, your knees going weak. You know you are wet. You know he knows.

He pulls you against him. You can feel every hard plane of his body, his bulky body armour, his weapons. You feel either a buckle or his bulge against your body, but either way it is irrevocably suggestive. When you wriggle, he squeezes your throat, and you go pliant again.

“I’d say,” he whispers, “you need someone to put you in your place.”

Oh, he has talked about your place many times before. It’s with me, he will insist, fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come again and again, putting you on your knees and bringing out all the hidden dark and dirty parts of yourself. Come on, he will say, we’re perfect for each other, yeah? You know it. Join my team. Come with me.

You do admit, he respects your keen eye and talent, and he acknowledges your expertise far more than the other people at your gallery. It took a year to even be allowed to do substantial tasks, relegated to fetching everyone’s coffee, getting spoken down to because you were a woman whose ambition was considered a nuisance.

That is not enough to resort to a criminal life. Surely?

But for a moment, you can imagine giving into the darkness permanently. Tonight, it is you that surrenders as he drags you both into the shadows and onto the floor. He takes off his jacket and lays it out, pushing you down face-first onto it. You take a dizzying gulp of air while his hands are occupied, removing his gloves, unbuckling his utility belt.

You wait for the moment he lifts your skirt. His breath catches when he realizes you are not wearing anything underneath.

You yelp because he smacks your ass. You look back at him with as much fury as you can muster in your haze of lust.

“A lady,” he says, grabbing your hips and tugging you back. “Sure.”

“I am,” you say, but your voice is rough, your breathing heavy just from his bare fingers gliding down your wet pussy, the evidence of your desire betraying your claims of propriety.

“Sure, baby girl,” he says, because he knows it annoys you even while it makes you clench. He can see the evidence of that too, swearing as he looks at you, making you feel even more exposed and flustered. “You’re made for me, you know that, sweetheart? Always feel so good on my dick. God.”

“You’re taking your time tonight,” you say dryly. “Getting sentimental? Turning into the slow and gentle type?”

He laughs. Then he grabs you by the neck, pinning you to the floor as he sidles up behind you. The head of his cock presses at your entrance, wet with anticipation.

“You want gentle?” he asks. He is inside you with one deep thrust. “Wrong fucking address.”

The truth is, even when rough, he is careful. Your face never leaves his jacket and he knows where to squeeze and hit and press properly. Bizarrely, ridiculously, you are safe in this criminal’s dangerous hands. The biggest threat they pose are just how skilled and deft they are, making you forget about all of those details as he manhandles you and fucks your worries away.

He wraps a hand around your throat and lifts you. He is still in his mask, still almost entirely clothed except his undone fly. Your skirt is up, your shirt in disarray, your chest and throat exposed to his hands. You can hear him panting into his mask, your own breath as wild until he steals it. You clench around him, making a weak, ragged sound as he chokes you and pounds into you.

“You’re not gonna come like this, are ya?” he taunts, because he knows your body well, can feel you are the on verge just from his angles and rhythm. “Tsk,” he says. “That’s not very lady-like.”

You would tell him to shut up, but you can only manage a weepy moan as he drives you over the edge of a mind-numbing orgasm. You feel drenched, dripping down your thighs, and he still doesn’t relent, pushing you back down and holding your hips as he drills through every sensitive nerve.

“Fuck,” you say, twisting your fingers around his jacket. Your knees will probably be bruised after this. No short skirts or everyone will know something happened. Would they guess you let the most notorious burglar in the country arch your back and fuck you on the floor? Probably not. You have always been a stickler for rules.

Until this. Until him.

“Chan,” you say, breathless, rasping. “Chan.”

“Fuck,” he says. Then the weight of him is on your back, his hips grinding into yours. His masked face brushes your ear and he speaks in a low voice, “Guess where I’m coming tonight, baby girl.”

Your walls are still fluttering with aftershocks, pulling him deeper at his words. It is not the first time, no. God only knows how long ago that conversation first happened, telling him it was safe, how much you wanted it. Letting him do things you never let anyone else do. Breaking all your rules for him.

“Fuck, Chan,” you say.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasps. “That’s who’s fucking you. No one fucks you like I do. God. You can take it. So good.”

You can feel when he comes, his chest vibrating with his groan, the warmth inside you. You slump in his arms, ravaged and sore and not the least bit sorry for it.

You should be. He won this round. You should be furious at him. You should be threatening him. Your usual rapport.

His mask comes off. You hear it hit the floor. Then he is grabbing your jaw and turning your face and kissing you deeply. He holds your throat, not threateningly but possessively. He is kissing you for so long, you almost forget who you are. Then you surface. You look at each other.

“Come with me,” he says.

The haze of lust has vanished. You should be thinking clearly. You fear, for the first time, you are.

You suppose he has stolen everything else, why not you too?

You put your hand in his.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan x you #chan x you #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz smut #stray kids smut #valentinesdaystories

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occamstfs · 15 days ago

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Talismen III: Sorry For The Backwash

A gym crush on Simon gone wrong leads Tim to get in way over his head in the pursuit of gains and satisfaction; Soon enough the whole gym finds themselves wanting.

Okay I went a little crazy with this one, steamy muscle growth, hair growth, and corruption galore- Tim really spreads the love haha! It’s about the length of Talismen Beginnings. Hope you enjoy this plot advancing chapter, was quite fun to write! Like previously, the penultimate poll will drop on Sunday the 15th! -Occam!

And so Simon finally arrives at the gym. Elsewhere in town Nicky sends an asshole careening towards the discovery of a better self, and perhaps launches his friend into shoes a few sizes larger and a wolverine eared beanie before heading off to grab some coffee. Back at the gym his boyfriend is never too far from the front of Simon’s slow plodding mind, after sending one last selfie to entice his beau, he puts down his affection to finally pick up some weights.

Sandwiched in between a Jamba Juice and a bookstore, Simon ignores the static that fills his mind as almost saccharine familiarity bats away the eerie discomfort that he’s never actually been here before. He finds serenity as set to getting his blood pumping, delighting in the feeling of burning strain as with each thrust his new body finds itself more adept at exercise. In no time at all he moves about the gym with the expert precision and graceful ease that sculpting such an impressive form would require. His almost vacant eyes don’t notice the hungry stare of a nearby twink who has been shadowing him from the second he walked in.

It’s not that Timothy is leering at the beyond sexy man, I mean how could anyone avoid staring, er, appreciating such an impressive form- The fact that Tim continues to happenstance choose machines directly next to the titan is pure coincidence and any charge that he’s trying to catch the man’s eye are pure slander. The blush that burns across his face the first time Simon’s eyes land on him is perhaps more evidential.

The jock scratches the back of his head as he addresses the twink, exposing a sweaty pit that certainly does not help with Tim’s now quivering knees, “Hey uhhh lil guy, I think I forgot my water at home huhuh!” Tim laughs alongside the man though he certainly doesn’t notice as he continues on with his ask, “would you mind if I borrowed yours?” Tim’s eyes widen with fear as his neck locks trying to decide if he should nod in the affirmative or shake to suggest he’d not mind anything that the hunk would ask of him. Nor does it help that he’s unable to get a full word out. Simon stares, mouth agog as the twink stumbles through a few giggly syllables, “Ah ha! Weluhm, I heek!”

Giving up on communicating like a human being, he averts his eyes shyly and raises his hydroflask. Simon takes it rougher than he intended and Tim promptly forces his hands to his crotch to adjust shorts and hide his excitement before meekly returning to stare at labored gulps and the few trailing droplets of water that escape and spill down into Simon’s sweaty beard. Timothy almost vibrates from the need to be topped by the man standing above him, totally unaware that the titan in question has eyes for his boyfriend alone.

Delivering the jug of water back, Simon quickly thanks the twink and tries to joke, “Thanks little bro! My uhh, Nicky swears I’d forget my hat if it weren’t screwed on huhuh!” He pauses and scratches at his stubble, “Or no that’s not the joke? Uh-” He crosses his arms and half-heartedly flexes as he loses himself in labored thought, trying to remember how it goes.

In the meantime Tim takes the unintended hint that Simon’s taken and sighs to himself. He did figure that the man was too good to be true, c’est la vie- In the meantime, while his flask is open he may as well hydrate himself. Raising it to his lips he watches Simon quiet a burp and wipe his lip, “Oh uhh, sorry for the backwash dude-” This almost makes him race to drink it even quicker. No time to introspect however for as soon as it spills onto his tongue, Tim’s eyes dilate. The twink almost chokes from the speed at which he struggles to down more water than one should mid-workout.

Never before now has the small man attempted to chug something at this rate, or at all really, though driven by lusty thoughts and burning delight as it soars down his throat he is suddenly swallowing like the best of them. His chest tightens and his stomach burns as he finally gasps for air, coughing up water and doing his best to not vom. Immediately concerned, Simon puts his meaty hands on the small man’s shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine as the twink grits his teeth and covers his mouth to quiet a moan.

His heart races and his breathing accelerates as something alien begins to build within him. Tim can’t hear Simon’s worried questions as pressure begins to pound and he tries to stand. He feels a compulsion to move, to grow. Exactly like Nicky’s boyfriend mindlessly doing pushups on the cold ground, Tim feels compelled beyond reason to work out the energy that is beginning to build in his veins.

Never one to seriously weight train he doesn’t know why or how he ends up on a bench press, but when his bleary eyes turn to see Simon loading weights on he’s filled with a drive greater than he could understand. “Are you sure you can handle this much lil guy?” Lil Guy. Tim grimaces as he feels his veins bulge in response. It matters not if it's from irritation or lust. He can do this. He can do way more than this. His soft hands grasp the iron bar and raise it. Despite his confidence however, just as soon it leaves the rack it comes crashing down, wont to heed the ever-persuasive call of gravity.

Just before Simon has the chance to spot him, Tim calls the grunt off, groaning under the weight “I can- do IT” Simon gasps as he sees the bar immediately begin to rise. The man’s stick thin arms shake with effort as they raise it high enough to return the weight. When Simon goes to pull it back and remove weight he sees rage in Tim’s eyes and hesitates. Timothy then forces another rep, veins bulge up his neck as Simon unmistakably sees new muscle begin to bulge larger under the twink’s shirt. He forces it into the air once more and with a grunt the bar bounces higher.

There’s the sound of fabric beginning to tear as a shirt that was chosen to show off his lithe form cannot contain the required pecs that this bench press demands. Each impossible repetition packs more meat onto his body. Simon gives tips to the newbie and smiles as he sees the bar rapidly grow more stable, bony arms suddenly no longer left out as small biceps peak and struggle to follow the technique laid out by the clearly experienced jock.

After arbitrarily doing enough at the bench press, without a word Tim sets the bar back on the rack and wanders over to free weights. Simon quickly dismantles the weight left on and wipes down the bench, proud of how much of a sweat his apparent lil trainee has already worked up. By the time he makes it to observe Timothy’s corner of the gym he again sees the man trying to bite way over his level, though once more before he can intervene he sees the impossible.

Tim takes a swig of his water and his arms grow meatier, sending tears up the already tight sleeves. Jaw clenched, he curls probably the heaviest weight he’s ever lifted as if it were nothing, with a grunt he does it again, and again. Simon grins as he sees the man's technique improve without a word, the strained sleeves on his mini-tee shred to nothing as they simply cannot contain the power Tim now holds within himself.

“Dude! That’s killer!” addressed by Simon directly, awareness returns to Tim’s eyes and the weight clatters to the floor, thankfully missing his feet as he yelps. Simon quickly rushes over clicking his tongue, “Ah you can’t be doing that bro haha! Clearly got a lot to learn about gym etiquette eh? Huhuh!” He puts the weights back up and pats Tim on the back. Staring up at the man Tim feels the need to be more rising once more, his attention goes to his flask and his mouth feels dry. Thirst controlling him he goes to drink only to find it already empty.

Simon nods and apologizes for drinking so much earlier, “Ah man, guess that’s as good a sign as any to call it huh?” Tim’s heart skips a beat as an almost existential fear fills him at the idea that Simon was about to leave him. As if he were on the precipice of losing it all. “Wait! Would you um, mind if you showed me a few more tips tomorrow?” Simon tilts his head and Tim hungrily waits for his answer, a red tinge hiding in his eyes that Simon’s far too distracted to notice. Grinning he starts to nod, “Y’know I always thought I’d be a good teacher huhuh! I’ll be in pretty early tomorrow so you just come say hi and we’ll get goin!”

With that he pats the twink-no-more on the back and congratulates him on the hustle, “Great work today Tom! I swear you look fuckin’ massive with this pump! You should take a few to check yourself out dude!” Blankly smiling, unaware as Tim slightly glowers at being called the wrong name, he ruffles the shorter man’s hair and then grabs his gym bag to head home, “See you tomorrow lil dude!” Tim smiles and starts to say farewell though Simon’s already halfway gone by the time he reopens his eyes. Taking a second to pout all anxieties and fears fall away as he turns to see his new reflection.

His expression drops as he realizes his shirt has totally been discarded at some point during his pump-fueled fugue state. Taking in the new power that writhes and flexes underneath his skin, his fingers trace abs and follow veins as before cupping his powerful pecs, almost burning hot enough to steam his sweat. He tries to swallow but comes short as his dry mouth and impossible thirst remains. He twitches and his eyes shift red as the only recourse is more than clear. He needs more.

The next morning Tim drives to the gym before it opens to sit and wait for Simon to arrive. Every so often he turns on his windshield wipers to remove condensation accrued from his passive body heat alone. Eventually when he sees the brute jogging up with his gym bag in tow Tim quickly springs to action to force a fake meet-cute. He knows the jock’s taken but can’t blame a guy for trying.

Counting on Simon’s general lack of awareness he races to hide just out of sight and bump into his new trainer as he rounds the corner. Without a hitch he successfully bumps into the shirtless man and is rewarded by getting the behemoth’s sweat all over his even skimpier gym clothes. Simon, thinking nothing ill of this must be accident, remains happily unaware of any untoward motivation from his new trainee. Already grinning at the prospect of working out, he just reaches out and ruffles the man’s hair again, “Gotta watch where you’re goin’ little guy huhuh!”

Tim in turn babbles off a good-morning as he is struck woozy from such close proximity to the man, his b.o. easily more than clouding his mind. Barely able to stay his tongue from licking the sweat off of Simon, Tim’s unrelenting thirst compels him to offer the beast another drink from his hydroflask. Like a dog showing his owner a present, Simon quickly goes to grab his own water bottle, almost tearing off his pants as the bottle is attached by a carabiner. With a laugh he explains, “Thank ya dude! But after I told him about yesterday Nicky made sure I’d not forget huhuh! He was so worried that I’d be dehydrated and all. Little worryworm, or- Uh? Worrywart?” Simon laughs and shakes off the brief confusion and just rubs the water bottle gently, thinking about his lover.

Timothy rolls his eyes, jealousy breaking him from his musk-based trance, “Okay! Whatever- Shall we get started then?” Simon returns his attention to the man in front of him and begins to escort him inside. Throwing an arm across the smaller man’s shoulders he explains his plans for their workout today. Tim hears none of it however as he instead zeroes in on the sweat dripping down his back. The newly made twunk grunts and stretches his neck as he feels his traps cramp under the weight and wet of Simon’s arm.

Feeling sweat drip from Simon’s exposed pit down his right arm, Tim grimaces as suddenly his body pulls that direction. With a glance he sees it hang bulkier, thicker. Tim can’t hide the glee painted across his face as he realizes even proximity is enough for him to parasitize growth from the dreamboat he apparently isn’t to have. Simon looks down perplexed as he feels Tim grab at his calloused hand and rub his arm down his back, smirking and twitching as he does so. “Uhh Tim?” A moment later he grunts and stretches, his back widens, straining his shirt.

Simon’s used to being confused so he doesn’t try to make sense as his new trainee suddenly shoots up half a foot in height, his midriff exposed as his arms stretch longer, muscle fibers straining before pulsing to remain as thick as they were before they sprouted. The jock pauses and closes his eyes as despite his best efforts, he sees what happens and something in the back of his mind knows he has seen it before. Tim, in between basking in his new power and languishing in the sensual growth still happening across his body grabs a clearly sweat stained towel from Simon’s bag and ties it around his waist, hoping to spread growth to his hitherto neglected glutes and thighs.

When Simon indeed returns to awareness, shaking off his stupor he see’s just that. Now supported on tree-trunk thighs he barely needs to angle down to make eye contact with his trainee. When he sees the man’s cock pulse through his gym shorts he purses his lips as he for the first time realizes that his trainee might be into him. Not that that’s a rarity of course, he’s quite the prize.

The quickest glance towards Tim’s eyes makes it more than clear that he may have something a little darker than your average crush. There is something deep, a hunger for something greater. Simon’s usual confidence wavers, briefly concerned about his client’s conflict of interest. He did promise to help with this session though. Chewing on his cheek, Simon fights against better judgment to stick to his word, opting to help as promised. Getting started he sets to lead the man who increasingly looks like he doesn’t need help over to the free weights.

In no time at all Simon watches as Tim works up a pump greater than any he’s ever seen, baring his own of course. He struggles to offer feedback as the should-be twink increasingly feels the need to butt heads, to peacock rather than try to train. When Simon sees red flashes in the man’s eyes, alarms once more begin to go off in the back of his head, but then his trainee surges just that much larger, his pumped arms bulge that much bigger, and he is instead distracted by how quickly his student seems to be advancing. “Guess I can’t call ya little dude any more huh?”

Tim smirks and flexes at his trainer, biting his tongue as everything within him feels the need to lob pick up lines at him. His arms tense as he barely stops himself from simply pouncing on the man, to do everything within his increased power to seize his fountain of growth forevermore. He clears his throat and ignores how off he sounds, his sing-songy performative pitch replaced by a harsh wolfish baritone, “Yo bro, not to pry- cause I know you got your little bitch, er- boyfriend. But-" When Tim calls Nicky a bitch Simon suddenly shifts deathly serious "Can you just get to the point Tim.”

The new jock averts his eyes, annoyed at being interrupted though knowing that he is not the one with the power here, “Look I’m just sayin-” he goes to grab Simon’s hand, “I’m sure he’d understand if you wanted to have a little fun.” Feeling Simon’s sweaty hand grasped, he shivers as new calluses develop on his own. His kindly trainer almost grimaces at his advances and pulls away before growth can continue to pile on. Simon purses his lips and looks away, “Look, uhh- I’m not so sure we’re a great match. But, uhh-” Tim watches gears slowly turn as Simon struggles for an eloquent way to effectively dump him, “But what.”

Tim’s eyes narrow as if he’s readying to strike, his thoughts race as everything in him suddenly goes on alert. Chords entirely cut to the twink he once was, he feels Simon is the only tether towards further growth, towards becoming more of who he must be. When he sees the generally jovial man sigh and go for a sip of water to give him time to gather thoughts, Tim’s defcon-one strategy becomes clear. Seeing Simon start to pull away he makes up his mind. If he’s going to lose access then he must get as much as he can right now.

His hand goes to curl into a fist and he swings, not at Simon of course, but the container of nectar he holds to his lips. Hurt beyond measure Simon watches as his new bottle spills all over the avaricious body-builder. His mouth is open but he clearly makes no further effort to drink it as it rains down mostly onto his chest. Tim falls to the floor and his hands shake as he rubs the water into his rapidly bulging, pounding pecs. Simon stares rapt with judgement as the man’s muscular chest bursts free from a shirt that was already painted on.

Individual muscle fibres pulse and expand as he convulses on the floor. His shoulder awkwardly forces itself upward as growth enacts itself across his body in swathes disparate and seemingly painful. Despite the nigh assault, Simon immediately abandons everything to kneel down and help the man as his body contorts and writhes, arms stretching and building unevenly as deeper grunts issue forth from a widening throat. Red light shines through eyes clamped shut and drool drips from clenched teeth.

After a few minutes of heaving breaths and impossible expansion, Tim eventually relaxes on the cold gym floor and looks up at Simon with a smirk. Content that the man is fine and, at least for the moment, ignoring the impossible transformation that he has witnessed as a means of survival. In defiance of some shred of self that recognizes the transformation he ignores the flash of red in his eyes that stares at and into the man on the floor and scoffs, “Good luck finding a new trainer.” He pauses, wanting desperately to say something clever but is waylaid by his duller wit, his gentle spirit, and the terrifying feeling at the back of his mind that something has similarly irrevocably changed who he is. He slowly shakes his head and wanders off to the shower.

Tim crawls after him pleading him to stay around though even as he struggles to crawl after the man he cannot help but realize that he seems to have bitten off more than he can chew. That is until he sees Simon go into the locker room rather than straight out of the gym. His mouth reflexively contorts to a smile and his heart skips a beat. There remains more for his greedy hands to take. His drive for more compels him to fight through pain, through soreness. He can’t help himself. He cannot stop himself.

Simon stands. He tries to sneak though every step elicits a quivering gasp of pain. He bites his forearm to quiet his pained pants as he presses forward towards Simon’s discarded gym bag. Seeing the used jockstrap lying on top his free hand goes to grasp it before neurons even fire in recognition of what it is. Adrenaline and static sear through him great enough to feel pain no longer as he doesn’t stumble but sprint out of the locker room, out of the gym, and into his truck. He doesn’t know how but he’s wearing it before the keys turn in the ignition.

He has drunk after Simon, he has rubbed the man's sweat over his skin, he has washed his chest with his spit. These are nothing compared to his wearing the man’s discarded, post-workout jock. Were he struck by lightning he would have less energy coursing through him, his whole being vibrates and his vision tints red as by the time he’s home he can scarcely exist for what is flowing through him, what is overflowing out of him. He cannot think for the pleasure and power coursing through his veins, mainlining into his nervous system through the purloined jockstrap.

So overwhelmed is he it’s almost as if he’s unable to maintain what has been thus far been bestowed unto him. As if he were becoming less defined, less real. While his muscles compress and his mind sits on the precipice of total erasure, it is clear what aspect of self is benefitting from his impossible situation. When he finally realizes how dire- how tenuous a hold he has on what is happening to him, what is becoming of him as his blood begins to burn he discards the jock and his eyes land upon a cock that may be the closest man has ever come to perfection.

Pubes like a burning bush around an obelisk of a dick. His hands twitch as they go to grab it and they burn with pleasure as Timothy is filled with feeling so intense that he sees only red, he feels only static, he hears nothing but the rushing of blood through his ears. Through gnashing teeth he is no longer aware of having he unknowingly does the only thing that could save him. Just as he begins to lose the capacity for thought at all, he stumbles upon a wish. i wish i could share this- and with that whatever staticky magic, whatever inhuman energy flowing through him from Simon, from Nicky, is discharged.

He awakens on the edge of orgasm sitting on his couch, as soon as he’s conscious enough to move he loses control. Painting his torso as well as the wall behind him with cum his breathing stutters as he stares at his dripping cock. His hands shake as he reaches for it, twitching it stands higher and crisscrossed by fleshy veins and surrounded by a garden of pubes distinctly thicker than how he keeps them. Grunting as he convulses to prevent himself from cumming again he hears his voice echo through the room deeper, stretching he finds his limbs are longer. His mind dances with the idea that what just happened to him may not have just been some all-too-real dream after all, but some true working of magic.

His hands go to cup his thicker balls, and as they are graced by a callused hand that seems to have done perhaps one full day of work before, his hips rut and he loses control once more. Splashes of cum decorate his hairless stomach and chest that currently maintain only the most superficial of muscle and vascularity. Taking in the mess he has made of himself, Tim’s eyes widen as he observes something new beginning. Like tears of god the cum decorating his chest has begun to seed bountiful thick curls everywhere it lands. Rapidly do jungles of hair sprout up across his cumstained body enough to perhaps rival that of Simon’s. Though as he sees his newfound ability to change himself, Simon loses such prominent status from his mind.

His hands, having been incredibly near to the epicenter of his powerful release are certainly not spared from his loosed loads. Thick hair begins to trail up his forearms, accompanied by veins even thicker than he held during his peak performance with Simon. Shaking off whatever anxieties remained from his near cosmic experience, as well as any desire to understand what is happening to him, he gleefully begins to rub his cum into pecs as they begin to amass weight and strength once more. This time they are artfully decorated with curls he has longingly lusted after since he first stumbled upon his proclivities towards masculinity.

While his fingers dance and sculpt his body into what he has always wanted to fuck and only recently hungered for himself, he becoems aware that his plans have returned to the headspace wherein he truly lost himself. In between dragging through a treasure trail that now acts as a highway from his neck to his cock, playing with nipples that hang pertly from a chest no man would be ashamed to have, playing with lengthy pit hair that holds a permanent undeniable aura (Read: musk), he overcomes his prideful shortfalls, shaking off his need to personally be more- shaking off his obsession with seeking fulfillment in power, in forcing some jock he doesn’t even know to acknowledge and fulfill him he is struck with the desire that let him persist. I Wish I Could Share This.

Taking time to spread his seed across his jawline and ensure his face has stubble, Tim stands to feet and smirks as pre continues to drip down from his cock. Curls spread up from his wider feet to meet with the forest of hair that coats his calves, which rush to surge and match the density of hair that ushers forth from his thighs and crotch. He stretches and groans with a clear mission laid ahead of him. Propelled with the desire supernatural, bestowed upon him by himself, he throws on as little clothing as he can get away with and wanders out from his home. No need to choose a destination as some will greater than himself already pulls him closer.

Before he’s made it down the street he grimaces and removes his shoes, sizes too small already; they're simply too tight for any continued charade of decency to be worth it. When hairy toes just as soon burst forth from his socks he grins and presses onward, delighted at the prospect, the ideal of never being contained. Each step forward stains the earth beneath him with a sweaty footprint. Each mark a proof of currently barely perceptible change that he has wrought, should someone investigate too intently they are sure to find themselves pulled in and changed as well. Though such contagion is paltry compared to what is to happen when he finally reaches his destination.

His entrance to the gym is unheralded and yet as soon as he steps in the doors every man drops what they are doing to stare. The hunger red hot behind his eyes returns as he meets their gaze and smiles. The receptionist starts to try and speak, some drilled in procedure acting subconsciously. When Timothy turns to observe the quiet voice he freezes up once more before he’s filled with confidence and a burning need to be closer. The receptionist barrels over the counter and races to be the first to reach the titan, to be the first to receive his gifts.

Mouths drop as all watch Tim effortlessly tear the shirt from the man before pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. Wherever Tim haphazardly makes contact with the young man muscle bloats and hair blooms. The manicured fur on his chest rapidly spreads and races to meet with bountiful gardens that push out from underneath his arms. Stubble on his face explodes into a full beard as new prickly strands push out from pores appearing in between pores, never to be combated by a razor again. His chest pushes larger as he struggles to push in closer to Tim than physically possible, as if he were trying to make their forms one. Shoulders just wider and arms hang closer to the earth as biceps form and hands expand.

The receptionist’s eyes roll back as Tim’s graceful and rough fingers slowly twirl downward from playing with chest hair. Following the directions of a new thick treasure trail he finds a bush of pubes spreading further and growing more tangled by the second. Even the lightest touch is enough for the changing man to lose control. Overwhelmed as Tim was from the jockstrap, the young man stumbles backwards, away from the eidolon and into the crowd. Immediately he bumps into another would be congregant to the beyond-alluring gym-rat.

Still not satiated, if such a thing is even possible, the receptionist immediately turns and begins frotting against the wanting man he wantonly bumped into. He does not see his eyes cloud over nor the red mist that falls from his mouth as he makes out with a longtime regular to the gym. When he begins to feel his new beard scratch and tangle with stubble that his suitor had not seconds ago it only makes him all the more excited. Soon enough others see the receptionist begin to spread changes himself, and when they see some clumsy jock bump into the man still tongue deep in receptionist and shiver as he too begins to grow, all Hell breaks loose.

In short order every man in the gym finds themselves changing beyond their wildest dreams. Musky bodies grind against musky bodies. Pecs push into pecs as men who haven’t even realized they liked body hair suddenly find themselves rapt in the heady delight. Newly hairy stomachs and chests scratch against the sweaty curls of other men who can scarcely recall their names. Mouths find mouths, pits unleash b.o. great enough to fill the gym with a cloud of musk. In no time at all dicks are unleashed as they grow too large to be contained by briefs, jocks, or boxers as cum begins to join the litany of other bodily fluids that fly through the air.

Tim simply watches in reverie as men continue to frot, fuck, bloat, and grow hairier around him. When he sees sensibility or awareness return he simply offers a helping hand and watches bemused as their dumb smiles return. He wanders through tangled bodies exalting himself to find each and every one greater than they were before his guiding hand. Minds consumed with nothing further than the sensual pleasure he offers, not even present enough to question why they had ever prioritized anything else to begin with.

For a moment Tim himself has some second guesses as to what he has done. Seeing a friend he almost recognizes shake as he grows a foot in height as his man bun retracts into nothing as a beard shades his face. Watching the prim bottom manhandle a jock who is changing far slower than himself gives him pause. Watching men bloat up and become new vectors of transformation. Is this better? Just as soon as the words come they vacate as he takes a deep breath of the scarlet shaded musky air. Of course it’s better, what could one want more than everlasting pleasure.

Soon enough he doesn’t even remember that he was the one to begin the orgy that this gym descends into, it is simply something that happened, that is happening. New gym goers file in as the day goes by and immediately find their place in the bacchanalia. Outside the juice bar and bookstore the gym was wedged in between corrupt into a protein shake shack and sex shop, perfect for the gym rats and himbos to stumble into whenever they need to take a breather before returning to the fracas. The gym becomes a canary in the coal mine of a world that is soon to come, though it is not the inly of epicenter of change in this city.

Nicky’s wish for Simon to have confidence in himself has had repercussions beyond the pale, though that is what happens when one makes wishes and casts spells haphazardly. Due to his desire to forget his strange encounter, he remains totally unaware of what he has unintentionally wrought. In a chinese food restaurant a delivery man scratches at his stomach after making a stop at a friendly apartment next door, he himself could sure use a bite to eat. All across town people Nicky has wished well find themselves becoming more. People Nicky has wished would learn a lesson do so in ways he never could expect, in ways he would never wish. For now he simply continues on as normal, though when Simon finally comes home to tell his boyfriend of a strange encounter with some guy at the gym and the disquieting flashes of red in the back of his mind, perhaps Nicky will finally discover how his will is being enacted, how it is being twisted into the world.

Poll Results:

Delivery - 30.5%

Follows Alex from Talisman II as Rich has unwittingly sent him on his own path to Transformation as he goes on deliveries to find some of his regulars acting strange (General masculinzation for Alex alongside some other shorter fun TF’s, i.e. twinkification/Stoner tf/preppification)

Hazmat 21.6%

Forces race to contain the spread of transformation, but who polices the police as it were (Continuing onward with jockfications)

Location Location Location 24.1%

To test his powers Nicky deliberately changes a whole establishment and the people within, though unfamiliarity or disbelief creates a new locus of transformation (Library to Fraternity? Craft store to sports store?)

Barista 23.6%

Accidentally uses talisman on barista and through effort Simon gets Nicky to observe and become aware of the situation (cafe goer into various TFs surfer/cultural change/might toss in a F2M, is there interest there??)

#male tf #mental change #jockification #hair growth #dumber #reality change #masculinization #beard growth #himbofication #gay transformation #muscle tf #male transformation #mass tf #musk tf #talismen

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emwheezie · 2 months ago

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Beanie in a hat for halloween because he outgrew his bat wings 🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤

#beanie #halloween #black cats #journal

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

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PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

#steddie #steddie fic #semi divine steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #percy jackson au #my writing #please don't expect quick updates like this on the regular btw #weekend me is just too productive actually #so ya know just vibe i guess lmao

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