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fanaticsnail · 10 months ago

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Dreaming of You

Series Masterlist

Word count: 2,300+

Synopsis: He couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in his dreams. The way he had you wrapped around his body as a marionette in his minds, dancing for them as he awoke to sticky blankets when he jolted upright. His thoughts got the better of them, and he wanted to make them a reality.

Warnings: king x afab!reader, size difference, monsterfucking, wet dreams, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, grinding, degradation, praise, (pet names: little star, little one, pet, slut), masturbation, size kink, bukkake, dubcon, masturbating while listening to masturbating. It does not fit.

Notes: This one got away with me. First time writing for King. There is a large size difference.

Sitting on a large throne within the dark room, the lunarian King took residency over his dominion. Wisps of smoke-like vapors flooded the outer perimeter as you approached the giant bench made for kneeling. Your gown lay in a deep ‘v’ cut down to your naval, dual leg slits rising to your hip bones on either leg. Holding your head high, you held your arms out either side of you as you looked down your nose at him and hardened your quaking emotions.

Helmet lain askew by his side, he beckoned you in closer with a coax of his large finger. “Closer, little star. Don't be shy. A little closer for me.”

He watches as your eyes drift down to his other hand, wrapped around his cock and slowly pistoning the hard shaft within his soft, vice-like grip. The length of his cock was almost the height of your body from the balls of your feet, to the tip of your diaphragm. His girth was the width of your torso, thick and veiny while throbbing in deep desire.

Not ignoring the bob in your throat at such a request, he allowed a low growl to pass through his lips at your hesitation.

“I will not ask again, pet,” his lips curled back as he snarled at you, the creases in his eyes at his deep furrow warning you of the danger you were in at this request. “You wanted this. You asked for this. You said you would do it,” he rose from the seat, towering over you at his full height, “So do it.”

Gulping back your fear of the right hand of Kaido, you nod at him and slowly approach his throne, ushering him down with a soft and calm gesture of your hands. He sighed out through his nose, slouching back into his seat with a gruff huff, lazily fisting at his cock as he watched your sultry approach.

Reaching up to the mid of your gown, you tugged at the drawstring and revealed your bare form to him while attempting to conceal your joy at the small shudder in his jaw at your appearance. Bare for his eyes only, you nodded at him and slowly walked up the steps towards the throne.

“What made you make such a lewd suggestion, little star?” He asked, reaching his hand out towards you as you approached. You tilted your head to the side, almost brushing your scalp against the tip of his cock as you stood between his legs.

“Curiosity,” you utter with a soft hum. Looking down through the corner of your eyes, he noticed you assessing his size as you stood beside his cock. He noticed how close it was in size to you, his lips curling up into a smirk as he compared the size of his tip to your head. You playfully stood flush beside it for him to make the true comparison.

“And is your curiosity satisfied?” he asked, releasing your fingers from his hand and reclining back onto the seat. You hum in falsified thought, tapping your chin before you reach for his cock and giving it a gentle caress.

“Almost,” you smirk back at him, mirroring his dark playfulness to match his energy. “How do you want me?” You ask, truly curious while looking around the room. It was his turn to him in thought, never thinking about the technicalities of such a tryst, only the desire that came from the request.

“When you're alone, how do you picture me? On-top of you, beneath you, above you, below you?” He smirked, noticing your fluster as you bit your lip, “I know you do, pet. Talk to me.” You gulp back as he stoops lower.

“Do you grind yourself down, pressing that pretty cunt into your hand or pillow, and rock your hips like a needy little slut?” He huskily purred at you, watching the heat rise in your face and bottom lip quiver, “Or do you lie on your back and use those little digits to roll your clit against them until your back arches. C’mon, little star. Tell me what you like to do when you picture me.”

You gulp, stuttering in your mind before words could even form coherent strings between your lips. His grin widens at your silence, toying and fussing at your bare skin with his fingers.

“Or maybe you like to stand, hm? Stand up with your legs parted on your tip-toes while you picture my fat cock pistoning through them?” your breath hitches at the filth pouring from his lips, not escaping your notice how his cock bobs and twitches at each suggestion. “C'mon, little one, talk to me. Tell me how you picture me when you think about riding my cock. There is no way it will fit inside you, so you better tell me-.”

“-I like grinding,” you hurriedly confess, finally stifling your nerves enough to inform the gargantuan of your preferences, “I like being on top and rolling my hips down. I like the feeling of my clit being overwhelmed by every rocking movement I make against my hands, or a pillow.” King chuckles and leans back in his chair with a deep sigh in gratuity, pumping his shaft in languid motions.

“Go on, pet. What happens, hm?” he prodded you, causing you to nod at him as you continue.

“I like to picture you as you are here, sat on a chair with your cock in your palm,” you profess your desires to the larger man without shame, approaching him with intentional strides, “I like to picture me straddling your cock and gliding my slick pussy against your shaft while you use me. Taking me in both hands and using my body to masturbate with.” He grinned at you, his eyes darkening as a deep growl purred from the pit of his gut.

“And then?” he continued, his hands picking up, pinching the blunt tip of his cock as his arousal pooled from the head of his cock and began to gather in his digits.

“Then, I picture your cum painting my body from head to toe,” you whisper your final confession while placing soft kisses to his hot shaft, “And then I cum so fucking hard I see stars. I cry for you.” He growled, halting his motions and circling your waist with one of his hands.

“That sounds marvelous. But with two slight adjustments,” he easily hoisted you in the air without effort, drawing you up to his face as he purred at you. “One: you're going to be beneath me. I want to see those pretty eyes roll back in your skull when you cum.”

You whimper as he moves you down to his cock, parting your thighs and mediately slotting himself against you.

“And, two:” he moved your arms and legs to hook around him from beneath and lock you in place by your own arms, “You're going to cum before me. Got that? You're gonna cum so fucking hard for me, everyone's gonna hear you scream.”

In one hand alone, he rocked your body against his hot shaft. The veins of his underside ground themselves against your glistening pussy and caused you to cry out. This was far better than anything you had ever imagined of him, or attempted to stimulate yourself on. No grinding pad, vibrator, hands, other cocks or pillows had come close to the throbbing cock currently wrapped within the grasp of your body.

Rocking his hips, he ensured your ass and thighs were supported by his smallest and unity fingers. Your back was circled by his index and middle while he pressed his palm up against your hips to ensure you were flush against him.

“Keep-... Fuck-... Keep your arms wrapped around me, little star,” he ordered, continuing to use your body to grind onto himself with. “Legs too. Lock them at the ankles and grind that pretty cunt against me. I can feel how slick you are. How wet you are for me.”

You let out a soft mewl in protest to his words, but the feeling of his thick cock was too good on you to care. Doing as he asked, you clasped your ankles together while embracing his shaft by circling them around him. His tip was so close to your face, you could see how much desire he had for you in the soft pearlescent dewdrop expelling itself from his slit.

Rocking your hips in time with his slow motions, you felt your chest and ass ripple with each motion. Continuing to grind into him, soft gasps and groans flew from Kings lips at each piston.

Finally growing tired of the languid pace, he circled his other hand against you and thrust his hips up in time with his desperate thrusts. Huffing and panting, his wings fluttered behind him as he began to desperately seek out his satisfaction by using your body. The sloppy claps echoed throughout the room each time he bucked his hips up into you, the tip of his cock grinding against your face before your ass would slap against his balls beneath him.

Each time your ass clapped against his balls, his pitch would get higher and more desperate. The chant of: “fuck, fuck, fuck,” spilt from his lips alongside your name as he continued to use your body to chase his own satisfaction. Deciding to add more to his pleasure, you parted your lips to kiss the swollen tip of his cock each time your face met with it. Rolling your tongue and mouthing at him, you could feel your desire pool in the pit of your belly and coil tighter.

Throwing his head back, his pace quickened. If your ankles were not locked together, you would've been all over the place with floppy legs at the amount of pleasure the pressure was sending you. Growing erratic, he gazed back down at you and snarled through dangerous eyes.

“You better cum, little one. Cum for me. Be a good little slut and cum on my cock like this,” he barked, thrusting his hips up to punctuate his order. You whimpered as your body felt ignited with pleasure, only needing one more thing to truly set your own hunger alight.

“Cum on me, King. I need you to cum on my face and use my body to meet your high. I promise I'll cum, please,” you begged him, causing his breath to hitch as he continued to rock your much smaller head against his sensitive tip and frenulum while your body ground itself against his veiny shaft.

“You want me to fucking cum? I'll cum for you, little slut. Tongue out, n-now,” he staggered, his orders shooting sparks of lighting down your body and weaving the coil tighter in your stomach. As you lulled your tongue out, his eyes rolled back and his cock twitched with desperation.

“F-Fuck, I'm gonna-!” was all the warning he gave you before ropes of his release flooded your face and dripped down your torso, adding that final wave of lust to shoot lighting into your body. As his cum struck your face, lighting shot through you as your vision snapped white.

“K-King!” you screamed, your pussy twitching as you gushed on his cock. The friction added to your ecstasy as his cum continued to pool from his tip and overwhelm you with his viscous lust.

“Nghh- cumming-, fuck, fuck, take it. Take my cum, little star. Take it,” he barked at you, his feral desire to mark you with his cum as you screamed and mewled on his cock in time with your release grew more and more. Calling your name and chasing his high, he both degraded you and praised you for being so good and listening. Your little whimpers and whines set him off more, the peak of his release overwhelming your senses as it dripped down his base.

As he looked down at your body covered in cum, his vision faded into dark whisps. The shadows from the room engulfed you within and he shot himself upright.

Finding himself alone in his room had him roar in rage. Peeling back the blankets, he noticed his cock was twitching as his waistband now stuck to his abdomen with the sticky coat of shame trickling down his abdomen. He was overwhelmed at the knowledge that he called your name in his sleep, his dream conjuring up your image to tempt him with…

…and the fact he liked it so much.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging his hand down and beginning to ride out the final waves of his dream by calling your name and grinding his cock into his palm. A pathetic final spurt released from his tip as his orgasm was already spilt within his pants. Groaning out a soft whine, he shamelessly used your name as he pictured those final moments of your body on his cock.

Eyes blissed out, arms and legs braced against him, tongue lulled and covered in his cum. He needed that. He needed you. He was going to have you.

Moans from King's bedroom had your hand slipping down the front of your pants, your index and middle finger dancing against your body as soon as you heard him call your name. You knew you shouldn't be doing this, but the echos of his gruff moans were too hard for you to ignore. As he reached his high and called your name, you clapped your other hand over your lips as your body was ushered into your own ecstasy. Rocking your hips and stifling your silent scream in your palm, you came hard on your hand.

Removing your fingers from your pussy, you wiped them on your thigh to rid them of slick before turning away and scurrying back down the hallway towards your own room with haste.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

#one piece #x reader #dreaming of you #king the wildfire #king x reader #op king #one piece king #one piece smut #giant x human #one piece x reader #king the wildfire x reader #afab!reader

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inkyquillstories · 2 months ago

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Trading Medals Part 2: (A Body Swap Story)

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/inkyquillstories/774729028416520192/trading-medals-part-1-a-body-swap-story?source=share Note: This story has a lot more photos and videos (NSFW!) but Tumblr won't let me. If you would like to see the NSFW version, check it out on my discord! https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

Trading Medals Part 2:

Ethan—now Mark—stirred awake earlier than usual, blinking against the morning light filtering through the blinds. Normally, he’d struggle to get out of bed, groggy and sluggish, but today was different. There was an energy coursing through him, a natural liveliness that felt effortless. He immediately opened his selfie camera to admire himself. As he sat up, the movement alone felt powerful—his arms, his shoulders, even his core engaging in ways his old body never had.

His stomach grumbled. He needed coffee. Moving through the dorm with Mark’s easy, confident stride, he made his way to the kitchenette, instinctively rolling his shoulders as if loosening up for a workout. He reached for the coffee maker, surprised at the way his larger hands completely enveloped the handle of the pot. Even the act of scooping coffee grounds felt different—the extra weight behind his movements, the sheer size of his hands.

As the coffee brewed, he leaned against the counter, absently flexing his fingers and forearms. He lifted his arm, sniffing the faint scent of Mark’s natural musk mixed with the lingering notes of his body wash. It was strange. Not bad—just unfamiliar. When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and took a sip. Even his taste buds felt different; the bitterness wasn’t as overwhelming as it used to be. Maybe Mark just liked stronger coffee.

Still waking up, he decided to freshen up before heading to the gym. Coffee in hand, he walked into the bathroom, turning on the light and stepping up to the mirror. The sight that greeted him was almost surreal—Mark’s face staring back at him, but with his own thoughts and emotions behind those deep-set eyes. He lifted a hand, running his fingers along his jawline, feeling the light stubble. He tilted his head, studying the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the structure of his nose, the fullness of his lips. Mark was attractive—he had always known that—but seeing himself like this, being in this body, made it hit differently.

He set his coffee down and reached for the toothbrush. Even brushing his teeth felt different—the width of his grip on the handle, the strength in his arm as he moved. The minty foam filled his mouth, and he found himself examining his reflection again as he brushed. The toothpaste left a sharp coolness on his tongue, but beneath it, he caught another scent—his own morning breath. Not bad, just different. Huskier? Deeper? He rinsed his mouth and swished with mouthwash before patting his face dry with a towel.

That’s when he caught it. A strong, musky scent clinging to his skin. His armpits.

He hesitated, then lifted an arm experimentally, leaning in to take a cautious whiff. The scent hit him immediately—thicker, more potent than what he was used to. Musky, masculine, layered with the remnants of yesterday’s deodorant and sweat. It wasn’t bad—Mark had always smelled like this after a workout—but experiencing it firsthand was something else. It made him hyper-aware of just how different this body was. Mark's body runs hot, sweats more. No wonder he showers so often.

He instinctively reached for Mark’s deodorant on the counter, twisting the cap open and rolling the cool gel under his arms. The fresh scent mixed with the underlying musk, taming it slightly. Then, for good measure, he grabbed a bottle of cologne from the shelf and gave himself a couple of sprays on the chest and wrists. It was a scent he recognized—Mark had worn it on dates before. Spicy, warm, a little woodsy. He took another deep breath. Better.

Now fully awake and refreshed, Ethan tugged off his shirt, tossing it onto the counter. His breath hitched slightly at the sight of his bare chest. His pecs were well-defined, his abs sculpted. He ran a hand down his torso, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his fingertips. This wasn’t just looking at Mark’s body anymore—this was his body now.

Turning slightly, he flexed an arm, watching as the bicep swelled impressively. He did it again, fascinated by the way the muscles responded. Damn. No wonder Mark loves this body so much.

He turned his attention lower, running his hands over his obliques, down to his waist, before finally letting out a slow breath. He was big. Bigger than he ever thought he could be.

The thought sent a thrill through him.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Ethan shook himself out of his daze. If he was in Mark’s body, he was going to use it properly. And that meant one thing—he needed to hit the gym.

Grinning at his reflection one last time, he grabbed his gym bag and headed out.

The workout was intense, but his new body handled it with ease. Every lift, every push, every rep felt powerful. He caught his reflection in the mirror—Mark’s tall, muscular physique gleaming with sweat—and smirked. This was his body for the weekend. He rolled his shoulders and flexed, marveling at the way his biceps bulged under the strain.

After the gym, he headed to football practice. The moment he stepped onto the field, muscle memory kicked in. He didn’t have Mark’s exact skills, but his body did. Running drills, catching passes, moving across the field—it all felt strangely natural. The other players joked around with him, completely unaware that the real Mark wasn’t inside. Ethan played along, enjoying the camaraderie, the effortless strength, and the way his deep voice carried over the field. By the time practice ended, Ethan was drenched in sweat. He made his way to the locker room, peeling off the sticky jersey and stepping into the showers.

The bathroom was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Ethan leaned against the sink, his broad shoulders casting a shadow on the tiled wall. His tank top clinging to his sweat-slicked chest, the fabric stretched taut over his pecs. He caught his reflection in the mirror and paused, his eyes scanning over the chiseled lines of his face, the way his dark hair fell just so. He smirked, flexing his biceps instinctively, watching the muscles ripple under his tan skin.

God, he looked good.

His gaze drifted lower, down to the tufts of dark hair that peeked out from under his arms. They were thick, untamed, and—he thought with a flicker of pride—undeniably manly. He lifted his arm slightly, catching the faint scent of his own musk. It was earthy, raw, and something about it made his pulse quicken. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as the smell filled his senses. Damn. He’d never really thought about it before, but there was something about the way he smelled after a workout that was... intoxicating.

He rolled his shoulders, his muscles flexing as he struck another pose in the mirror. His chest was broad, his abs defined, and his arms—he couldn’t help but admire them. He turned slightly, catching the light on his profile, and his breath hitched. Fuck, Mark… rather, he was sexy. His hand drifted to his waistband, fingers brushing against the bulge that was already growing there. He hesitated for just a moment before tugging his shorts down, letting his hard cock spring free.

His reflection stared back at him, eyes dark with desire. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a slow, deliberate stroke. His skin was hot to the touch, and he could feel the heat radiating from his pits as he flexed his arm again. The scent was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

His grip tightened, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock as he continued to stroke himself. His other hand reached up, fingers threading through the thick hair under his arm. He tugged gently, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Fuck. He’d never realized how sensitive Mark’s body was, how the slightest touch could make his entire body tremble.

Ethan’s hips bucked involuntarily, his cock slipping through his fist as he lost himself in the rhythm. His reflection was a blur of muscle and sweat, his face flushed with arousal. He could feel the pressure building, his balls tightening as he edged closer to release. He leaned back against the sink, his legs slightly spread as he continued to stroke himself, his pace quickening with each passing second.

His eyes locked onto his own in the mirror, the intensity of his gaze making his heart race. He could see the hunger there, the raw need that he hadn’t even realized was there until now. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he felt himself teetering on the edge.

And then, with a guttural groan, he came, his release spurting onto the tiles below. His body shuddered with the force of it, his muscles tense as he rode out the wave of pleasure. He slumped against the sink, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His reflection stared back at him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

After jerking off, he headed to the showers and turned it on. As the warm water ran over his sculpted body, he took a moment to admire it. The sheer power of his new muscles, the defined lines of his abs, the weight of his broad shoulders—it was intoxicating. He ran his hands over his biceps, flexing slightly, feeling the tension in his arms. Even his scent was different—earthy, strong, unmistakably masculine. The musk of sweat mixed with the lingering scent of Mark’s body wash, a smell Ethan had grown familiar with over three years of rooming together, but now it belonged to him. The deep timbre of his voice hummed as he sighed in satisfaction. He had never felt this alive before.

He explored his body even more. He never felt so manly before. He always knew he was straight but he felt like a straight man born in a gay man’s body. Everything about his physical form “stereotypically” does not exude the type of gender expression he wished he could live.

Meanwhile…

Mark—now Ethan—had an entirely different kind of day.

He woke up later than usual, not having an early practice for once. The first thing he noticed was how much smaller and lighter his body felt compared to what he was used to. He stretched, feeling the slight stiffness of someone who didn’t work out as often.

Curious, he stepped in front of the mirror, staring at his new reflection. He wasn’t used to looking up at his own face. His jawline was softer, his frame more compact, but there was an elegance to it. He lifted his shirt, exposing the lean torso beneath. It lacked the definition he was used to, but there was something oddly freeing about it. He ran his hands over his chest, noticing how smooth it was compared to his usual body.

Flexing his arms, he chuckled at how different they looked—smaller, but still toned in their own way. He moved his hands over his legs, marveling at how much shorter and slimmer they were. Even his feet felt strange, more narrow and delicate. He took a few steps around the room, adjusting to the lighter weight of his movements. There was a new fluidity to them, a different kind of balance. He wasn’t carrying the same mass, the same presence—but he found himself appreciating the change.

For the first time in a long while, Mark wasn’t thinking about football, workouts, or his reputation. He was just… experiencing his body in a completely new way. And though it was weird, it wasn’t entirely bad.

The next day came and Ethan—still in Mark’s body—felt more alive than he ever had before. Every moment as Mark was like living the dream he never dared to admit he had. He walked around campus with confidence, shoulders squared, head high, feeling the weight of his strong, muscular frame commanding attention wherever he went. It was surreal how easily people gravitated toward him now. His teammates respected him. Strangers smiled at him. Girls giggled when he passed by. Even Mark’s usual hangout crew welcomed him without hesitation, treating him as if he had always been one of them.

Football practice was the highlight of his day. The power in his legs when he sprinted, the sheer force behind each throw—every movement felt natural and exhilarating. He relished the feeling of being strong, of pushing his limits and seeing what this body could do. And the best part? No one second-guessed his confidence. He wasn’t the awkward, reserved Ethan anymore. He was Mark, the campus star athlete, the guy everyone wanted to talk to. It was intoxicating.

Despite how much he was enjoying himself, Ethan never let himself get too comfortable. This was still Mark’s life, Mark’s body, and no matter how much he loved the attention and strength, he knew he could never steal it from his best friend. This was temporary, just a fun experience. But still… he couldn’t help but wonder—what would life be like if this was permanent?

Meanwhile, Mark—inhabiting Ethan’s smaller frame—was beginning to appreciate this new perspective on life. At first, it had been jarring to be so much weaker, to not have his usual presence, but the more he embraced it, the more he found things to enjoy. For one, he loved the freedom of eating whatever he wanted without worrying about macros or performance. He spent the afternoon curled up with a book, getting lost in the world of fantasy—something he never made time for before.

Video games, something he’d always brushed off as a waste of time, suddenly made sense to him. He played for hours, captivated by the strategy and storytelling, appreciating why Ethan enjoyed them so much. Even Ethan’s friends were a nice change of pace—deep conversations, nerdy debates, casual game nights. They welcomed him in as if he’d always been one of them, and Mark found himself feeling at home in a way he hadn’t expected.

One thing that caught him off guard, though, was the attention he was getting—from guys. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been checked out before, but it was different now. More frequent. More obvious. Some of Ethan’s friends, people he had never given a second thought to before, were flirting with him, and Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Was it just because he looked different now? Or was it something about the way he carried himself in Ethan’s body? Either way, it was an unexpected thrill.

By Sunday night, both men sat on their respective beds, staring at each other in silence. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but the excitement of returning to their old bodies wasn’t as strong as they thought it would be.

“You ready?” Mark finally asked.

Ethan hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, let’s do it.”

They retrieved the medallion, each feeling a strange sense of loss. The weekend had been incredible—eye-opening, thrilling—but they knew it was time to go back.

The atmosphere in their dorm room felt oddly familiar as Mark—still in Ethan’s body—peeled off his clothes, gathering them in his arms before handing them over to Ethan. The process was the same as before, yet it carried a different weight now. Unlike the first time, there was no hesitation, no disbelief. They both knew the swap worked. They had spent the entire weekend living each other’s lives, feeling every difference, experiencing what it was like to be someone else. And now, it was time to go back.

Ethan, still in Mark’s muscular frame, stripped down as well, revealing the powerful physique he had gotten so accustomed to. He hesitated for a brief moment, glancing down at the body he had grown to love, before passing Mark’s used clothes over. The scent of sweat and cologne clung to the fabric, a reminder of football practice, of workouts, of being the center of attention. He sighed as he took the smaller, softer clothes from Mark, which smelled fresher—more like books, detergent, and faint traces of tea.

Mark, now holding Ethan’s football-practice-worn shirt, hesitated before wearing it. On impulse, he raised it to his face, taking a deep inhale of the fabric. The scent was strong—musky, earthy, the unmistakable aroma of sweat from an active day—but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was weirdly familiar now.

Ethan caught the moment instantly, just as Mark had done to him days ago. A slow smirk formed on his face.

“Dude,” Ethan teased, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “you just sniffed my shirt.”

Mark quickly lowered the shirt, eyes darting away. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, you totally did.” Ethan laughed, shaking his head. “So, you get it now, huh?”

Mark huffed “Shut up and get dressed.”

Once they were dressed in their original bodies’ outfits, Mark retrieved the medallion, holding it between them. The weight of it felt more significant now. They touched the medallion together, gripping it firmly. Then, just as before, they spoke the words.

Ethan began.

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, wish to swap bodies with Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion pulsed. Mark hesitated for only a second before responding:

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, wish to swap bodies with Mark Christopher Bennett.”

A tingle spread through Mark’s arms. He could feel it creeping along his skin, like static electricity building.

Ethan kept going, his voice steady:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, accept Ethan Graves’ body as my own.”

Mark swallowed hard, following suit.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, accept Mark Bennett’s body as my own.”

The warmth turned into something hotter, something that crawled through their veins. Their skin tingled, their muscles tightened, and the medallion itself grew almost unbearably warm.

Then, together, they spoke the final line:

Ethan: “I am Ethan Graves, and he is Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Mark: “I am Mark Bennett, and he is Ethan Daniel Graves.”

As soon as the final words of the spell left their mouths, the medallion flared with a brilliant, golden light. A strange force gripped their bodies, like an invisible current pulling at them from the inside out. The shift began with an odd tingling sensation at their cores, rippling outward. It started subtly—a weightlessness in their limbs, a pulling at their extremities—but quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Ethan was the first to feel the changes. His heart was pounding like a drum. He could feel it— the shift, the change, the wrongness of it all. A cold sensation swept through his legs, followed by a strange contraction. His long, powerful thighs seemed to deflate, the solid muscle softening, shrinking, as his femurs shortened. His calves lost their firmness, thinning into their previous lean shape. He looked down, watching as the muscular definition in his calves began to fade, the skin tightening, the strength evaporating. His thighs, once thick and powerful, now looked slender, almost fragile. He wobbled slightly, feeling his entire center of gravity shift. It wasn’t just his legs—his whole body was retracting, his towering height sinking down inch by inch, forcing him to adjust his stance. The commanding presence he had grown used to over the weekend was slipping away with every second, and a pit formed in his stomach.

Mark, meanwhile, gasped as he felt warmth rush into his legs, stretching and expanding them. His feet grew larger, toes elongating, the arches flattening out as they thickened into their usual, well-worn shape. He could feel his legs filling with strength, the bulk of his quads re-emerging, his hamstrings tightening with the familiar density of athleticism. His calves pulsed as they strengthened, forming the thick, muscular contours he had spent years developing. The ground felt further away again, his perspective rising, and a strange mixture of relief and… disappointment curled in his chest. He had missed his body, hadn’t he? Then why did he feel like he was losing something, too?

Ethan swallowed hard as the changes traveled upward. Ethan’s hands instinctively went to his groin. His waist narrowed, his abs tightening but losing the sheer definition they had gained over the weekend. He ran a hand over his stomach, feeling the subtle softness return.

He gasped as he felt his cock begin to shrink, the sensation both surreal and horrifying. He could feel every inch as it receded, the heavy weight he’d grown accustomed to diminishing, leaving him with something far smaller, far less him. He cupped himself, his fingers trembling as they explored the new reality. No, no, no. It wasn’t just the size— it was the thickness, the way it felt in his hand. It was wrong. All wrong.

His chest followed suit—his broad, powerful pecs receding, his shoulders losing mass, his frame returning to its former slim, unassuming, slightly hairy build. The weight of Mark’s strong, sturdy body lifted from him, leaving him feeling… smaller. Weaker. Less. He hated the thought, but it was there, lingering at the edge of his mind.

But as Ethan staggered back, now looking up at Mark once more, an unexpected hollowness settled in his chest. He had told himself all weekend that this was temporary, that he wouldn’t get attached. But now, standing there, watching Mark easily reclaim his towering frame, he felt… small. And not just physically.

Mark’s breath hitched as the sensation began. It started at the very base of his spine, a low, tingling warmth that seemed to pulse outward, spreading like wildfire through his body. He could feel it, really feel it—the way his body was shifting, changing, becoming something else entirely. His hands instinctively went to his crotch, where the most intense part of the transformation was taking place.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and exhilaration. His once modest cock was growing, stretching, filling in a way that made his head spin. The sensation was overwhelming—every nerve ending in his body seemed to light up at once. It was as if his entire being was being rewritten, reshaped by some unseen force.

The fabric of his jeans strained against his hips as his new size pressed against it, demanding space. Mark’s fingers fumbled with his belt, desperate to free himself, to see what was happening. When he finally managed to unbutton his jeans and pull them down, he gasped.

There it was.

His cock, now thick and heavy, lay against his thigh, pulsing with a newfound intensity. The veins along its length stood out in stark relief, the sheer size of it almost unbelievable. He couldn’t help but reach out, his fingers trembling as he wrapped them around it. The sensation of his own grip was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he marveled at the transformation.

The shift continued, creeping up to their necks. Ethan felt his Adam’s apple retreat slightly, his throat slimming down, his voice box adjusting. He let out a small sound, and immediately, it was different—higher, softer. His heart sank. He had gotten used to Mark’s deep, rich voice, the way it carried weight, how people listened when he spoke. Now, he was back to his normal voice—fine, but lacking the same presence. Meanwhile, Mark rolled his shoulders as his throat thickened, his Adam’s apple becoming more pronounced once more. He instinctively let out a small grunt, and the sound was deep, smooth, confident. It should’ve felt like coming home… so why did he feel like something was missing?

Then came their faces. Ethan winced as his sharp, chiseled features softened, his strong jawline retreating back into its normal, more rounded form. The light dusting of stubble he had admired all weekend vanished, leaving only the sparse, fine scruff he was used to. His black hair lightened, strands shifting back to his usual light brown. He swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment, glancing up at Mark—his body—one last time before his vision blurred and settled again.

Mark, meanwhile, felt his face reshape, his jaw sharpening, his features returning to their usual, striking form. The short, neat cut of his dark hair returned, styled just as he always kept it. His lips parted as he took in the final details of his restored form, flexing his fingers, rolling his shoulders, adjusting to the return of his familiar frame. And yet… his stomach twisted. He looked at Ethan—shorter, leaner, back to his usual self—and felt something he refused to name.

Then Ethan lifted an arm, and his breath hitched. His armpit hair had lightened back to its usual shade—a soft, unimposing light brown. Worse, the scent was gone. Over the weekend, he had been steeped in Mark’s natural musk, strong and masculine. Now? He barely smelled like anything at all. He swallowed, an uncomfortable thought creeping in: I feel… less like a man. He knew it was ridiculous, but it gnawed at him. That strength, that presence, that raw, physical confidence—it was gone, and he hated that he missed it.

Mark, on the other hand, caught a whiff of himself and grimaced. His underarms were back to their usual coarse, dark black, the scent strong, musky, overpowering. He wrinkled his nose, suddenly hyper-aware of the difference. He had spent the weekend smelling cleaner, lighter, and while he had initially mocked it, now… now he felt almost self-conscious. He quickly shook the thought away. This was how he was supposed to be. This was his body. Right?

They stood in silence for a moment, both adjusting, both forcing smiles.

Mark forced a grin and clapped Ethan’s back. “Well, that was fun,” he said, his voice carrying its usual confident weight.

Ethan nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.” His tone was casual, light. But inside, he was screaming.

Neither of them said what they were really thinking. Neither of them admitted they weren’t ready to let go.

The room had fallen into a heavy silence after the swap. They were back in their rightful bodies. That was supposed to feel good, wasn’t it? Ethan clenched his hands at his sides, feeling how much smaller his fingers were again, how his palms lacked the rough calluses he had grown accustomed to. He caught himself stealing a glance at Mark, at the way his large, muscular frame filled out his clothes effortlessly. His broad shoulders, his defined arms, the easy way he carried himself—it was a presence Ethan had gotten used to having for himself. Now, he was just Ethan again. Plain, skinny, unimposing Ethan. He tried to shake off the feeling.

Mark was feeling something eerily similar. His eyes flickered toward Ethan, at how much shorter he was, how lean his frame had returned to being. Yet, there was something effortless about it, something… freeing. Mark had spent his whole life training, maintaining his physique, dealing with the expectations that came with his size and strength. Being in Ethan’s body had been strange at first, but by the end, it had felt like he had been unshackled from a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying. He caught himself staring and quickly turned away. No. This was his body. This was who he was. He should be glad to be back.

Both men forced casual conversation, pretending everything was fine. But when they went their separate ways for the night, they each found themselves facing something they weren’t prepared for.

Ethan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his fingers tracing over his jawline—softer, less pronounced than Mark’s. He ran a hand through his light brown hair, missing the darker, heavier locks he had briefly owned. His hands trailed down his arms, feeling the lack of defined muscle, the smaller shape of his wrists. He hesitated before lifting his shirt, his stomach nowhere near as sculpted as it had been before. His chest, narrow and flat, lacked the broadness he had come to love. It was like waking up from the best dream of his life only to realize reality could never compare. He let out a breath, stepping away. It didn’t matter. This was him. He had to accept it… right?

Mark stood in his own dorm’s shower, letting the water cascade down his body. He scrubbed at his arms, his chest, his legs, but he couldn’t wash away the strange discomfort settling inside him. His body was big again, strong, just as it always had been. But after a weekend of feeling lighter, more flexible, not constantly weighed down by muscle and bulk, it felt… suffocating. He exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against the shower wall, letting the steam cloud his vision. He was Mark again. That was what he wanted. So why did it feel like he had lost something?

The next morning, neither of them brought it up. They both threw themselves into their usual routines, pretending everything was back to normal.

Mark found himself sitting in class, foot tapping impatiently. The material felt too easy, too slow. Over the weekend, Ethan’s mind had processed things differently—quicker, sharper. It had been exhilarating, a different kind of strength and he seemed to still have the sharper mind he had when he was in Ethan’s body.

When practice rolled around, Mark expected to feel the same rush he always did. But as he ran drills, lifted weights, and pushed his body to its limits, something felt… off. It wasn’t that he wasn’t performing well—he was. His strength was back, his endurance solid. But the thrill of it wasn’t hitting the same way. He found his eyes drifting toward the stands, where Ethan was watching, an unreadable look on his face.

Ethan had struggled through his morning classes. The numbers, the equations—things that had come to him so easily before but now felt like an uphill battle. He hated it. He hated how much smaller he felt in his chair, how people barely noticed him like they had before. At lunch, he made a decision. If he couldn’t have Mark’s body, he would do everything he could to make his own better.

That afternoon, Ethan walked into the gym. It was intimidating at first—the towering machines, the heavy weights, the guys twice his size grunting through reps. Normally, he would’ve turned back. But he had been strong once. He had felt it, lived it. He refused to let that feeling go. He started small, sticking to exercises he knew Mark did. He struggled, his muscles burning quicker than he expected, but he pushed through. He had to. Because even if he was back in his own body, he wasn’t willing to let go of what he had felt.

Later, he found himself watching Mark at practice. He wasn’t just admiring—he was analyzing. The way Mark moved, the decisions he made, the power in his stance. Before, Ethan would’ve just seen it as football. Now, he saw what he could have done if he had still been in that body. He caught himself thinking, I would’ve run that play differently. I would’ve done better. He shook his head. No. That wasn’t his place. But the thought didn’t leave him.

Neither of them spoke about it. Not that night. Not the next day. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at them. They were back in their rightful bodies. Then why did it feel so wrong?

Late at night, in the dim glow of their shared dorm room, Mark sat on his bed, his head resting against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Ethan was at his desk, pretending to read, but his eyes weren’t moving over the words. They had been like this for a while—lost in their own thoughts, too afraid to speak aloud what they both felt.

Finally, Mark exhaled heavily. “Something’s wrong with us, dude.”

Ethan turned his chair slightly to face him. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I thought it was just, you know, some weird aftereffect of the swap. But it’s been days.”

Mark shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I keep waiting for things to go back to normal. To feel normal. But…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Ethan nodded. “I know what you mean.” There was a pause, then a quiet chuckle. “It’s stupid, right? We should be happy we got our bodies back.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, but the word felt hollow. He stared at his hands, flexing them. They were his hands—big, strong, calloused from years of football. But somehow, they didn’t feel right anymore. He didn’t feel right.

The days dragged on, but that lingering sense of wrongness never faded. And then, one day, Mark made a mistake.

“Hey, Mark, can you—” Mark stopped mid-sentence, realizing his slip. His stomach twisted.

Ethan turned to him, eyes wide. “You… you just called me Mark.”

Mark winced. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Ethan interrupted. He took a deep breath, then said, “I liked it.”

Mark stared at him. “You did?”

Ethan hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but… it felt right. Just for a second.”

Mark let that sink in. Then, slowly, he said, “What if… what if we just do it? Just in here. Call each other by the other’s name when we’re alone.”

Ethan’s heart pounded and his groin felt buzzed, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

And so they did. At first, it was just an experiment, a little game they played behind closed doors. But it became more than that. It became habit. It became comfortable.

Then, a few days later, Ethan frowned as he stood in front of his closet. His usual wardrobe—loose hoodies, skinny jeans, graphic tees—suddenly felt… wrong. Off. He picked up one of his shirts and turned to Mark, hesitating before speaking. “Hey… can I borrow some of your clothes?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Mine?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. These just don’t feel right anymore.”

Mark shrugged. “Go ahead, man.”

Ethan slipped into one of Mark’s t-shirts—a simple, fitted athletic tee—and it felt better. He turned in the mirror, noting how it clung to his frame, how it carried Mark’s scent. He liked it.

But soon, Mark started feeling the same way about his own wardrobe. The baggy sweatpants, the well-worn football jerseys, the compression shorts—none of it felt good. One evening, he hesitated before pulling one of Ethan’s sweaters off the hanger and slipping it on. It was softer, cozier. It smelled like Ethan. And it felt right.

Their closets blurred as they both started borrowing more and more. Eventually, they weren’t even asking. They were just taking.

Then, one night, Mark hesitated again before speaking. “Hey… I got another weird request.”

Ethan turned to him, curious. “What is it?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I… I don’t like my bed. It smells like me. And I don’t like my smell anymore.”

Ethan’s breath hitched. “You want to swap beds?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah.”

Ethan swallowed, then nodded back. “Okay.”

They swapped beds that night, and for the first time in days, they both slept peacefully.

But it didn’t stop there.

Mark hesitated the next day before bringing up his final request. “What if… what if we swapped clothes, too? Not just from the closet. I mean… worn clothes. So we can, you know, smell like each other. Like we used to.”

Ethan’s pulse quickened. He didn’t even have to think. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

That night, Mark pulled on Ethan’s button-up shirt, the fabric already carrying his scent. Ethan tugged on one of Mark’s t-shirts, the musk thick and familiar. They settled into their swapped beds, breathing in each other’s scent, feeling more at ease than they had since returning to their original bodies.

Neither of them spoke, but in the quiet, they both knew the truth.

They didn’t want to go back.

They just wanted to be each other again.

It started small. Ethan, already borrowing Mark’s clothes, found himself reaching for more than just oversized hoodies and athletic joggers. His eyes lingered on Mark’s guitar, the sleek instrument resting in its stand, untouched since they had swapped back. At first, he only plucked a few strings, pretending it was just curiosity. But soon, he was playing more often, strumming absentmindedly as he lounged in Mark’s bed, sinking into the familiar but foreign scent of his former body.

Meanwhile, Mark had taken to Ethan’s bookshelf. He had never been much of a reader before, but there was something soothing about curling up in Ethan’s old bed, flipping through fantasy novels and sci-fi epics. He told himself it was a way to reconnect with his roommate, a way to understand him better, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was the comfort of familiarity—the feeling that he was reclaiming something that had been lost.

The exchange deepened. Ethan, once hesitant about the gym after the swap, now felt an itch he couldn’t shake. His body was weaker, smaller, and he hated it. He started using Mark’s gym equipment, struggling at first but determined to regain even a fraction of the strength he had once known. The weights were heavier than he remembered, his endurance lacking, but he pushed through, clinging to the memory of what it felt like to be powerful.

Mark, on the other hand, found himself at Ethan’s desk more often than his own. Ethan’s computer, complete with a high-end gaming setup, had become his new retreat. At first, he just watched streams, but soon he was logging in, playing Ethan’s favorite games, and even messaging Ethan’s online friends as if nothing had changed. However, he can’t use the mic cause Ethan’s friends would know that he’s actually Mark. Now, even though the games remained the same, he felt like an outsider in his own hobby.

The contrast was stark. Mark struggled at football practice, going through the motions but lacking the fire he once had. He found himself dreading the drills, the tackles, the weight of expectation that came with his original body. Ethan, watching from the stands, clenched his fists. He wanted to be the one out there, wanted to push himself, run drills, score points. He missed the rush, the sweat, the exhaustion that had once felt so natural.

Then came the dating profile. Mark had suggested it as a joke at first, but when Ethan hesitated and then agreed, it became real. Using Ethan’s pictures and name, Mark crafted a profile, carefully curating messages, making connections.

When he met Greg, it felt exciting, refreshing. They bonded over shared interests, and Mark felt seen in a way he hadn’t in a while. But when Greg suggested meeting in person, reality came crashing down.

Mark showed up to the date, nerves tight in his stomach. He had rehearsed his confession—how he was the one Greg had really been talking to—but the moment he sat down, Greg’s expression shifted. It wasn’t the same warmth, the same excitement. Greg wasn’t interested in him. He was interested in Ethan—the Ethan from the pictures, the Ethan who Mark had pretended to be.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Mark forced a smile and lied. “Ethan couldn’t make it,” he said, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest as Greg’s disappointment settled in. The evening was over before it had even begun.

That was the final straw. Mark immediately returned to the dorm, his heart pounding. He found Ethan at his desk, fiddling through Mark’s phone, and without hesitation, he spoke the words neither of them had dared to say since the swap ended.

“I want to switch back.”

Ethan’s shoulders sagged with sheer relief the moment Mark suggested swapping bodies again. The tension that had been simmering inside him for weeks melted away, replaced by a deep, visceral yearning to be back where he belonged. “You have no idea how badly I wanted this,” he admitted, voice almost breathless.

Mark let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Dude, I’ve been dying over here. I feel like I’ve been acting every single day since we switched back.” He glanced at Ethan—at himself—at the body he missed so much. “Let’s do it. Right now.”

They didn’t hesitate. They all but lunged for each other’s clothes, stripping off their current clothes with eager hands and swapping them out for the other’s. Mark shimmied into one of Ethan’s T-shirt, breathing in its clean, light scent, while Ethan pulled on one of Mark’s musky jerseys, reveling in the deep, masculine odor that clung to the fabric. Both men, as if synchronized, lifted the collars of their shirts to their noses, inhaling deeply, drinking in the scent of the body they so desperately wanted to reclaim.

Ethan exhaled shakily. “God, this feels so right.”

Mark nodded, practically giddy, fumbling to pull the medallion from its box. “Then let’s stop wasting time.” Their hands grasped the cold metal together, fingers shaking not with hesitation but with anticipation. They locked eyes, no longer pretending this wasn’t what they both wanted. Then, together, they chanted the incantation.

Mark took a deep breath and began the incantation:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, wish to swap bodies with Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion pulsed. Ethan immediately responded.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, wish to swap bodies with Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Mark kept going, his voice steady:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, accept Ethan Graves’ body as my own.”

Ethan swallowed hard, following suit.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, accept Mark Bennett’s body as my own.”

The warmth turned into something hotter, something that crawled through their veins. Their skin tingled, their muscles tightened, and the medallion itself grew almost unbearably warm.

Then, together, they spoke the final line:

Mark: “I am Ethan Graves, and he is Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Ethan: “I am Mark Bennett, and he is Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion flared to life, golden light spilling from its surface, wrapping around them in tendrils of energy. A deep pulse reverberated through their bones, starting at their cores and stretching outward. The shift was immediate—rapid, intoxicating, perfect.

Ethan felt his body expand and strengthen, his feet widening, muscles thickening, and his stance shifting as he regained Mark’s powerful physique. The transformation surged through him, filling his frame with the familiar weight and strength he had missed, sending a shuddering thrill through his core. Mark, meanwhile, trembled as his body shrank, his muscular bulk dissolving into Ethan’s leaner form. Instead of resisting, he embraced it, reveling in the newfound lightness and precision of his smaller frame

As the transformation reached their underarms, Ethan inhaled deeply, shivering with satisfaction as his thick, dark hairs and potent musk returned, grounding him in his true, masculine form. Mark, in contrast, sighed in relief as his armpit hair lightened, his scent softening into something fresher, more comfortable. Their voices followed suit—Ethan’s deep, commanding timbre rumbled through his chest, while Mark’s returned to its lighter, casual tone, both of them reveling in the familiarity. Finally, their faces reshaped—Ethan’s jaw sharpened, his stubble reappearing as he smirked at his own reflection, while Mark’s features softened, his hair lightening to its natural shade. As they stared at themselves, a shared sense of euphoria settled between them—this was right.

They were finally back.

Ethan flexed his arms again, rolling his shoulders, letting out a laugh that was half relief, half exhilaration. “God, I feel amazing.”

Mark mirrored the motion, stretching his more nimble frame, his grin splitting wider. “Dude, this is exactly how we’re supposed to be.”

They locked eyes, their bodies thrumming with satisfaction, with rightness. The pretending was over. This was where they belonged. But then, the new Ethan immediately said goodbye to the new Mark and left to see Greg. This gave the new Mark some privacy to enjoy being his true self.

“Fuck yes,” Mark groaned, his voice low and husky as he stood in front of the mirror, his hands roaming over his own body. His reflection stared back at him, every inch of his muscular frame glistening under the dim light of his dorm room. He couldn’t believe it. He was back. His broad shoulders, his chiseled abs, his thick, veiny arms—everything was exactly as it should be. He flexed his bicep, watching the muscle ripple under his skin, and a satisfied grin spread across his face. “I’m Mark again. Finally.”

It had been a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. One minute, he was just a college jock, living his best life, the star of the football team, the envy of every guy on campus. Next, he was trapped in the body of a nerd even though this nerdy body used to be his own. He’d felt like a prisoner in his own skin, every day a reminder of what he’d lost. But now? Now he was back. And he wasn’t wasting a single second.

Mark’s hands moved down his chest, his fingertips brushing over the hard ridges of his abs. He shivered, the sensation electric. It had been so long since he’d felt like this. His cock twitched, already half-hard just from the thrill of being in his own body again. He let out a breathy laugh, his eyes still locked on his reflection. “God, I missed this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “Missed me.”

His hands trailed lower, over the coarse hair that led down to his cock. He was huge. Always had been. Even soft, he was impressive, but now? Now he was rock hard, his length straining against his stomach. He wrapped his fist around himself, his breath hitching at the contact. “Fuck,” he hissed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. It had been ages since he’d felt this good. Ages since he’d been able to touch himself and feel like himself.

Mark’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he stroked himself, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off his reflection for long. He wanted to see himself. Wanted to watch every muscle flex and twitch as he pleasured himself. Wanted to see the way his cock throbbed in his hand, the way his abs tightened with every stroke. He was obsessed. With his body. With himself.

His other hand moved up to his chest, his fingers pinching and twisting one of his nipples. He let out a low moan, his head falling back for a moment before he forced himself to look back at the mirror. He wanted to feel it all. Every inch of himself. From the tops of his broad shoulders down to the tips of his toes. He wanted to know he was back. Wanted to know this was real.

Mark’s hand slid up to his face, his fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. He was handsome. God, he was handsome. The kind of guy that turned heads wherever he went. He’d always known it, but now? Now he felt it. He felt everything. His skin was on fire, every touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He was alive. And he wasn’t stopping.

His hand moved to his armpit, the coarse hair tickling his palm. He’d always loved his armpits. They were manly. Masculine. Everything about him screamed alpha male, and his armpits were no exception. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of his own sweat making his cock throb in his hand. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hips bucking forward as he stroked himself faster. “Fuck, I’m so hard.”

Mark��s eyes locked onto his reflection, his gaze intense as he watched himself fall apart. His muscles were flexed, his body taut with pleasure. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was close. So fucking close. And he wasn’t holding back.

“I’m Mark,” he growled, his voice low and guttural. “I’m Mark. And I’m not letting go of this body ever again.” His hand moved faster, his strokes rough and desperate. He could feel the heat building in his gut, the pressure coiling tight. He was so close. So fucking close.

His eyes fluttered shut as he came, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. “Fuck!” he shouted, his voice raw and ragged. His cock pulsed in his hand, streams of cum shooting onto his chest and stomach. He kept stroking himself, milking every last drop of pleasure from his body. He was fucking wrecked. And he loved it.

Mark’s legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He was still hard, his cock twitching as he lay there, his cum cooling on his skin. He couldn’t stop smiling. He was Mark.

Ethan’s heart pounded as he stared at his phone—missed call. Panicked, he sprinted back to the restaurant, dialing Greg.

Greg answered on the second ring. “Ethan. You stood me up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ethan blurted. “I panicked. But I want to make it up to you. Please.”

A pause. Ethan held his breath.

“You’ve got one shot,” Greg said. “Thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

When Ethan arrived, Greg was at a corner table, broader and more imposing than he remembered. That confident smile made Ethan’s stomach flip.

“You made it,” Greg said smoothly. “Sit.”

Ethan obeyed, apologizing with a half-truth. Greg’s gaze was steady, unreadable. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

The conversation flowed, Greg’s teasing easing Ethan’s nerves. By the time they left, Ethan was laughing freely.

As they walked, Greg’s hand brushed his. A spark shot through Ethan. Greg noticed, smirking.

At his car, Greg’s voice dropped. “Two options—I take you home, or…” He stepped closer, eyes flickering to Ethan’s lips.

Ethan’s breath caught. “Or what?”

Greg leaned in. “Or you come back to my place.”

Ethan’s mouth went dry. This is happening. Oh my God, this is actually happening. “Your place,” he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Greg’s smile widened. “Good choice.”

Greg’s apartment was exactly what Ethan expected—clean, modern, and masculine. The couch looked like it had never been sat on, and there were dumbbells scattered around the living room. Of course Greg had a home gym.

“You drink?” Greg asked, heading to the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ethan hovered awkwardly by the couch, unsure of what to do with himself.

Greg returned with two glasses of whiskey, handing one to Ethan. “Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, and Ethan took a cautious sip. The alcohol burned his throat, but it did little to calm his nerves. Greg’s presence was overwhelming—everything about him was big, from his broad chest to his deep voice to the way he filled the room.

Greg set his glass down and turned to Ethan, his expression serious now. “You sure about this?”

Ethan nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Greg stepped closer, crowding Ethan’s space. “You’re not gonna chicken out on me again, are you?”

“No,” Ethan breathed, his heart racing. “I promise.”

Greg’s hand came up to cup Ethan’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. “Good.” His voice was soft now, almost tender. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

And then he kissed him.

It was slow at first, teasing—Greg’s lips brushing against Ethan’s, testing, exploring. But then Ethan made a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat, and Greg’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, turning hungry, and Ethan felt like the ground was falling out from under him.

Greg’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and Ethan moaned, his hands clutching at Greg’s shirt. God, he’s good at this. Everything about Greg was overwhelming—his size, his strength, the way he seemed to know exactly what Ethan wanted.

When Greg finally pulled away, Ethan was dizzy, his lips swollen and his chest heaving. “Bedroom,” Greg murmured, his voice rough with want.

Ethan nodded, too breathless to speak. Greg took his hand, leading him down the hall, and Ethan’s knees felt like jelly. This is really happening. I’m really about to—

Greg pushed open the bedroom door and turned to Ethan, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re mine tonight.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yours,” Ethan whispered, his voice trembling.

Greg’s hands were on him then, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. His fingers traced over Ethan’s chest, his touch firm but gentle. “You’re so fucking perfect,” Greg murmured, his voice low and husky. “Such a good boy for me.”

Ethan whimpered at the praise, his body trembling under Greg’s hands. God, I’ve never wanted anyone like this. He felt small, vulnerable, and he loved it. Greg’s strength, his confidence—it made Ethan feel safe, cherished.

Greg’s lips found his neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, and Ethan gasped, his hands clutching at Greg’s shoulders. “Greg, please—”

“What do you want, baby?” Greg’s voice was a low growl against his skin. “Tell me.”

“You,” Ethan breathed. “I want you.”

Greg smirked against his neck. “Good answer,” he said, his hands sliding down to Ethan’s waist. “Now let’s see how much you can take.”

Their final year in college was a testament to how perfectly they had settled into their new roles. Though they never spoke of the swap outside the safety of their dorm room, they both felt it in their bones—this was who they were meant to be.

Ethan—now Mark—thrived on the field. He had long since adapted to the routine of grueling workouts, early morning drills, and team camaraderie. He loved the way his body felt—strong, powerful, capable. There was a unique satisfaction in feeling his biceps flex after an intense lifting session or catching his reflection in the gym mirrors and seeing broad shoulders and thick muscle where once there had been none. He even grew out a mustache, enjoying the way it added a new edge to his rugged face. He relished in his musk, embracing the heady scent of sweat and testosterone that clung to him after practice. It was his now, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Of course, he couldn't let Ethan—now in his old body—slack off. More than once, he’d poke fun at him, ruffling his soft brown hair and jokingly calling him “tiny” whenever Ethan struggled to reach something on a high shelf. "C'mon, man, you used to be a beast! You can't just let yourself wither away now."

Ethan—now fully comfortable as the smaller, bookish one—would groan in protest but always gave in. He still hated lifting weights, but a part of him enjoyed how much Mark cared. The teasing was never mean-spirited, just another way they had grown closer. So, begrudgingly, Ethan let himself be dragged to the gym every now and then, if only to humor Mark.

Despite the change in physique and interests, Ethan remained true to himself. He poured himself into his studies, reveling in his engineering courses and his love for Dungeons & Dragons. The biggest difference now was that he could fully embrace his sexuality without fear. He and Greg grew closer, and for the first time in his life, he felt comfortable bringing someone home for the holidays. Ethan’s family, far more accepting than Mark’s had been, welcomed Greg with open arms. It was a relief—a confirmation that in this new life, he could finally be himself in every way that mattered.

Mark, meanwhile, was thriving in ways he hadn’t expected. His love for physical activity only grew, but he also found himself enjoying the things Ethan had once held dear. He still read books—though now they were sports biographies or novels about perseverance and ambition. He found a surprising enjoyment in quiet evenings, even if he no longer had the patience for intricate role-playing games. He also found love in an unexpected place, meeting a girl who challenged him in all the right ways. She adored his playful arrogance, his athleticism, and the way he could make her laugh. For the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely content going as far as going on trips with her.

Graduation day was a culmination of all their efforts, and they couldn’t have been prouder of each other. Ethan, now a decorated graduate with honors, walked across the stage to receive his medal for academic achievement, the crowd applauding his hard work and intellect. Mark, standing tall in his cap and gown, received his own medal—not for academics, but for the championship game that had sealed his legacy in the school’s football history.

After the ceremony, they found each other in the chaos of excited graduates and proud families. Mark—now Ethan—held up his medal with a proud grin. "Guess I'm the nerd now, huh?"

Ethan—now Mark—chuckled and twirled his own medal between his fingers. "And I’m the jock. Feels right, doesn’t it?"

They shared a knowing look, an unspoken agreement between them. This was where they belonged. They had stopped questioning it long ago. They weren’t just pretending anymore. They were exactly who they were always meant to be.

And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

#male body swap #inkyquill

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4ranghaes · 5 months ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ bnd with plus size!reader

bnd ot6 x reader [separate classifications for each]

a/n - this was a selfish desire cause as a fat girly i have a lot of opinions, but also none of these really include insecure!reader maybe a couple of doubts but nothing major cause i HATE when it’s a plus size reader fic and it’s just them crying in the mirror😭

sungho🎀 [fluff, gender neutral!reader but wearing panties, suggestive, w: sungho’s clothes not fitting reader]

“baby please,” he repeated, his face pressed into your stomach, his hands gripping at your hips. he was on his knees between your legs as he begged.

you laughed, placing your hands on the sides of his head and picking it up so he was looking up at you, eyes full of pleading, “i can’t tonight, sungho!”

sungho whined, his head dropping back to your body. you chuckled, playing with his hair gently. so far, he’d been begging you to sleep round for almost 3 hours - to no avail.

“you have work tomorrow, i have lunch plans, and what the fuck would i even wear?!”

“you can wear my clothes!”

you glared down at your boyfriend. at your silence, he glanced up at you.

“what?!”

you laughed, placing your hands on his cheeks and squeezing his face together, his lips forming a pout, “you’re joking, right?”

sungho ignored your comment, whining again, “look. i have to go work at 8am. i’ll make sure you’re up when i am, a–and our driver can even drop you home, so you can start getting ready for lunch!”

you whined, sitting up on your elbows. he did plead a good case, especially as his fingertips ran up and down your sides gently. “sungho…” you started, before sighing, “okay fine. but that still doesn’t solve my pyjama problem!”

sungho cheered, placing his hands on your jaw and kissing you roughly, “thank you! thank you! …thank you.”

you smiled before he jumped up from the bed, rummaging through his drawers. he held up a t-shirt which you tilted your head at. sitting up on your knees, you grabbed the material out his hands and held it up to your body, hissing in contemplation.

“i don’t think so,” you laughed, the material barely even covering the width of your body. you giggled, teasing him, “this is a limited time offer, sungho, if you can’t find me something to wear i’m gonna have to leave.”

“one moment!”

he ran out the room, leaving you laughing to yourself as you heard him cluttering through the rail of clothes outside. “oversized… i need oversized!” you burst out laughing, sungho finally appearing back in the room holding several options of t-shirts and jumpers.

“eh?” he smiled, holding them up, offering them out to you. you hummed in deliberation, finally deciding on one of zico’s old oversized t-shirts he’d given your boyfriend during his trainee days.

“but what about pants?” you pouted, immediately taking off your top and bra, sungho biting his lip as he watched you pull the t-shirt over your head, before pulling your jeans down as well.

you got up, walking to sungho’s en-suite bathroom, ready to take your make-up off. sungho appeared behind you, as you looked up at his smirking face in the mirror.

“i mean… do you need those, really?” he hummed, hands resting on your hips, feeling over the material of your lacy panties. he leaned down, kissing the crook of your neck.

“sungho,” you grumbled, “i just agreed to sleeping over. don’t push it.” he looked up from your shoulder, catching your gaze in the mirror with an innocent look before flashing you a teasing smile.

riwoo🦦🍡 [fluff, gender neutral!reader, slightly suggestive, w: mentions of clothes shopping difficulties]

“woah, sweet, come look at this one,” riwoo called, beckoning you over with the casual nickname.

you looked up from your own rack of clothes, heading over to where your boyfriend stood. he pulled out one item in particular, motioning towards it with his other hand. you gasped, it was beautiful.

“ya– sanghyuk!” you whined, almost tearing up as you grabbed the material.

“go! go try it on,” he smiled, pushing you towards the changing rooms, the material still grasped tightly in your hands. the proud smile on his face juxtaposed the usual sorrowful one he had whenever the two of you went shopping, every potential item you saw just another one in a long line of ‘up to size L’ or, god forbid, ‘free size’.

his heart had broken to see your disappointed-but-trying-not-to-show-it face one too many times until he finally hunted out a plus size clothing shop with nice clothes for a change, too; hongdae. finally.

you pulled open the curtain of the changing room, riwoo being snapped back to reality at the sound of your voice.

“what do you think?”

he turned to you, breaking out in a smile. he opened his mouth to respond, though no words would come out. he bit his lip.

“what?” you laughed, nervously.

“you’re so beautiful,” he chuckled, walking forward and gripping onto the material before holding your waist instead, looking back up to your face, “what do you think?”

“i love it so much, sanghyuk-ie,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief, “thank you for finding this place.”

he shook his head, dismissing your comment. riwoo let go of your body, physically turning you to face the changing booth again.

“let’s put that in the buying pile and continue looking round, hmm?” he smiled, “there’s 3 floors!”

you squealed, pulling him into a hug as he smiled, rubbing your back. he pulled away, his lips remaining close to your ear as his hand trailed down to your ass, “plus the third is all lingerie.”

you pulled away to see your boyfriend raising his eyebrows suggestively at you, pulling a laugh from you, “get lost. but also we’re buying everything.”

jaehyun🪻🐕 [fluff, fem!reader, w: mentions of ex being weird with readers body, but jaehyun’s very touchy]

“my love!”

“jaehyun-ah!” you laughed, ending with a scream as you watched your boyfriend run into his bedroom, jumping onto the bed and onto you, who he gripped onto like a koala, crushing you with his weight. you groaned, laughing, “get off me!”

he giggled, his hair tickling you as he pressed his face into your neck, “ugh, you’re so comfy.”

you laughed, running a hand through his hair as you felt him relax into you, “myungjae, you need to wash first. you stink!”

jaehyun chuckled, sitting up and looking down at you, “shower with me?”

you scoffed, “no, absolutely not.”

“what?! why?!”

“cause you’re gonna wanna have sex and i am not having sex standing up with you,” you laughed, “just have a shower, horndog, then maybe we can have sex.”

jaehyun laughed, slightly embarrassed that his plan had been foiled as he trudged to the shower with a pout on his lips. when he came out, he was free of make-up on his face, his naturally darker skin shining through and his hair was dripping onto his bare chest; white towel hung round his waist.

he groaned as he walked out, “that was a good idea.”

“what?” you chuckled, peering up at him from where you lay, watching as he got dressed.

“not having you in the shower with me,” he smiled shyly, “i’m so tired. i don’t think i’ve ever needed cuddles more in my life.”

you smiled warmly, your boyfriend so prone to expressions of love through touch; but rarely admitting that he needed them. must be serious. “and who am i to deny that?!”

jaehyun giggled, moisturising his face quickly before climbing into his bed, basketball shorts and a hoodie over his body as he pulled the blanket over the two of you as well. he pulled your leg up over his body, his own leg wrapping round yours as he wrapped his arms around you. your head was nuzzling into his chest, his own resting atop yours. you couldn’t have been physically closer if you tried, but both of you continued to shift, as though trying to engulf each others’ bodies.

“you’re so beautiful, my girl,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head as his hands ran over your body. one ended up resting on your stomach, as it often did, the other on the swell of your hip, moving towards your ass.

you giggled, your hand placed firmly on his bicep as you peered up to his bare face, “says you. you’re so pretty, myungjae.”

he scoffed, trying to live up to his usual jokes and antics, but too tired to form any witty comeback; he just shook his head. his hand gripped onto your hip fat like a handle, the other resting under the swell of your stomach, cupping the fat in his hand.

“you’re the only person i let touch me like this,” you whispered, playing with the strings of his hoodie as you spoke the vulnerable words into the quiet room.

“really?”

you nodded, “i would have let my ex but he was weird about it. just held my waist instead.”

myungjae furrowed his eyebrows, tutting, “it’s not just about letting me, it’s my favourite place! when you wear lingerie for me? and the panties are like up here on your hips, framing your stomach? ugh, my girl, you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”

you giggled, pushing the hood of his hoodie off his head and placing your hands on the back of his neck, you pecked his lips gently, “thank you.”

jaehyun winked, before laughing. he pulled you closer, your face once again being buried in his chest as he kissed your forehead, “my girl.”

taesan🎸🐈‍⬛ [fluff, fem!reader, they’re ready for oasis fr, w: slightest insecure!reader, conscious of stomach in a tight dress, mentions of carrying reader]

“y/n, are you ready yet, we need to—”

taesan shut his mouth upon walking into your bedroom, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in the dress that hugged your body.

you screwed up your nose, staring in the mirror as you ran your hands over your thighs. you turned to taesan with a hum, “how’s this? i don’t know.”

“well,” he coughed, straightening himself back up, “first of all, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon. and second of all, i don’t ever want you to change out of that dress, let alone try other options now.”

you giggled, turning back to the mirror with a smile, “really?”

taesan pressed the door shut behind him, walking over and placing his hands on your hips, kissing your neck softly, his shaggy black hair tickling your collarbones.

“you’re so beautiful,” he hummed, moving his hands round to rest on your waist, running over the front of your thighs and your stomach as they went, “fuck me…”

you giggled, placing a hand on his face and turning to give him an awkwardly positioned kiss. he chuckled against your lips. stepping away from his body, taesan reached out for you once again, cupping your jaw in his large hands as he studied your face. you stared each other for a few moments before you broke the silence.

“is it not a bit formal for a concert?”

he chuckled, his eyes fluttering shut, “did you not hear what i just said?!” he stepped away, looking you up and down once again, whistling as he did so.

“are you comfortable?” he checked, as you nodded in reply, “what’s wrong then?”

“it’s a bit… revealing, no?” you hummed, running your hands over the material of the dress stretched over your body as you turned back to the mirror. the dress was pretty short, but not scandalously; the most scandalous thing the low neck line, showing off your tits, and the tight material, showing off all your curves.

taesan scoffed, his lips rolling with the noise, “and why do you think i like it so much?”

you rolled your eyes, sighing, “too booby?”

“is there such thing?”

“too stomach-y?”

taesan smiled, coming and wrapping his arms around you, his hands splayed over your stomach, “doesn’t exist to me. now come on! we can’t be late, i’ve been waiting for this concert my whole life.”

you smiled, nodding. no doubts were worth making late taesan for the event of his life. “okay i just need to put my shoes on.”

“put trainers on!” he exclaimed, walking round and gathering his last minute bits, “i’m not carrying you home because you wore inappropriate shoes.”

you scoffed, already pulling on your converse, flashing taesan a teasing smile as he watched from the bedroom door, “like you could carry me.”

leehan🪸🐠 [fluff, gender neutral!reader, heavily based around the way leehan gets whenever riwoo eats around him, also actually could be reader of any size but i just love the idea as a fat girl, w: eating, leehan observing reader eat]

“y/n! leehan! food's here,” myungjae's voice rang through the lower dorm. you smiled, getting up from where you lay against your boyfriend's body. he groaned, comfortable where he was.

“come on, angel,” you spoke, grabbing his hand and attempting to pull him up, “you haven't eaten anything apart from cereal and jellies all day.”

leehan laughed, finally getting up from the bed and following you out to the kitchen where the smell of tteokbokki and chicken filled both of your senses.

“thank you! i'll eat well!” sungho said loudly, helping himself to some chicken before moaning, “ugh, that's so good!”

you sat down opposite the two boys at the dinner table, leehan taking the seat next to you. you both thanked myungjae for getting the food before tucking in.

“wah,” leehan spoke, his mouth full of tteok, “y/n have some of this.”

you were munching on a piece of chicken as he took your plate, loading up the cheesy tteokbokki, sausages and fishcakes. you whined, “stop! i'm fine.”

“just eat,” leehan said, shoving the plate back to you.

you rolled your eyes, eating the food he'd loaded onto your plate before moaning too, “that's so good.”

“right?” leehan laughed, helping himself to another bit of chicken, his body was turned in your direction as he sat with a small smile on his face, watching you eat. he dropped the piece of chicken he was eating on his plate, picking up another and dipping it in the tteokbokki sauce before holding it up to your mouth. “here, try it with the sauce.”

“donghyun-ah—,” you laughed, as leehan rolled his eyes, grumbling.

“i'll be sad if you don't take it,” he teased, “you want to make me sad?”

jaehyun laughed from the other side of the table, “just let him feed you, y/n, you know what he’s like.”

you rolled your eyes while looking at jaehyun and sungho, the two boys chuckling at you and your boyfriend.

“do you want something else to eat after this?” leehan asked, unbothered by the spectators. he placed his cutlery on his plate, signalling that he, regardless of his words, was done eating.

“like what?” you asked, taking another piece of chicken after the tteokbokki had now been cleared by the four of you. jaehyun and sungho sniggered at leehan’s words as they cleaned up.

he shrugged, his hand going to the back of your neck, playing with the base of your hair, “dessert food?”

you eyed him shyly, as leehan laughed at your reaction, “i’ll order it.”

you shook your head, protesting loudly, “no! don’t! you’re not gonna eat any and you’re gonna make me eat it for you.”

leehan smiled, kissing your forehead as he watched you finish the chicken, “so? i like watching you eat. i don’t need to eat when i watch it.”

“eat, please,” you begged, picking up the last of the chicken and bringing it to his mouth. he laughed, eating it.

“so?” he asked, finishing his mouthful, “waffles?”

woonhak🧸 [fluff, fem!reader, w: talking of other girls & ideal body type, just pretty wholesome though]

“woah look at this,” you said, moving your phone closer to where your boyfriend sat next to you, blaring a video of a girl doing a dance similar to that you see a lot of from woonhak himself. “she’s so sexy.”

woonhak scoffed, nodding as he admired the video, “being able to dance certainly makes someone more attractive, huh? she’s not my type at all but she’s got charm to her there.”

you nodded, chuckling slightly before scrolling on. woonhak's words weighing on your brain.

“what is your type?” you finally hummed, putting your phone down on your lap and turning more to your boyfriend’s body; head on his shoulder, leg slung over his own. his arm naturally slung over your shoulder, peering down at you as your eyes shined up at him.

“hmm,” he paused, beginning to laugh slightly, “is this a trap?”

“no,” you rolled your eyes, “i know you love me, it’s not about that. i’m just curious. were you into chubby girls before?” your voice was teasing, as woonhak rolling his eyes back at you.

“why?” he retorted, eyeing you, before replying properly, “i don’t think i have a type, really.”

“you just said she’s not your type!” you laughed.

“okay,” he said, humming, “and what if i am into chubby girls, huh? hmm?”

he started tickling your waist as you wriggled to escape his touch, your body flailing on the bed as woonhak smiled down at you.

“get off!” you laughed, ending up panting on the bed next to him, his body caging you in as he leaned up on one arm.

“you’re the love of my life,” he said with complete seriousness, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “if you’re you, no matter what you look like, i’ll love you.”

you giggled, trailing your hands through woonhak's soft hair, as he kissed your lips softly. his hands moved down your body, his hand on your waist, then down to rest on your thigh.

“your body’s just a bonus,” he grinned, gripping at the fat of your hips before kissing you again as you giggled into his lips.

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cheerysmores · 3 months ago

Text

Yours. Mine. Ours

Pairing: Lucanis x Female Shadow Dragon Rook x Spite

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: The defeat of the Evanuris weighs heavily in Treviso's summer air. Phyrra Mercar finds some comfort in both her lover and his demon.

Some Gratuitous Rook x Lucanis x Spite

AO3 link

***

Treviso was a city that never slept. Midnight had long since come and gone and sounds of life were still wafting through the bedroom window. Phyrra concentrated, trying to pick apart each thread of the noise: the spirited hum of a party, two people yelling in antivan about something she couldn’t quite catch, a heady mix of tipsy gasps and laughter– life carrying on, happy and oblivious. She was almost jealous.

How many knew how close they’d come to death, to blight, to prostrating themselves until they were mindless for Gods she’d let escape? The dragon that attacked and ran was months old news, the city that was freshly devastated too far away to care about.

A clock ticked somewhere. Every second stabbed into her half open eyelids. Phyrra had considered hunting it down and smashing it more than once, anything if it meant she might actually sleep. The heat wasn’t helping. Summer had bloomed to its full nauseating peak. Sweat clung to her like an unwanted caress, the kind that made her want to tear off her skin and disappear into the air. She still wasn’t sure how Lucanis could stand it.

He’d been dozing soundly for hours with his head pressed between her shoulders. She tried to ground herself in the rise and fall of his bare chest, the weight of his arm slung lazily over her hip. Lucanis had said she deserved a break from it all. At the time she’d believed it. It hadn’t stopped her thoughts crawling and scratching like insects when she looked away from him.

It was over. All of it. The Gods were dead, she was in love, and the Veil was an intact tapestry twined to Solas. If this were a story, the book would have closed and she’d forever be caught in that bright euphoric ending. But everything just… kept going. Minrathous, the city she’d spent her life trying to help, was still a crumbling mess. After she’d downed her last cup of wine at their victory gathering, she’d watched people curl in the street corners and run around searching for loved ones lost to the fight. She’d nose dived off the edge of their story and straight into the black abyss of ‘after’.

She turned into her pillow. It was damp with sweat, a perfect mirror of her head soaked into the rich material.

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be on an estate with a personal guard in a room larger than her first apartment when her city needed fixing. She was a Shadow Dragon and still made the choice to help Treviso instead of Minrathous against Ghilan'nain’s pet. She had a list of reasons longer than the width of the Dellamorte’s Manor and none of them were good enough. She almost welcomed the Dragons’ scorn. They needed someone to blame, as if she alone was the one person capable of taking down a monster the size of building.

Every time she closed her eyes her mistakes stared back: Shadow Dragons hanging in the street like crude garlands, Neve’s blighted face, the clouds of the Fade parting in front of her and leaving Lucanis sprawled there–

Phyrra grabbed his hand, exhaling shakily.

She’d let enough people slip through her fingers. She had no idea how to hold on tight enough so it never happened again.

There was movement behind her. A hand dragged down her arm and captured her wrist in a soft grip. The other caressed over her side, then her shoulder, pausing at the swell of her bottom lip.

She blinked hazily. “Lucanis?”

The grip around her wrist tightened a little. His other hand moved from her mouth and gently wrapped around the base of her neck. She shivered as he traced the delicate skin.

“Rook.”

A familiar violet glow cut through the darkness. When she turned, the demon’s shimmering eyes were set in Lucanis’s face. She tilted her head. “Spite? What is it?”

Ever since they’d left Minrathous, their midnight conversations had become somewhat of a regular occurrence. Sometimes he’d shake her awake and ask staccatoed questions about her life. Other times, he’d just sit and watch while her insomnia burned until morning. There was something different flickering across the shadows of his expression tonight– his lips were wet and parted, body tense as he curled over her. He dragged his tongue across her neck before she realised what it was.

Hunger.

He repeated the motion with his teeth until she threw her head back. He mouthed at the base of her throat, words softly biting into her skin. “Tonight. I want to. Taste.” He dipped his finger into her chemise and dragged it over the fullest part of her breast. “Feel.”

She let him do it again, then again, tracing old patterns she’d felt him follow before. Where Spite fit into her and Lucanis’s relationship had been an interesting situation to navigate. The first time they’d made love, the demon had been there. In the heat of the moment she’d caught the brief flash of his eyes, the way Lucanis’s careful touch melted into something more frantic.

After, they’d talked about it. Confusion and embarrassment set aside; they'd privately agreed that as long as she wanted it, he’d be fine.

‘Spite is a part of you. This doesn’t scare me,’ she’d mumbled into his shoulder. She remembered rubbing the blush stained on his cheeks, then trying to coax Lucanis’s eyes away from the fish tank in her room.

‘Sometimes I wonder how big a part of me he truly is,’ Lucanis had eventually answered. ‘Like he’s slowly changing from an angry passenger to an extra limb.’ He hadn’t said more than that. As much as she’d wanted to, she hadn’t pressed him.

Spite grabbed her chin, forcing their eyes to meet again. “Want you. Here.” He pulled her back to his chest and rubbed his hand down her torso. His fingers brushed the inside of her thigh and she felt her mind scatter.

“Spite–”

The demon’s hands suddenly stilled. “Rook?”

He didn’t move, perhaps waiting for her assent. Phyrra tried to catch her spinning thoughts. Before, his presence had been quick flashes and words, this would be new territory for both of them.

She grabbed his face and pressed it back into her neck.

“Yes.”

She felt his smile against her skin. “Good.”

He bit down before she could say anything else, her answering whine a shameless thing in the darkness. She arched her back as he pulled down her chemise and tasted the skin between her breasts. She needed to feel it all, every movement, every bite, every lighting bolt of pleasure bursting like sparks over her skin.

She opened her legs, inviting him closer. He made a home between them, running his hands over every piece of naked skin he could find. She couldn’t fight the little whimper as he wrapped his hand around her throat again. His thumb caressed her pulse, brushing back and forth in time with the soft rhythm.

It wasn’t a threat. It was curiosity, one she was willing to let him explore until they were both satisfied.

He turned her throat, replacing his hand with his lips. She traced the edge of his face, Lucanis’s face. Handsome. Strong. Perfect.

Breakable.

Her previous thoughts flooded back, cold and unbidden.

She grabbed Spite’s chin, pulling his mouth away from her neck. She touched the curve of his smile, his dark hair, the strong muscles of his shoulders, parts of him she'd grown to love so dearly now burning like temptation incarnate under her fingers.

“I can’t always be here,” she said in a raw whisper. “No matter what, promise me you’ll keep him safe.”

His hands dug into her thighs. “Lucanis. Is. Mine.”

“He’s mine too. So you’re going to promise me right now.” She jerked up, her voice blunt against his face. “Promise me, Spite.”

His wings burst forth at the words, shimmering like vivid cuts of crystal. It was almost strange how much of a comfort they’d become to her. On the battlefield, in their bed– the essence of the demon wrapping around her lover to protect him. Both of them. She ran her fingers through the feathers, picturing the sight of the two of them coupled like this. He was the furthest thing from an angel but the closest taste to heaven she’ll ever have.

Spite’s head moved slowly as he surveyed her under his glow. “Promise.”

She smiled and let herself fall back against the pillow. “Good. Now, come here.”

A soft growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed against her. He dragged his teeth over her neck, sucking her pulse like he was trying to sip the red of her heartbeat. He palmed her breasts, then lightly sucked her nipple through the thin material. She cried out as he bit down. It was the knife’s edge of pain, something warm and unfamiliar, hypnotising as a summer storm.

Her eyes fluttered as he pulled up her chemise and cupped between her legs. He dragged his lips over her stomach, her hip, softly mouthing the flesh before tearing the wet lace of her smallclothes from her body. Dimly, she knew she should be angry at that. The thought flickered a thousand miles away, buried under the feeling of his breath caressing her most sensitive skin.

Something between a curse and a plea rolled on her tongue as he stroked her flushed clit.

He fixed his gaze to her face and pressed harder. She watched his brows flatten, shoulders tense, his body drawn tight as a bow string as if bringing her pleasure was his sole purpose this night. Something softer unfurled in her stomach. It's a familiar feeling, foolish, but one she cannot quite bring herself to let go of.

In moments like this, how could she not believe that Spite might bloom back into determination again?

He removed his hand and flipped her onto her stomach. The heat of his skin brushed against hers as he caged her there, wings spread over them like a luminous cocoon. The sound of ripping fabric filled the air as he grabbed two fistfuls of the chemise and tugged hard. Hot breath brushed her back. She shivered when the demon’s tongue quickly followed.

“Leather. And Plum.” His words kissed between her shoulder blades. She threw her head back while he tasted her, first the ridges of her spine, then the pattern of scars twisting over it.

His touch halted at her hips.

Phyrra jerked her head over her shoulder. “What– don’t stop.”

Spite’s lip was pressed to the darkest patch of scarring, one that tore the neck of her dragon tattoo clean in half. It was an ugly reminder of an early skirmish in the Crossroads. Venatori? Antaam? She couldn’t quite remember. Ink was smudged over the memory, the only clear image the bright sky and blood staining her gloves. She hadn’t realised it was her own before stumbling into someone’s arms.

The point of his gaze softened slightly. “Rook.”

She could see the words curling on his tongue. Ones he couldn’t say, ones he perhaps didn’t have the language to say. Another night she’d let him try. Tonight, it was the last thing she needed.

She felt the chill of her previous thoughts press at her mind with thin, needle-like fingers.

“Rook,” he said again, quieter this time.

She turned and grabbed a handful of his feathers. He hissed at the contact, his wings spreading wide and dissolving into the darkness.

Slower breaths brushed against her nape.

“Phyrra?”

She recognised the softer rumble of Lucanis’s voice immediately. She watched the demon’s light fade from his half open eyes. They were almost black in the half light, still swimming with sleep as he took her in. “I thought I was dreaming,” he murmured while tugging at the ruined edge of her chemise.

She brushed his hair over his bare shoulders. “Was it a good dream?”

“I think I would have been nicer to your clothes.” He touched the bruise forming under her collarbone, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you alright?”

His knee gently grazed her inner thigh and she felt her thoughts fragment into a thousand sharp pieces. She wasn’t alright. She wasn’t sure if she even knew what alright even meant anymore– some long forgotten feeling when the weight of the continent didn’t press down like iron slabs on her chest.

Lucanis slipped his arm under her shoulders, lifting her closer. “Phyrra?”

She traced the slice of moonlight over his cheek, desperate to find the words. She wanted to forget, to be torn open and laid bare, drown in the heat of his pleasure until everything outside this bed melted away.

She threaded her hands into his hair and arched up to meet his lips. “Please don’t stop.”

She felt his exhale, then a softer gasp as he pressed her into the bedding. She revelled in his weight atop her, the pink on her throat spilling down her chest. He chased the colour with a gentler touch, his other hand spreading over the small of her back. She tried to concentrate on each finger. It’s a familiar anchor, the wordless reassurance that they were both really here. Together.

She whined when he pulled away. His eyes flit to the side, zoned in as they always did when Spite spoke to him.

“Just wait a moment,” he said to the wall before turning back to her. “Are you sure you want this?”

Phyrra wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing the concern creased by his eyes.

“I promise,” she whispered.

Lucanis was quiet for a moment. He stroked the soft angle of her jaw, eyes searching her face before sitting up and pulling her into his lap. He touched his forehead to hers, running his palms over and over the curves of her torso until her breathing fell into a steadier rhythm.

“I’ll be right here. I swear,” he said against her cheek, then softly covered her mouth with his.

Spite’s glowing eyes met hers as she pulled away. He touched her lips, her chin, then quickly ripped the tie from her hair so it fell in a bright mess around them. She stroked his chest, her hands caught between them as he buried his nose in her curls.

She groaned, shifting in his lap. “Spite.”

He paused at the sound. She heard his breathing quicken, then a low growl as he roughly grabbed both of her wrists and pushed her into the bedding.

She let him move her as he wished, her flesh warmed candle wax under his hands. Pillows and bedside trinkets hit the floor with the remnants of her chemise. She closed her eyes, falling into the sensation as his lips found her pulse again. Her heart thrummed wildly, desperate– but not afraid. A few months ago this would have horrified her. She was a mage pinned under an abomination, the one thing she’d been taught to fear ever since magic first crackled between her fingers. She’d let him dig his teeth into her body and wrap his hands around her throat… and all she wanted was to be closer until she didn’t have to think about getting ripped away from Lucanis’s embrace again.

“Mine.” Spite whispered. He roughly spread her legs with his knee, leaving her open and aching to the stifling heat of the room. He lowered his face and carefully traced the point of her ear. “Ours.”

A smile tugged at her lips. It’s a sliver of sweetness, like getting lost in the deep eyes of a predator before it opens its maw. She was more than ready to be devoured whole.

She grabbed his hand and guided it back between her legs. “Yes. I am.”

There’s no hesitation as he stroked the growing wetness there. He mouthed over her neck, feeling and stroking before biting down again. She felt the bruises bloom, then the soft caress of his tongue as he slowly licked each indentation. They were too high to be hidden by a collar. She didn’t care. The people of this city had seen her march through the streets bloody and battered to save them– she’ll be damned if she’s supposed to hide the marks from touches she actually wanted.

Colour burst behind her eyelids when he pressed his finger inside her. It’s a rough caress, but she could almost feel the ghost of Lucanis moving him, touching the spots he’d already learned made her beg.

He grabbed her hand before she could muffle her cry, curling a second finger inside.

“We want to. Hear you.”

It was a request with the weight of a command, not something she was used to listening to. Phyrra answered by kissing the sharp corner of his mouth. “Alright then. Make me loud.”

The challenge ignited something hotter in his gaze. Her neck arched, whole body trembling as he twisted his fingers with devastating accuracy inside her.

It was a while before coherent thoughts returned.

The sounds of her pleasure ran off the walls like the sweat on her body. His mouth raked over her pulse, her collarbone, her breasts, searching everywhere like he was trying to learn her by taste alone. Hours could have passed before he removed his hand from between her legs.

The demon slid down, pushing her thighs further apart. He stared, eyes arrow-sharp and his breaths a too-heated caress against her core. She closed her eyes, twisting the sheets between her fingers as he brushed his nose through the full, dark hair there. He was so close to where she needed him. The urge was merciless, her body burning with a want so violent it felt like a sin.

The sound that left her was barely coherent as he finally pressed his mouth to her cunt.

He firmly tasted the length of her, then again. She cupped the sides of his face, letting him explore before guiding him upward. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit and she saw stars.

“Venhedis. Maker. Yes.” She grabbed a fistful of his hair, anchoring him to the spot.

He refused to relent. He ran his tongue over the bud, sucking and licking until she was writhing against his mouth. She fought the impulse to push him away. She needed to feel it, all of it, right until her last thoughts burned to nothing.

She thrust her hips against the mattress, echoing the pattern of his tongue. She could still feel the precision of Lucanis there, something deliberate, dextrous, the care of a perfect kill now focussed on a little death instead. Spite’s wilder movements continued to burst through, the two feelings twining together until the lines where the demon ended and her lover began bled into a passionate mess.

Spite twisted upward. He took in her wrecked face one last time before nipping at her clit with his teeth.

She finished so intensely she was certain lightning could burst from her hands. Surely fire was radiating from her skin, ready to consume this estate and the city until only the two of them remained. She rode out her pleasure with ash-dry breaths. Her eyes rolled, lips raw with her cries before she lay quivering and exhausted before him.

Spite did not take this as a sign to stop. His eyes were closed, hands a vice grip on her waist as his tongue continued its merciless assault.

Phyrra hissed, pulling at his hair. The ache was too much, her nerves burned and screaming for release. She tugged harder, tears stinging in her eyes. “Please– enough.”

A thread snapped somewhere. The violet glow between her legs vanished, his mouth finally motionless.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. Each breath pushed out of her like broken pieces of glass. She was still falling over that edge, spinning out into the great expanse of nothing beyond.

Warm lips carefully kissed up her body, pausing at the dip of her throat. She stilled. She knew that pattern, that softness.

“Phyrra,” came Lucanis’s steady voice. He shifted over her, gently assessing as he brushed the damp curls tangled over her mouth.

“I’m– I’m here,” she breathed. Her eyes darted around, looking for something, anything, to ground her back in the moment.

Lucanis cupped her cheek, drawing her gaze back to his. “You are.” He kissed her forehead, her chest, the tender skin over her heart, repeating the words until they drowned out the white noise crackling in her mind. “You’re right here.”

She watched him trace the petals of red and purple pressed into her by his own fingers. They were the hands of a mage killer, ones that had been stained with plenty of blood just like hers. In another life, perhaps she’d have found herself choking out her last breath in his grip.

He rubbed the sore spot on her shoulders until she melted against his chest.

In this life, his touch was the tether that slowly guided her back to earth.

She pulled him atop her and lightly ran her hands through his sweat-damp hair. “Just then, I could feel both of you,” she whispered. “What is it like when you’re together like that?”

“Like steering the world’s most impatient mount with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Oh.”

Lucanis hummed against her. “Before, it was like being dragged behind him, so I think we’re getting somewhere.” He looked up from her chest. “How did it feel?”

She scratched the nape of his neck. “Like a hurricane.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Phyrra chuckled. “It’s what I wanted.”

Lucanis’s eyes flicked to the edge of the room. “No. Not right now,” he said in a slightly annoyed whisper. “You can tell her later.”

Phyrra stared at the spot where she assumed the demon was standing. “What is Spite saying?”

“That you taste like fire and salt.”

The words hung in the air. Phyrra felt her cheeks darken. “Really?”

The corner of Lucanis’s mouth quirked up in a smile. His beard still shone with the evidence of her pleasure. “You know, I could have told him that.”

Their joint laugh shifted their bodies. Phyrra felt his hardness brush her leg and he slammed his eyes closed. She hooked her fingers into the edge of his smallclothes. “Here, let me,” she said, tugging them off. The night wasn’t over yet. Neither was she.

Lucanis watched her hand as it followed the hair trailing down his stomach. His breath caught, words barely a whisper. “Are you sure you want this?”

She paused. “I want– Lucanis…” Her screams of pleasure gone, the quiet of the room pressed with a humid weight on her skin. She saw the edges of those nightmares shift in the corner of her eye, the smog of the fade, his face falling from her hands broken and blighted.

She pressed her lips to his and stroked the length of him. He groaned into her mouth.

“Maker.”

She found a gentle rhythm and locked her free arm around his torso. She focussed on the warmth of his chest, the moisture from each breath against her face as she messily took him apart. He rolled between Phyrra’s thighs and pressed himself against her heat.

“Please. I need you,” she murmured. There’s more she wanted to say, thoughts caught somewhere between the ice growing in her chest and the bruises on her throat. She rubbed the small of his back, urging him on. If she couldn’t say it with words then she’d damn sure do it with her body, loving him to the edge of sanity and back until any doubt about how she felt about him faded completely.

He cursed softly as he entered her. She slid her legs over his waist, cradling him while he found his rhythm. She clung to his lips, sipping every gasp as he slowly fucked her into the mattress. Sleep, red wine, expensive coffee– the taste of him ghosted over her tongue.

Spite was hidden away somewhere, every touch now completely Lucanis. There was nothing destructive about these movements. He knew the map of her and was already running through the caresses she’d shown him on those first tentative nights. His kisses meandered across her ear, her chin, the taut peak of her nipple. Her eyes rolled as he pushed her leg higher, hitting the spot inside her that shot sparks through her body.

She wanted to be closer, to push herself inside until she was tangled up in the spiderweb of his soul and his demon. She knew it was almost wrong to feel like this, to have a heart so full it was almost overripe with love when everything between them was still so new. She could count on one hand the nights they had spent together without worrying if the world would still be there when they awoke. The picture of what their future might look like was still barely an outline on the canvas. Ignoring it hurt, thinking about all the ways it could tear apart hurt so much more.

Phyrra came again with his name on her lips and his fingers against her clit. The sensation rolled like a breaking wave right down to her toes until she was boneless under him. She dug her heels into the small of his back as he finished with a warm shiver.

She held him tighter when he tried to pull away. “Please don’t. Not yet,” she breathed. She was slick, bruised, floating on bliss and her mind still wouldn’t quieten.

She didn’t understand. Lucanis had killed the Gods she’d asked him to. The dead were at rest. The Lighthouse was fading into a memory. All that remained were the roles that had been waiting for them. First Talon and a Tevinter mercenary, two people with priorities so far apart they might as well have been from different universes.

Lucanis rubbed his hands down her back and shifted them until they were both kneeling. He touched the corner of her mouth. “Talk to me.”

Phyrra could barely look at the naked concern on his face. She bowed her head, hiding in the bright curtain of her hair.

“You don’t know how much I want to draw a line under everything that happened,” she started. “I’ve, we’ve, bled so much already and I- I don’t want to hurt anymore. I want to stay here. I want to tell the world to fix its own messes for once and just leave me just be. But I can’t.” She swallowed a shakier breath, the words curdling on her tongue. “I know the Dragons still blame me, but I can’t hide from them. I need to go home. I need to fix Minrathous.”

Lucanis didn’t try to lift her head. “I know,” he said quietly.

“And you– you’re First Talon of the Crows now.”

“I know.”

“So you have to stay here.”

He spread his hands over her thighs, his voice a little stronger. “I know, Phyrra.”

Her vision blurred with tears. “You know,” she repeated more to her hands than to him. “Why does this feel so impossible?” She wants it to work, to stay by his side for as long as she still draws breath without being eaten alive by the guilt of her shattered city.

Carefully, Lucanis brushed the protective shroud of hair over her shoulders. “I saw you do about ten impossible things in the span of a week. Look me in the eye and tell me that being together would be harder than pulling you out of the Fade.”

She refused to look up. “Breaking out of a prison that was entirely made of metaphors seems easier now.”

His answering sigh brushed over her forehead. “You’re the only impossible thing here.” He shuffled forward, trying to catch her eye through the strands still hiding her face. “Tell me, do you want this?”

“Of course.” The word left her before she could even think. “But that’s not the problem–”

“Phyrra, I was trapped in a Venatori cage for a year.” The quiet weight of his words cut her off. “A year stripped of emotion, of hope, of want– nothing left save for what was needed to survive and a demon screaming vengeance into my skin. Even when you broke me out and I saw the lights of my city again it took some time to remember those feelings, to understand what living fully meant to me.” He took her wrist and turned it between his hands. “Now, I know. I spent far too long being afraid to want you, of what loving you could even be like with Spite under my skin. I know what it’s like to lose you–” his voice caught slightly. “–never again. Even Gods can bleed and I’d kill anything else that tried to take you, take this, from me.”

She felt the determination of his words settle between her ribs. When she finally met his eyes something hot caught in her throat.

“Lucanis–”

“I’m not going to let go, not unless you tell me to.”

The idea of saying such a thing tasted like poison on her tongue. She squeezed his fingers, leaning forward until her answer kissed over his mouth. “I hope I’ve made it clear that I’m never going to do that.”

He moved her hand over his heart. It thrummed gently as he pressed their lips together again. “It still only beats for you.”

They kissed for what felt like hours. Phyrra ran her hands over every bare piece of skin she could reach, drowning in the smell of sweat and sex until the pain of her thoughts was muffled under all of it. They had no plan, but a promise– in this moment, the sweetness of those words was enough.

“This is going to take a lot of prep work,” she said as they pulled apart.

“The best plans are made over coffee after a full night’s sleep.” He laid them both down, pressing her back to his chest.

“We might have to stick to the second best ones then.”

“I can work with that.”

She laughed quietly as she settled against him. Throughout her life she’d broken and pieced herself back together more times than she could count. She felt the fractures that ran over her body, how they still hurt even with the Gods finally dead. His love wasn’t the only binding that held her together, but she hoped one day to discover how to repay someone that made her feel more than whole.

“I love you,” Lucanis whispered into the side of her neck.

She stared forward, relaxing into his arms as she started to drift.

“I know.”

***

Phyrra woke to a pleasant ache between her thighs and a firm touch at her back. Dawn was already illuminating the room but the purple glow behind her was brighter.

“Spite, I need to sleep,” she whispered roughly.

The demon slipped his hand under her arm and touched a bite mark above her right breast. “Does it. Hurt?”

There was a curiosity to his words that made her heart melt. She cupped his hand. “I’m a lot tougher than that.”

“Stay.”

“Spite–”

“He lied.” She felt his lips moving, pressing his irritation between her shoulder blades. “He wants you. Here. Always.”

“Just him?” Phyrra squeezed his hand a little harder. The rumble in his throat almost sounded like a purr. It was something new, endearing, and decidedly undemonic. Sometimes she thought about the true depth of his feelings, about how much as a mage she could ever understand. An existence tethered so closely to Lucanis’s passion, she wondered how far beyond the recesses of determination and spite the demon could go– how much he could truly want to remain around her.

She had time to discover that. Hopefully, a lifetime of it.

A bird chittered somewhere beyond the curtains. The city was waking. She could already smell it: damp grass, cool water, honeysuckle and roses so sweet on the air, a far cry from the drizzle and smoke that permeated her old apartment.

Treviso could be a beautiful home. Just not for her. Not quite yet.

Phyrra stroked Spite’s hand again. “Keep him safe, remember? Just until I return.”

“You want to leave?” There was no bite to his question. She almost wished there was. Incurring his anger might have made it easier.

“No. But I need to.”

Another purr vibrated against her back, then a flutter as his wings draped over her in a shimmering blanket. She turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest. The morning was for planning, for carving out a future and navigating the world as it slowly healed. She’d kiss him goodbye, tend to Minrathous’s scars and see if she still had a family within the Shadow Dragons.

But for now she lay in his arms and everything could stay beyond those windows.

***

This maaaaay become an intro for a longer fic as I have a lot of thoughts about shadow dragon x Lucanis pairing and what that might look like. By the end of the game Minrathous is completely fucked and I think there’d be a lot to navigate there- let me know if it’s something you want to see!

#my writing #dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #spite dragon age #spite x rook #lucanis x rook #spite x rook x lucanis #datv spoilers #datv

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mithrandirl · 10 months ago

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i always get questions when i do a split gifset, and it's a deceptively simple process so i thought i'd try to show how i do it! i don't know if these types of gifsets have a more universally recognized name, but that's what i call them so that's what i'm going with.

i'm going to write this assuming you have a solid familiarity with photoshop and making gifs, but please feel free to send me an ask if anything is unclear. i use video timeline/smart objects so will be showing that (here's a great general tutorial on giffing with timeline). i will also be talking A LOT about gif dimensions, so first let's briefly go over the limits and theory a little bit.

a 1 column gifset can accommodate gifs 540 pixels wide

2 columns = 268 pixels each with a 4 pixel gutter between

3 columns = 177, 178, 177 pixels with 4 pixel gutters

i'm mostly going to talk about 2 column split gifs here (what i will refer to as 2x1 from now on - 2 across and 1 high), but the process is the same for 3 column (3x1) and so on (1x2, 2x2, etc).

so, why would you even want to make a gifset like this? i mean, let’s face it, generally, bigger is better for gifs on tumblr, and there are obvious incentives to 540 width gifs over 268 or 177/8 width, especially since the upload limit went to 10MB. but even 10MB isn’t much when you’re talking about high quality footage. gif making is a constant balance between quality (whatever that means to you: frame dimensions, sharpening, coloring, etc) and file size. split gifs are a cheat to that limitation >:)

i personally believe an untapped frontier of tumblr gifmaking is playing with dimensions and time. that sentence makes me sound like an old-timey sci-fi villain, but you get the idea: gifmaking is an art and there are many fun and interesting ways of exploring the medium. you can do a lot with 268 pixels! longer frame loops to gif longer scenes unbroken, bolder coloring on a wide shot you don’t want to pare down. and, a shorter x axis means the y axis’s bang goes a lot further on a buck. also just if you have a 2 column set but only 5 gifs so you need to make one take up 2 slots. there's a lot of reasons but the most important one is it's fun :) here are some examples of other split gifs i've made: x, x, x

this isn't so much a limitation, more of a shift in how you think about gifs, but it's important to remember that each gif should ideally be doing something still. when making split gifs, it’s easy to pick a wide scene without thinking about how it’ll be split down the middle, and then you’re left with a lot of something on one side and a lot of incongruous nothing on the other - or you're left with a person cut in half awkwardly in the middle. so while a split gif can still be a whole scene, you shouldn’t ignore the break and what it means to the bigger picture. now this is personal preference, but i like to play with the break and make it a part of the gifset. mirrored movement, subjects trapped on either side but still talking to each other, a bird flying from one side to the other. fun with frames! it can be another way of drawing attention to specific images/moments/feelings happening within the same shot.

SIMPLE SPLIT GIFS

to more narrowly define what i’m calling “simple split gifs,” it’s one set of frames split down the middle into two separate gifs that are meant to play concurrently, side by side.

first thing's first, crop your gif and uncheck delete cropped pixels if it is not already (very important). i'm cropping it to the 1x1 size, in this case 268x350. if you need to see how the full size will look, you can try it out with 536 first. but this one is pretty easy, this is the exact center of the frame (the left boundary of this crop is the center line) and both their heads fit within their respective 1x1 crop.

then color as you normally would. if your scene is very different one side to the other, it might be easier for you to color on a wider crop and then either crop again or copy paste your coloring to the smaller crop version. i do that with the 2x6s, but it's usually not that big a deal to color the 2x1s with just the small crop on your canvas at the time. this scene is very symmetrical, both in movement and colors, so i'm good.

now the fun part! once you've got one side how you want it, save/export as you normally would. at this point i also like to make a mental note of how many frames there are.

so i have 49 frames and it's still only ~3MB! this is just an example that i picked from my rotk fancy set, otherwise i probably would have made this gif longer.

then onto the other side, so i ctrl + z my way back to my smart object video timeline. to get to theoden i just drag and drop the smart object 268 pixels over. since this one is in the exact center of the image, it even helpfully guides me (this can get annoying if you are NOT giffing the center of the image fyi, but you can always manually go pixel by pixel too if you need to with your <- -> keyboard buttons. just always remember where you started and count accurately). i can never move around my smart object without hiding the adjustment layers on top of it, so you'll see me do that in this screen recording.

see how it corrected me when i dragged it a few pixels down by accident, and with all those pink guidelines? sometimes photoshop is good 😌

then make sure you still like the coloring, adjust whatever needs to be adjusted, but watch out! don't make any major changes because it still has to match the other side. and export again.

what we perceive as 1 series of frames chopped down the middle is just 2 separate gifs with the same frame rate. when tumblr loads the images, it will run concurrently in the post (even though it never does in the draft post 🙄). and that's it!

COMPLEX SPLIT GIFS

again i'm making up terms, but i call anything with more than 2 components a complex split gifset. i've tweaked some things in the process as i went along, but this is generally how i did the lotr series. these sets are basically just many split gifs with transitions. and here's where endurance becomes a factor :) there's a lot of prep done blind. but if set up well, it will be fairly easy to pull together by the end.

first i decide on my dimensions, using my upper bounds to determine how big i'm going to go. since lotr has very nice large file sizes, i can go pretty big without sacrificing much in quality. i decided on 3 rows of 350 pixel height gifs and it's worked well for me. that means my biggest gif will have a total height of 1050 pixels - fun! you could also do 8 rows, with two 2x2s or just a series of 2x1s that transition to 1x1s. there really is no limit to this except your imagination and source material.

i cap everything i'm going to use before i even open photoshop, then do all of them at once. uncheck delete cropped pixels, then i make my gifs! this is where i spend 90% of the time on this set. every gif should be the size of the smallest 1x1 gif (268x350 for me). i make all 10 into a fully colored, separate psd. (and then i usually go back through all of them a few times to get the colors to match better 😅) for the bigger ones (2x1: 536x350 and 2x6: 536x1050), i just crop them as if they were 1x1 but always thinking about how they will look when big. this gets tricky when i do the big one :) my lazy workaround for that is to basically make it twice: one cropped as it will be and one full size for me to color. then i copy and paste all the coloring layers onto the small one and voila, i know that the coloring in the upper right slice will also look good on the bottom left slice 1050 pixels away because i saw it on the full size version.

coloring is probably the biggest thing i'm thinking about with this kind of set. the whole idea is that these gifs are using the same colors, more or less, throughout each phase. even with the 1x1s, they're still part of a larger color concept, and they should (🤞) work with each other.

in a pinch, i like to eyedrop a color from one gif and add it as an accent to another. one of my 1x1s had a much more muted color palette originally, but i wanted it to have deeper blues and yellows to complement the 1x1 that would go next to it, so i added some gradients on lower opacity over it, color picked from other gifs i already colored.

i keep my coloring and the smart object in separate folders to help me in the final step of combining everything, and then i trim everything down to my lowest common denominator of frames. you might think you need to keep frames pretty minimal if you're doing 3 phases with transitions like this, but there's more room to work with on a small gif, in terms of file size. i usually do 30-50 frames for each phase, with the assumption that i'll be adding a transition on each side of each gif that will eat up some frames (i usually do 4-6 frame fade transitions). for the rotk set my final frame count was 129 and i never went over 8MB on a gif, so there's plenty of space play around with things :)

and then, combine! whatever order you start with, you are stuck with (unless you're getting even more complicated, but we won't go into that lol). for these sets i go small 1x1 -> medium 2x1 -> big 2x6. i like to think of it in phases from this point on. small is the first phase, then medium, then big. then i put in the fade transitions, chopping up the first phase gif so the last one will fade into it, restarting the whole cycle seamlessly. i'm just doing a quick and dirty fade here, but here's a tutorial if you want more explanation on transitions.

at this point i save this psd as its position, "top left" or whatever (usually it's a psb by this point too 🥲), just in case i need to go back to it. then i export this first gif and move on to the rest.

it's the same concept as a simple split gif: drag and drop the smart object to the new position, but now there are multiple phases to keep track of. folder organization has been key for me to keep everything straight. i move through the gifs in a backwards S, starting with the top left. but you could go any direction, just gotta stick with it and remember your counts. in my case, i'm always thinking of 268 pixels over and, for the 2x6, 350 up/down. it's a tedious process, but it goes quick (apart from waiting for photoshop to load each time you export).

i did this series as a color concept aesthetic kind of thing, so my theory was by using the same-ish colors throughout, that would save me in the end when it came time to export. there's only 256 colors max to work with on a gif, and that's usually what gets me over the 10MB limit. but as i said, i have never even gotten close to the size limit on this series. it's pretty hard to reach the limit on 268 pixels, but not impossible. (i did run into that on the emma set i did, and that was hell. but also not an impossible fix in the end.)

and that's it! if you try any of this and have trouble, i'm happy to help if i can but mostly this is a "click around and see what works for you" kind of process. and feel free to tag me on your split gifsets :) i love seeing them <3

#*lotrsplit #*#split gifs #gif tutorial #photoshop tutorial #usergif #allresources #chaoticresources #completeresources #photoshop tag

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alien-magnolia · 1 year ago

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Older! Eddie Munson x hyperfeminine! housewife! Reader : quick headcanons/ideas <3

18+ MDNI

Tw: big, girthy age gap :) (early 40’s /early 20’s), service kink!, sub!-coded fem reader, dom-coded Eddie munson, leashes!, obedience!!, etc

——

Marrying Edward Munson was most likely the best milestone of your life. The dull and bitter taste of Hawkins, Indiana had become bright and full of color!!

Your Eds has bought you a quaint, small, yet spacious enough home, in which you decorated with beige tones and tropical accents — plants, gold, mirrored walls, and topped it all off with a wooden kitchen. He provided for you as well, spending the usual nine to five workday facing the elements as a local construction worker. At exactly 5:10 each evening, he would come home to greet his babygirl. You were ever so ready!

He comes through the door, sawdust covered boots sprinkling dirt on the fuzzy carpet. You rush up to greet him, and you were met with a “hey babydoll,” and a swift strong arm picking you up to his lap.

With you clinging onto him like a little koala, he undresses his clothes, and then puts on a loose muscle tee with boxers <3!

“ how’s my little girl doing today, hmm? Tell me, doll,” a prompt from him was all it took for you to enthusiastically describe your day!! His patronizing smile made your “little kitty” as he called it, gush!!

You tell him about your cooking, your laundry, and how much you missed him, your daddy <3!

“Missed you too. How’s about your daddy shows you how much he missed his doll?,” his hairy forearms and calloused fingers grip your plush waist so tightly. He pulls you into his lap, and you feel his throbbing bulge press up against your mound. “Wet f’me?,” he taunts. You nod, your manicured hands clawing up his wide back and shoulders.

“Babygirl needs her leash and collar, yeah?,” he tuts at you, putting them on. His calloused fingers grab the O ring in the center of your collar, pulling the leash a bit. “There we go, sweets. Ready for daddy to play with. <3”

You could only drool and nod!

Your pretty tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his so so masculine hands squeezing your soft belly and hips until it HURT, and you rocking yourself on his bulge.

One thing you loved about Eddie, was that he was big. He was around five inches yes, but in width, goodness <3 it hurt to take him every time! He was wider than your hand, and would tut at you everytime your pretty pussy took that wide cock and huge balls of his.

So here you were, doing just that, clinging onto him, whining, as his girthy length stuffed you full. Belt buckle on the floor, your plush thighs against his tatted ones, his ringed hand on your ankle, which had a little ‘E’ tattoo on it.

Eddie actually gave you the tattoo himself, a few months ago, gently holding your ankle while working on the tattoo. You said it hurt but your Eds kept praising you for being so brave! <3 After he bandaged your new initial tattoo, he gave you your reward for being his “brave girl,” which was his cock stuffing you full for hours on end. <3

“Pussy’s just purring f’me, sweetheart. Look at that. She loves my cock, doesn’t she now?,” Eddie cooed at you as he bounced you on his girth. You could only whine and nod as you felt his balls, heavy and full, plap’ and slap against your wet cunt.

He came in you, of course, because you were his. The tattoo, the ring, the leash and collar, the part where he breeds his little wife, all signs that you belonged to him. You loved being his pretty little wife, spending the days at home, waiting for her husband.

It was all worth the wait <3

A/n: tysm for reading! If you like it pls comment or reblog it means a lot to me <3 -Liz

#liz’s masterlist #liz writes 🖤#stranger things smut #dom eddie supremacy #daddy!eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson filth #soft dom eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #top eddie munson

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thespnreferencedesk · 4 months ago

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A Fic Writer's Guide to the 1967 Impala

Part 1 | Part 2: Interior

Click for the full-size, annotated versions of images! Unlabeled screenshots here; full user manual available here

Due to the number of different Impalas used for the show, Baby will have some minor differences between appearances. This guide points out a few of them. Luckily, these differences are minor and will likely never come up in any written works but fan-artists should still keep an eye out.

Now, buckle up. There's a lot to cover.

Baby’s interior color is SEM Color Coat #15093 “Lt Buckskin.” In real life, this color was not an option on the 1967 Impala and was achieved by spraying the existing interior vinyl with vinyl dye. However, 5.22 shows that this is the Impala’s original interior in the show’s universe, so Dean would have only had to use the vinyl dye to touch up during one of his rebuilds. In addition to the buckskin vinyl, Baby also has black bench seats, tan carpeting, chrome trim, and black accents on the wheel and dash.

Baby doesn’t have grab handles or a center dome light, though it does have two rectangular cabin lights over the backseat windows, each next to a hook. Whether or not these interior lights work depends in the episode. The headliner has horizontal stitching that breaks it up into six panels. Sam and Dean rarely use the sun visors, but we do see in 11.04 that they are mirrorless and can swivel up and down and pivot to shade the side windows.

Both the front and back seats are black vinyl (not leather) bench seats with no center consoles. The front bench is manually adjustable via a lever on the driver's side. The seat can slide forward and backward (seen in 10.12) and recline (seen in 1.01). Adjusting the front seat moves the entire bench, including the passenger.

Fun fact: One of the options available for the 1967 Impala was power operated front seats, something I didn't even have on my '07 Hyundai. Power windows were also available, but Baby has neither of these features.

Both the front and back benches are wide if not a bit short length-wise (note that Dean’s hips are basically the same width as the seat). A child could easily lay down completely, a small adult like Claire or Charlie would be a bit curled up, and Sam and Dean can lay out with their knees bent. It is also possible to crawl over the front seat into the backseat or pull someone from the front into the back as we see in 10.04. That said, the cabin roof is not very high (just barely clearing Sam’s head) so expect to hit your head on the roof while in someone’s lap or flailing around in a fight.

Despite seating up to six, there appear to only be four total seat belts. The Impala has adjustable lap belts in the front and back seat rather than modern three-point seatbelts, but Sam and Dean don’t wear them.

The lap belts consist of two parts, a belt with a buckle that sits in the middle of the front seat and a belt with an “eye” piece that retracts into a retractor on the side of the front seat bench. To fasten the seat belts, pull the eye belt all the way out of the retractor before clicking it into the buckle. Adjust the belt by pulling on the excess strap to tighten it, and lift on the buckle then pull the other section of the strap to loosen it. Unfasten the seat belt by pressing the button on top of the buckle.

Up front, Baby has a steering wheel, a black instrument cluster, chrome ignition and other switches, an ashtray, chrome mirror, aftermarket tape deck, Four Seasons factory air conditioner, glove box, adjustable air vents, and padded dashboard (to smack your head on since there are no airbags).

Two different types of door lock buttons are used in the cars on the show. The first are shaped like golf tees while the second are straight anti-theft locks. The anti-theft locks don't have a cap that allows the door to be unlocked with a coat hanger or something similar. Push down on the button to lock the doors and pull up to unlock.

All four doors have a vinyl armrest with a chrome door lever, but the front seat rests do not have ashtrays. There are two different window cranks. The smaller one on top controls the small triangular front window that swivels side to side while the larger one on bottom rolls the main window up and down. Clockwise is up, counter-clockwise is down. Sometimes the knobs on the cranks are buckskin and sometimes they are black which would have been the original color.

In the driver's footwell is a long rectangular gas pedal, short rectangular brake pedal, square parking brake pedal, and labeled parking release lever. The switch for the high beams is on the floor near the driver's right foot and is controlled by tapping. There are also tan rubber floor mats that vary in style but appear in 11.04 as two individual mats with diagonal grooves.

The glove box comes with a lock, and the key for this is separate from the key that opens the door and starts the ignition. When not locked, the glove box can be opened by pressing the button built into the lock cylinder.

Baby's steering wheel is stock with an aftermarket vinyl wrap cover. The correct center horn button for the Impala has a chrome outer ring, gold center ring, and silver inner circle with the Impala logo. Sometimes, such as in 11.04, it’s shown with a Caprice horn.

While the '67 Impala was available as a manual, Baby is an automatic (so no "shifting gears"). Its gear shift/PRNDL is mounted onto the right side of the steering column rather than in the center of the footwell. The indicator (reading "Park RNDL") is mounted at the base of the steering column, below the instrument cluster. To shift from Park to Drive, push down on the brakes then pull the shift lever towards you and pull it down three notches. Press down on the brakes then pull towards you and push up to go from Drive to Neutral (one notch), Reverse (two notches), and back to Park (three notches). To shift from Drive to Low, pull the lever towards you again and pull it down one notch.

For anyone who has not driven a car with a shift lever like this, I can only describe it as feeling alarmingly similar to an old-school lawn mower. Whenever Dean is made to drive another car, he might instinctively reach behind the wheel for the gearshift and find it's not there. Someone used to cars with a center console gear shift might do the same while driving Baby, just reaching for the space below the radio instead.

Also on the steering column are a hazard lights button below the gearshift and a turning signal lever on the left. To turn on the flashing hazard lights, push in the button and pull it back out to turn them off. Lift the turn signal lever to signal right and lower it for the left. Using light pressure causes the blinker to turn off and return to neutral when you release it. Pushing the lever all the way into one position or the other leaves the turn signal on until you turn the wheel back to neutral or manually move the lever.

On either side of the steering column, below the instrument cluster, are four knobs. From left to right, these are for the lights, wipers and washer fluid, the ignition, and a cigarette lighter.

All of the lights on the Impala are controlled by a single light switch knob (below, left). This knob has three different positions: pushed in, pulled out to the first click, and pulled all the way out to the third click. When the knob is pushed in, all lights in the car are off. Pulling the knob out to the first click turns on the parking lights. Pulling all the way out to the second click turns on the low beam (your "normal" brightness). While the knob is pulled out to either the first or second click, turn the knob to adjust the instrument and tail lights for driving in the dark.

The windshield wipers knob is to the right of the light switch. To turn on the wipers, twist the knob clockwise. The first notch is "low" and all the way to the right is "high." Press the knob once to dispense a measured amount of washer fluid or hold it down to keep dispensing until you let go. Pressing the washer button simultaneously turns the knob, so you'll need to turn the wipers back off after.

The ignition key switch is just to the right of the steering column. Once it's inserted, turn the key to the left while pushing in to turn on just the accessories like lights and the radio. To start the car, push down the brake pedal and turn it all the way to the right. As soon as the engine starts up, let go of the key. You don't need to have your foot on the brakes to start the engine. Once it's running, you can press the gas pedal to help prime the carburetor with an additional shot of fuel. Don't pump the gas pedal or you risk flooding the engine.

People born after 2000 might be unfamiliar with how to use a car's lighter. The knob is part of a removable piece, about two inches long. First, push the button in and hold it to heat it. After a few seconds, pull the whole piece out. Yes, it can easily get lost. Touch whatever you wish to burn to the glowing orange heating element inside the cylinder. The removable piece is what gets hot, not the plug. This is also where you plug in things like car chargers or Sam's iPod jack.

A recessed instrument cluster sits behind the wheel. The panel consists of three main displays with the left and right sides each having two smaller displays. From left to right, the three main displays are the fuel gauge, the speedometer, and an analog clock.

The fuel gauge does not default back to "E" when the engine is off and instead may land randomly somewhere on the dial. The speedometer has a listed top speed of 120 and also features the high beam indicator light as well as the mileage. The analog clock is set by pulling out the knob at the bottom of the clock, turning to set the correct time, and pushing the knob back in.

Of the smaller displays, the upper two are the left and right turn signal lights. The bottom left are the brake system warning light and the engine temperature light. The brake warning light lights up red when the parking brake is applied or while the brake pedal is pressed if there is low brake pressure. The engine temperature light comes on if the engine overheats. On the bottom right are the oil pressure light and the generator indicator light. The oil light comes on if the oil pressure is low, and the generator light comes on if there is an issue with the generating system. All four of these lights come on when starting the car, but should quickly go back out.

The air conditioning and vents are where a few more discrepancies between screen-used cars show up. The 1967 Impala came with several different heat and air options: nothing, a heater only, an optional AC unit mounted under the dash, a Four Seasons air conditioning system, or a fancy climate-controlled option.

Baby has the Four Seasons system, but many of the cars used for filming were not. Only the Impalas with the Four Seasons or the climate control came with the center dashboard vent and the circular air vents near the doors. For visual continuity on the show, production added fake vents to non-AC cars. What gives these cars away as being non-AC cars, however, is that these cars have kick panel air vents and two mounted silver knobs that control them. As a Four Seasons car, Baby should not have these vents or knobs but ultimately does on occasion.

The center dash vent is able to be adjusted up and down by the ridged wheels on the sides. The spherical vents are a ball style and can be turned to position them or spun like a globe to change the style of the vent opening (see below). Two leg vents are hidden underneath the dash and can be opened or closed by turning the outlet like a dial. So if Dean wanted cold air blown on his legs but not on his face while Sam wanted cold air on his legs but not his face, both brothers could open or close their own vents.

The vertical switch on the left of the AC control panel controls the fan. Up is low, the middle is medium, and down is high. There is no way to turn it off unless the entire system is off. To turn the entire system off, push the topmost horizontal lever all the way to the left. Turning this lever to "Vent" blows outside air without changing the temperature. Moving to "Cold" blows cold recirculated air, moving further right blows cooled outside air, warmer outside air, and then full heat.

The outlets lever controls airflow to the vents mentioned previously. Moving the lever to "Upper" sends air through the dash vents only, moving to "Lower" sends air to the hidden leg vents only, and setting it in between sends air through both.

To use the defrost to clear up foggy windows, make sure the outlets lever is set to "Lower" or somewhere in the middle then move the bottommost lever towards "De-Ice" until it's blowing as hard as you want. To really crank the defrost or for ice, set the outlets to "Lower" only then blast the fan and push the temperature all the way to "Hot."

Dean's tape deck is an Audiovox Rampage AV 2000 from the 1990s. The '67 Impala came standard with either an AM or AM/FM transistor radio. The AM had a rear adjustable antenna, but the fixed AM/FM antenna was on the front. Looking at Baby, we can gather that it originally had the AM/FM radio. To switch between AM and FM, you would slide the switch at the top of the radio. The push buttons could be used to set favorite stations. Note that Dean's tape deck does not have this feature, so he would have to memorize his favorite stations in certain regions or just search until he finds something.

The original radio was switched out at some point for the Audiovox, either by John or Dean. The knob on the left turns it on and controls the volume, and the knob on the left is tuning. The button on the top left switches between AM/FM, the button on the top right lets you switch between local and longer-distance stations, and the bottom button is both the eject and fast-forward Press in part-way to fast forward and all the way to eject. There is no rewind button. To rewind, flip the tape over, fast forward, then flip it back around.

Fun fact: The shot in 11.04 of Dean putting in the tape is re-used from 5.22, so both “Night Moves” and “Rock of Ages” are on Dean’s Kick It In The Ass mixtape.

Two aftermarket Hertz speakers are mounted in the rear package tray (though a different speaker can be seen in 4.06). Underneath the tray’s black carpet is where Sam and Dean carved their initials as children. The rear footwell is nearly flush with the rear bench, meaning there is no “underneath the backseat”. There is room, however, underneath the front bench for things to get lost. The rear footwell also has a tan rubber floor mat, and the one seen in 11.04 is one single piece rather than two.

Unlike the ones in the front seat, the rear door armrests each have a lidded ashtray. The rear doors each have a door lock button and a main window crank like the front seat doors. There are no air vents in the backseat, so the AC would need to be cranked to reach anyone back there, potentially freezing anyone up front in the process.

Some of the most important things inside of the Impala are the little personal touches it's accumulated over the years. There's the tape deck, of course, but also the initials carved into the package tray, the Lego bricks in the air vent, and Sam's plastic rifleman wedged in the ashtray. These elements are first seen in 5.22 where Chuck mentions that Dean puts them back every time he's had to rebuild the Impala. Seeing the army man through the window in 5.22 is also what allows Sam to take control of his body back from Lucifer, so both brothers are well aware that Baby's supposed "defects" actually make her even better.

#my guides #art refs #car talk #baby #1967 impala

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love-and-deepspace-wiki · 2 months ago

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Random Facts: Caleb

Home Tour, Part 4:

This is the aspect of the house that confuses me the most. But without further ado, let's talk bedrooms~ We know the house has more than two bedrooms because, when the protagonist first visits his house, Caleb tells her to "pick a bedroom" to sleep in. And this statement wouldn't make sense if the house only had a master bedroom and a guest bedroom.

Throughout the main story and Caleb's memory stories, we are shown four distinct bedroom depictions. To avoid confusion, I've listed them in order of appearance and given them the following nicknames:

The "Gray Bedroom"

The "Cinematic Bedroom"

The "Pink Bedroom"

Caleb's "Hidden Waves" Bedroom

Each of their theorized floorplans will be included at the end of this post.

The "Gray Bedroom":

When the protagonist first visits his home, Caleb tells her to choose a bedroom to sleep in. She mentions navigating through several doorways before finding/selecting a bedroom, which Caleb identifies as his own. Since the "Gray Bedroom" is the first bedroom depicted ("Homecoming Wings: Vanishing Skyward: Heart's Crossing"), I assume this is supposed to be Caleb's bedroom?

On the right side of the room (left) is a desk, a dark table with shelves above it, and a floor-to-ceiling window. At the left side of the image is a partial wall. Since this bedroom seems to have the same floorplan as the "Pink Bedroom", this is likely where the closet is located.

Unique features of this bedroom include:

A modern chandelier-like light fixture above the bed

A black, half-sphere-shaped lamp extending from the wall.

Bedding in a gray, brown, and navy colorway.

A thin seat at the foot of the bed, spanning the full width of the bed

A squared, brown bedside table

Interestingly, the window reflection of the light fixture does not match what is shown in the room. Despite this room having the chandelier-style light fixture, the reflection (top right) shows the wireframe-style light fixture seen only in the "Pink Bedroom" (bottom right).

The "Cinematic Bedroom":

This bedroom is the second depiction shown in the main story ("Homecoming Wings: Vanishing Skyward: Heart's Crossing"). It is shown during a cinematic scene at the end of this chapter, when Caleb sits on the bed observing a sleeping protagonist. This floorplan differs from both the "Gray Bedroom" and the "Pink Bedroom". When Caleb first enters the room, we briefly see the bedroom doorway, a large potted plant, a couch, and a small table (left). Later on, as he leaves the room, we get an even better glimpse of the doorway (right).

We're also shown the side of the room opposite the couch. There, we see a large floor-to-ceiling window, a bedside table (with a bookshelf), a bed, and the edge of another table to the left of the bed (topped with an alarm clock). Based on all of these details, I've constructed the theorized floorplan for this bedroom below.

The "Pink Bedroom":

The "Pink Bedroom" (left) is the third bedroom depicted in the main story ("Homecoming Wings: Night Unending: Awakening" and "Homecoming Wings: Night Unending: Annihilation"). The story never mentions the protagonist switching to another bedroom, though. So I'm unsure if this is a redecorated "Gray Bedroom" (and still Caleb's room?) or a new one entirely. But, thanks to an evening panning shot of this room, we can see the tiniest sliver of a closet on the left side of the room (right).

This room appears to follow the same floorplan as the "Gray Bedroom". But the dark table on the right side of the image is now white and the shelves above it have been removed. On the left side of the image, the mirror has been replaced with additional shelves.

Unique features of this bedroom include:

The previously mentioned wireframe-style light fixture above the bed

A conical white lamp extending from the wall.

Bedding in a gray, pink, and burgundy colorway.

A thin seat at the foot of the bed, spanning about 3/4 the width of the bed

A rounded, silver bedside table

Caleb's "Hidden Waves" Bedroom:

Lastly, the fourth bedroom depicted in-game is shown in Caleb's "Hidden Waves" memory story. Despite this room having an entirely different floorplan compared to previous rooms, it is also said to be Caleb's bedroom?

(Infold, pls confirm. Did Caleb fr buy a four bedroom house and then call dibs on EVERY SINGLE ROOM? Pls make this canon rofl)

The still shot gave me the most complete view (left). But the cinematic portion of the story does give a very blurry look at the right side of the room. All I could make out was a table, a lamp, and a doorway (right).

Theorized Floorplans:

Based on all of the info covered above, here are my theorized floorplans for each bedroom.

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace skyhaven #lads skyhaven #random facts caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb

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msmk11 · 1 year ago

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Congratulations: You Like James Potter

James Potter x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

CW: Idiots in love, kissing, unbearable fluff

Summary: Clothes are a game changer when it comes to feelings. Who would've thought?

A/n: Happy Wednesday everyone! I hope you are having a lovely week. Currently I am in the midst of finals week, so I am stressing! That's why I pulled this out of my drive instead of writing something new. I hope you enjoy my loves :)

The cold stone of the dorm seeps through your socks as you pace back and forth across the width of the room. Although you love Hogwarts, winters are never kind inside a large castle with no insulation.

Usually when this happens, you go roast in front of the fire or take a long, hot shower. However, seeing that you have plans to go to the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game in ten minutes with Lily, Dorcas, Remus, and Peter, those options are out of the question. You go and stand in front of your chest again, looking at the various sweaters and sweatshirts packed for the colder weather. Despite having so many options, none look warm enough, or let’s be honest, cute enough, to wear to the game today. As you stare at your trunk with a sigh, you hear the door to your room open behind you.

“Are you almost ready to go?” You hear Lily ask.

You turn to her with a glum look on your face, “Not yet. I don’t know what to wear!”

She comes to stand beside you, “Babe, wear one of the many sweatshirts you have sitting in your trunk.”

“But none of them feel right!” You whine.

“Then take something from one of our trunks,” she suggests.

“I already looked.” You say, collapsing onto my bed.

“Well you better figure it out in the next five minutes. If not, we’re leaving without you.”

“I know, I know. I promise I’ll make a decision.”

You hear her leave the room as the door thuds behind her.

As you lay on your soft bed, engulfed by your comforter, you wish you could just wear it outside to the pitch. Dreaming about such a reality where that could actually happen, you realize that although you can’t carry your comforter around, you can think of something that is likely just as comfortable. One of Remus’ sweaters. You throw your shoes on and barrel down the stairs into the common area. You see your friends waiting for you.

“Are you finally ready?” Lily asks again.

“No, but go on without me. I finally figured out what I want to wear but I’ll meet you guys there,” you reply.

“Okay, we’ll save you a seat,” She says.

Once they’re out of the room, you take two steps at a time up to Remus’ room that he shares with Sirius, James, and Peter. You walk to the far right corner where his stuff is and open the trunk. The angels seem to sing from above as you feast your eyes upon the millions of big, wooly sweaters sitting before you. You see a nice brown one, something that will go perfectly with your blue jeans, and pull it on. You are instantly engulfed by the warmness and sigh with relief. You go and stand in front of the full length mirror against the wall. As you check your appearance and smooth out your hair, you see a flash of red out of the corner of your eye. The flash of red turns out to be none other than one of James Potter’s many quidditch jumpers. Slightly curious, you take the sweater off and put on the sweatshirt. You are pleasantly surprised to find that it is somehow even more comfortable than Moony’s sweater. Plus, it’s perfect to wear to the quidditch game. You go to stand in front of the mirror again and are taken aback slightly by how nicely the red pops against your skin. Satisfied with your appearance, and also feeling incredibly cozy, you rush down to the quidditch pitch, a few minutes before the game starts. You find Lily, Dorcas, Remus, and Peter in the crowd.

“Hey,” you huff, as you sit down next to Remus.

“Hey, see you finally found something to wear,” he replies.

“Only took her a million years,” Peter teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” you retort, swatting him on the back of the head.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want to wear any of our stuff?” Lily asks.

“I’m not?” you answer, confused.

“But isn’t that Marlene’s sweatshirt?”

“No, that’s what I’m wearing” Dorcas says, unzipping her black winter coat to reveal her girlfriend’s hoodie.

“Then whose is that?” Lily questions.

Before you can answer, the crowd starts cheering as both teams walk out onto the pitch. Madam Hooch’s voice bellows outward as she asks the captains to shake hands. From the Gryffindor team, James steps forward, and from Slytherin, Lucius Malfoy. The two shake hands then return to their respective teams. They kick off from the ground as the quaffle is thrown into the air and the game begins. Although you’ve seen plenty of quidditch games in your time at Hogwarts, you never cease to be amazed at the agility with which James and Marlene are able to move on their brooms and toss the quaffle between them. Likewise, you are always impressed by Sirius’ strength as a beater and his ability to aim the bludgers at other players perfectly. Within minutes, Gryffindor is winning thirty to ten. The lion’s side of the stadium is screaming as James speeds down the field, heading towards the goal posts yet again. With a quick throw, he tosses the ball through the far left hoop, scoring the team another ten points. We all cheer loudly. He looks to our section and winks, blowing a kiss to his fans. From behind you hear a few sighs and giggles. You turn to see three girls in your year, two from Ravenclaw and one from Hufflepuff, swooning over James’ flirtations. You slightly roll your eyes and huff fondly at James’ fan club.

Your staring must not have been too discreet because a few moments later, you hear loud whispers from behind.

“And why is she wearing his sweatshirt?”

“They’re not dating are they?”

“They better not, James is mine.”

“Anyways, he could do so much better than her.”

“Yeah, she’s so ugly.”

Confused as to how they know you’re wearing James’ hoodie, you pull on the sleeve, shifting it so you can look at the back. In big, gold letters you see the word “Potter” printed across.

You simply sigh before getting up and moving down next to Lily on the other end.

Just as soon as you get settled, Lily turns and says to me, “Wait, turn around. Why are you wearing Potter’s sweatshirt?”

“Merlin, does everyone have a problem with it?” you ask loudly.

Dorcas, Peter, and Remus all look your way in slight surprise.

“No, sorry. I was just wondering.” Lily answers softly.

Dorcas grabs my hand, “hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah m’fine. It’s just that those three girls,” you point to them, “are bitching about the fact that I’m wearing James’ jersey. Apparently, he’s their man, so how dare I.”

“Just ignore them,” Peter tells me. “They’re just jealous that-”

He suddenly stops, a slightly horrified look on his face.

“Jealous about what?” you implore.

“That they’re not as cool as you!” Remus interjects.

Curious as to what Peter was going to say, but too tired to bother to ask more you simply scoff, “Right, thanks guys.”

“You know what, the cold be damned, since they’re giving you shit for wearing Potter’s hoodie, I’m gonna show mine off too.” Dorcas announces. She unzips her black jacket and sets it beside her. The bright red hoodie she has on is identical to the one I’m wearing except it says “McKinnon” in big gold letters across the back.

“Me too” Remus proudly declares, pulling off his sweater to reveal another bright red hoodie, with the word “Black” on it.

“But since you are both dating Sirius and Marlene, won’t it make it seem more likely that I’m dating James?” you ask.

“Is that so bad?” Lily says to me.

You’re about to declare that yes, that is in fact bad, when it dawns on you, “N-no… I guess not.”

You turn back to the game, slightly in a daze, unaware of the pointed looks shared amongst your friends.

*****

About an hour later, the game is uncomfortably close with the score being Gryffindor: one hundred and Slytherin: ninety. As you watch Marlene dart towards the hoops you hear shouts that the seekers have caught sight of the snitch. It’s a close race as flashes of green and red blur by. We cheer loudly, urging on our team. Within a minute the snitch is caught by Gryffindor. We erupt loudly, celebrating our victory. You watch as the teams land on the ground. More specifically, you watch as James jumps off his broom and runs towards his teammates. You watch the way his black hair shines against the bright sun, how his cheeks are rosy from the cold but also from the rush of winning, how even through his sweater, you can see the definition of his muscles as he lifts the seeker into the air. You begin to realize that maybe the reason you didn’t find it so bad that people thought you were James’ girlfriend was because…

Merlin. You have feelings for James.

The world seems to go quiet for a moment, and there’s a sort of ringing in your ears, at the realization.

“Hey! Are you coming?” Lily asks.

You look up from your spot to see that Remus, Dorcas and Peter have disappeared down into the crowd surrounding the team and that Lily is near the edge of the bleachers, waiting to go join them.

You shake your head, “Yeah, sorry.”

You get up and follow behind her, feeling a little queasy at the thought of seeing James up close.

The crowd is wild as people scream congratulations at the team and hug their friends. In the middle you see James, Sirius and Marlene beaming as they eat up the attention. Marlene has her arm around Dorcas’ waist, unafraid to show off the girl she loves. Though Sirius is a loud person, he is a quiet lover and merely grips Remus’ hand beneath his sweatshirt while he talks to others.

Lily grabs your hand and drags you towards the rest of your friends, “come on, you really are slow today.”

“W-wait Lily, no I,” but before you can resist, you’ve approached the rest of the group. Too afraid to face James first you turn and engulf Sirius in a hug, “nice work today Black! I just love to see Slytherin eat shit.”

Sirius gives you a huge grin, “what can I say, it’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

You then turn to Marlene and squeal, “Marls! You killed it out there. You and James were just so fast, I don’t know how you do it!”

“Natural talent” she brags.

You laugh and begin to turn away when you bump right into someone’s chest. They grab your shoulders, “woah there, careful.”

You look up to see James towering above you.

“Hey, Potter” you say, your voice softening.

“Hey, darling. Enjoy the game?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

His smile, it makes your heart melt. And the term of endearment, one he has always used, suddenly makes you flustered. You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. You look down at the turf to avoid his noticing and dig your shoe into the ground, “yeah, it was great! You guys did great!”

To your relief, the crowd starts to disperse and the team starts to walk towards the locker rooms.

“Well, uh, see you in a bit. At the party sometime I suppose.” You tell him, before walking off towards the castle.

“Yeah, see ya.” He says quietly.

You only make it a few steps before you hear him call your name. Your heart beats a little faster as you turn back towards him, “Is that my sweatshirt?”

You cringe inwardly as you walk back towards him, “Oh, yeah, sorry. I should’ve asked. I was just cold and nothing in my closet looked appealing. I’ll go put it right back when I get back to the tower.”

“No, don’t. It looks good on you.” He answers.

You feel butterflies in your stomach, “oh, okay. Thanks. And really, nice job today.”

You turn back around and run to catch up to your friends.

*****

When we get back to the castle you immediately go up to your room and collapse onto your bed. All of these new emotions leave you feeling confused, nervous, and exhausted. You decide that maybe you shouldn’t go to the party and should instead just sleep away your racing thoughts…. Suddenly, you feel two plops down next to you onto your bed.

“What are you guys doing?” You mumble.

“We’ll explain when Marlene gets back.” Dorcas responds.

Not even a few minutes later, the door opens and Marlene comes in, throwing herself on the bed.

“Right, I’m here,” she says, out of breath.

“Did you run here?” Lily asks.

“Of course! We have very important business to attend to.”

“We told you to be discreet!” Dorcas scolds.

“I just told James it was a fashion emergency!” Marlene protests.

You lift your head up to look at your three roommates, “what are you lot talking about?”

They share a look amongst each other and suddenly sit up very seriously.

Lily pulls you up into a sitting position as well.

“Shall I start?” Marlene questions.

The two nod their heads, “Right. Well, congratulations, you have feelings for James Potter!”

Your heart drops, “What? No I don’t. What are you talking about?”

“Ah yes, denial,” Dorcas says smartly.

“We were expecting this,” Lily adds.

“I’m sorry, you were expecting this?”

“Yes. It’s been very clear to all of us that you have feelings for James. We just didn’t know how long it would take you to realize. It seems today is the day.”

“B-but, how? I’ve never once thought about James as anything besides my friend until now.”

“She admits it!” Marlene cheers.

Dorcas glares at her slightly, “It’s okay, love. Sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us. That’s what happened to me with Marlene, remember?”

You think back to how the two used to interact before they were dating. They were always close and very touchy. You often caught Marlene looking longingly after Dorcas and remember Dorcas always being jealous of Marlene’s other girlfriends.

“But you two were so obvious!” You proclaim.

“So are you and James,” Lily tells me kindly.

“Does that mean he knows?” You nearly shriek.

Marlene takes your hand lovingly, “No, of course not. James is a lot of things, but observant is not one of them.”

You let out a sigh of relief. But then a wave of panic brushes over you, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t even act normal around him now that I know. I just feel all sweaty and nervous!”

“Just be yourself. He already likes you for you.” Dorcas says warmly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Honey, when have you ever known James Potter to be subtle about anything? He’s always trying to do everything to get your attention. You just aren’t always paying attention.”

You huff and fall back onto your bed, “Merlin, I hate feelings. I wish things could just go back to the way things were.”

Lily grabs your arm and pulls you back up, “well, seeing as things can’t, let’s make the most of it.”

You give her a questioning look.

“The reason Marlene rushed back up here so fast is because we knew you would need all three of us helping you once you realized your feelings.”

“Yeah, no offense, you’re a bit hopeless when it comes to dating.” Marlene says bluntly.

You smack her arm, “that’s not helpful.”

“Everything will be fine” Dorcas tells you, “now let’s get you dressed for the party. You have a certain Mr. Potter to impress.”

*****

An hour later, the four of you are dressed and ready to go. Your friends have put quite the ensemble together, dressing you in a red, cropped sweater with a pair of dark blue mom jeans that supposedly “make your ass look amazing” (according to Marlene) and gold jewelry. After you told them that James said you looked good in his sweatshirt, they decided that your outfit needed to remind him of it (hence the gold and red). Lily is wearing an adorable green sweater dress with brown boots and her hair is pulled back with a clip. Marlene has on black leather pants and a long sleeve, pink, sheer shirt with only her nipples covered. Dorcas is wearing a blue crop top with an open back, black jeans, and combat boots.

“Guys, we look hot.” Lily announces.

“Hell yeah we do,” Marlene agrees.

“I’m sure Mary will love it,” Dorcas teases.

Lily blushes a bright scarlett, “you really think?”

“Absolutely. You look killer, babe.” You tell her.

“You too, Mrs. Potter,” she says, winking.

You roll your eyes at her before taking a deep breath and staring in the mirror one last time, “right, let’s get this over with.”

“Oh yes, let’s get through this terrible party.” Marlene jokes.

We walk down into the common room where music is blaring and people are spread about talking, laughing, and dancing. As we weave through the crowd of people, Dorcas and Marlene are pulled into a conversation with a Ravenclaw friend from potions class. Lily soon leaves you too, after checking that you are okay, to go and flirt with Mary.

Trying to calm your nerves, you grab a bottle of firewhiskey and plop yourself down onto one of the red couches pushed out of the way.

“Did your fashion emergency get solved?”

You jump a mile at the voice coming from behind. You turn to see James leaning over the couch, smirking.

“The what?” You stutter out.

“Marlene said there was a fashion emergency? Was it solved?”

“Oh! Right. Uh, yeah. Lily had simply no idea what to wear to the party. And that’s very important, you see, because she’s trying to impress Mary.”

He leans closer to me, “I think it's working.”

The smell of his cologne wafts to your nose. You can barely breathe as you turn to look to where he’s pointing.

Despite your anxiousness, you can’t help but smile proudly as you see Lily kissing Mary.

You cough awkwardly, “clothes can be a game changer.”

He looks at you intensely, “yeah they can.”

You think about his sweatshirt from earlier. How he liked it, how it made you feel all safe and cozy, how it made you realize your feelings for him.

“You know, speaking of clothes. I need to give you your sweatshirt back, now that I’m done wearing it.”

“I told you you could hang on to it,” he insists.

“But you’ll want to have it for your future partner.” You say quietly.

“What?” He asks you.

You clear your throat, “oh uh, earlier, when I was wearing your sweatshirt, some girls thought I was your girlfriend, because I guess that’s a thing a boyfriend would do- let them wear his clothes. So, of course, you need to have it so you can give it to your actual partner… when you get one. You know, they seemed pretty interested in you, I’m sure I can point them out if you’re interested. They’re pretty too, so…”

You look up at James to see a pained look on his face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

His voice sounds strained as he says, “yeah. I’ll just go take that sweatshirt off your hands then.”

A lump forms in your throat as you nod.

It seems pretty clear to you that James doesn’t like you.

We walk through the crowd and up to your doom. The door shuts behind us and James stays near the doorway as you go to grab his hoodie from the edge of your bed where you put it, neatly folded. You turn to give it to him but his hands remain at his sides.

“James, your hoodie?”

“Was it really that unbearable for you, for people to think that you’re my girlfriend, that you refuse to hang onto it?”

“James, what?”

“Look, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but I just can’t help it. I want people to think you’re my girlfriend. Because, I like you. I do. And I’m sorry, I know this ruins things, and I know you don’t feel the same, but I can’t keep hiding it any longer.”

You drop the sweatshirt and walk towards James quickly.

“You mean it?”

He nods.

Slowly, you reach your hand out and cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his jawline, studying every feature of his face from his hazel eyes, to the slight smile lines around his mouth, and the soft pink of his lips.

“James, I feel the exact same way about you. It took me a bit longer to realize than you, but I do. I really care about you.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that” he tells me.

Suddenly, he turns you around and pushes you up against the stone wall, “can I kiss you?”

You nod before he catches your lips between his. He tastes like chapstick and mint gum and it’s simply perfect.

You tangle your hands in his already tangled black hair as he grips his hands on your waist.

Eventually, we pull away.

“Maybe we should go back down to the party. People might be wondering where their star player is.” You tease.

“I’ll only agree if you put that hoodie back on. I want to show you off.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, “fine, but turn around.”

He turns around while you change out of your sweater back into his sweatshirt.

“Okay, you’re good to look now.”

He turns around with a huge grin on his face, “my don’t you just look ravishing, darling. I declare you shall never wear anything but my clothes ever again.”

You walk forward and pull him into a hug, “fine by me. I’ve never been more comfortable in my entire life.”

He goes to pull you in for another kiss but you stop him, “later,” you whisper in his ear, winking.

You giddily turn around and quickly escape the room. He chases after you.

Before we enter the common room, you grab his hand tightly. He squeezes it back. As we walk towards our friends, you feel some people staring at the two of you. When we approach Remus, Sirius, Peter, Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene they are beaming like idiots.

“Soooooo…. You two, huh?” Sirius smirks suggestively.

James shoves him slightly, yet still has a goofy grin on his face, “piss off.”

“I’m just glad we don’t have to watch them pine over each other anymore” Peter says, relieved.

“No, but now we have to watch them be all lovey dovey,” complains Lily.

“As if we didn’t just see you getting it on with Mary,” you retort.

“Touché.”

“Wait, so are you two… official?” Dorcas enquires.

We look at each other. “I guess we didn’t officially establish that.” You answer.

“Hold on,” James says to you, letting go of your hand.

He jumps up onto the table, “excuse me, may I have everyone’s attention.”

The room quiets as they all turn to look at him.

“Oh no,” you sigh.

“I have a question to ask a very special someone and I want you all here to witness it!” He turns to you with a huge smile on his face, “darling, sweetheart, apple of my eye, will you go out with me?”

You feel the eyes of dozens of people on you. You even feel the glare of many girls you know would kill to be you right now. Yet even then, nothing can bother you. Because when looking at James, you see nothing else.

“Yes! I’ll go out with you James!” You respond, giggling. He jumps off the table and pulls you in for a kiss. The room cheers loudly.

Safe to say we were the talk of the school for a week.

#marauders fanfiction #james potter x you #marauders fandom #james potter x reader #james potter fluff

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muddyorbsblr · 2 years ago

Text

remote consults behind enemy lines [kinktober 2023: formal wear…and role play(?)]

See the full Kinktober 2023 Collection here! 'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!

Placement: 2020, during the filming of Loki Season 1

Summary: You casually reveal that you consulted on costume design for another supersuit, leading to an unexpected reaction from your boyfriend

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, don't u dare even try me); kinda public sex; unprotected p in v; role play; clothed sex; language [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship; Reader's wearing a dress; Tom's wearing Loki's coronation armor; mango namedrop (i couldn't resist 🤣)

This was absolute torture in the most devilishly delicious way. Sitting in front of the monitor and watching your boyfriend acting out a scene wherein Loki was about to step in to the role of Crown Prince of Asgard because Thor had "gone missing" due to one of the god's shenanigans turning his brother into a literal frog, wearing the very costume that had the internet running amok with how it made certain parts of him so prominently shaped that Marvel's considerably lower budget back then had to make room for extra editing to keep the final cut family friendly.

You never thought the day would come that you would see him in that costume just mere feet away from you. And to have him take on that majestic stance with his feet shoulder width apart and arms outstretched as he basked in the applause and praise that the people of Asgard were showering him with?

"Fucking end me," you muttered as soon as Kate yelled for them to cut the cameras.

"Okay now I get why they needed the extra CGI budget for that bulge fucking Christ on a crutch," Bryan commented, lightly nudging at your shoulder to snap you out and stop you from shamelessly staring. "Why madam, should I go get you a paper towel or something for that bit of drool at the corner of your mouth?"

"Better get one for yourself as well, Bry. Now stop ogling my boyfriend before I get tempted to check if those prop daggers have any stab in them."

He gave you a playful scandalized look before walking away, making a big show of wiping his sleeve at the corner of his mouth to get a laugh out of you.

You turned back to face the monitor, only to have your face inches away from the 'fabled mango' that had a rather large corner of the internet in absolute shambles whenever a picture would be released that had it in plain view. Your eyes traveled upwards until they met with Tom's ocean blue ones, your boyfriend greeting you with a wide smile and a wicked gleam in his eyes that he was barely trying to keep contained.

"I suggest you take a step back unless you're fully prepared to give all our colleagues a show," you warned him, starting to mirror the expression on his face.

"But this is such an enticing view, sweetheart, why would I want to give it up?" he shot back, fingertips lightly tracing along your jawline. "And I highly doubt that you're fully prepared to give our colleagues a show."

You only responded to him by slowly running your tongue across the top row of your teeth. "Are you sure about that, sweetie?" That made him take a step back, causing you to break out into a wide grin and scrunching your nose at him. "So how's the costume feel?" you asked him while you two walked toward his trailer.

"Surprised it still fits, if I'm being honest," he answered you with a slight laugh. "Actually it might…fit a little better than it did a decade ago."

"Ooh, good you're still here." You both gave Kate a small wave as she jogged up to you. "I was about to tell you to make your way to Costuming to see if you needed any adjustments. Looks like you read my mind." She gave a quick look at your now joint hands, Tom hooking his finger around one of yours. "Y/N, I'm sure you can handle any adjustments he'll need so you two can go and work on that while we're setting up for the shot with the prop frog. And in case you two wanna say hi, Chris will be here today to record his lines as Frog Thor."

As if on cue, you heard a booming voice from several yards away. "Hi, Brother! Hi, tiny terror! Am I gonna be an uncle yet??"

"Not yet, Chris!" you both hollered back at him, making the Australian wave his hand in a jokingly dismissive manner at you before stepping in to the ADR area.

"There is something new about this costume now that I quite like," Tom spoke up again when you were just outside his trailer. "When I first had it, the inner layer under the metalwork used to be just one piece, like a bodysuit. Made it a whole affair just to go to the bathroom. Now it's a shirt and trousers setup and has a suspender mechanism worked into the metal to secure the bottom half in place. Made my day much easier."

"Well you're very welcome, sweetie," you responded absentmindedly, closing the trailer door.

"This was your work, goddess?"

"Uhm...yeah. I did some remote consultation last year for another superhero costume. The actor's main concern was how he'd pee while wearing the thing, so I drew up some sketches, made his suit a bit modular. But it was gonna be a conflict of interest if they got me for costume design considering my involvement with Marvel, so we minimized my work to justify not including my name in the credits."

You let out a tiny yelp feeling him walk behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as his nose traced a line from your collarbone to your ear. "Hmm…conflict of interest? So DC, then?" he rasped, nipping at your earlobe.

"Uh huh," you answered him breathlessly, leaning in to his embrace. "What I learned making the sketches for the Batsuit, I adapted into the adjustments for your costumes."

Something in the air shifted once the words left your mouth. His hold on you shifted into what almost felt…possessive. "Precious little mortal." The growl in his voice had you growing weaker in his arms. "Consulting behind enemy lines. For the man that I knew for a fact once held your attention so…fervently."

"Why sweetie, are you--Are you jealous? It was a college crush, and a light one at that." You turned in his arms to pull him into a quick kiss that quickly became heated, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs to lift you off your feet and press you against the wall of his trailer's tight entryway.

"It should matter not, so long as you remember that you are mine," he murmured against your lips, securing your body against the wall before moving to undo the suspenders under the metal armor by his hips. "Do you know what I particularly enjoy about your modifications, sweet Y/N?"

You shook your head at him, feeling your arousal pooling between your legs as he smirked at you, hearing the snap of the suspenders from underneath the armor coming off.

"Ease of access," he said simply, shuffling his pants down his thighs and freeing his quickly hardening length. His smirk widened into a devilish grin when he slipped his hand between your legs to find nearly drenched panties. "So gloriously eager…" he teased, moving the fabric to the side.

A high-pitched moan slipped from your lips when he eased his way into you, inch by torturous inch, in shallow thrusts. "Tom, sweetie I--"

"Thomas isn't here right now, pet."

Oh God. Oh fuck. "Loki?!"

"Such a clever little mortal," he grunted, starting to move in shallow thrusts, the tip of his cock easily brushing against a spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars especially from this angle. "Tell me you're mine." He let out a staggered breath, groaning into the crook of your neck as your warmth surrounded him. "T-Tell me who this gloriously tight p-perfect little quim belongs to."

"Y-You--oh f-fuck!" you told him shakily. "I belong to you. I'm yours, I'm all yours."

Obscene moans bounced off the walls of his trailer as he bit and sucked at your neck, working his hand between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. "Louder, darling. Say my name. Scream it. Let everyone who dares listen know that only I may claim you like this."

Your body started to shake with how hard your climax hit you, your walls fluttering and clenching around him while you let out a guttural scream of "LOKI!" that might've scratched your throat halfway raw. Before you could say it again, he slanted his mouth over yours, muffling both your screams in a heated kiss that felt rife with desperation as you felt his release starting to fill you, his hips jerking in a staggered rhythm.

It barely crossed your mind that this might get you into a heaping pile of trouble. That you might have just put your job at stake for a quickie with your boyfriend. He broke the kiss with a slight gasp, kissing a path from your cheek down to your neck while you both took deep breaths coming down from your high.

When you heard his breaths grow softer you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and upper back, lightly stroking his hair before you tried to talk, the intensity of the last few minutes still having you struggling to form any coherent words. "Tom?"

You felt a slight wave of relief when he answered you softly. "Yes, goddess?"

"Look at me, sweetie." You pressed a soft kiss to his temple before he pulled away from your neck, nearly blacked out eyes meeting your own. "I love you. Only you." Your hands went to frame his face, thumbs tracing along the lines of his cheekbones. "I don't think I'll ever…No one else could ever--"

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in to cut you off with a kiss, the rest of the words you struggled to say dying off with a whimper at the back of your throat. You still couldn't find it in you to say them anyway. You're it for me. You're the last man I'm gonna love. There won't be an 'after you'.

"You know that, right?" you murmured against his lips, settling for those words instead.

"I do." He quickly stole another kiss from you before continuing, "Some days it just gets to me. The thought that someday someone might--"

"That will never happen." You crossed your hands behind his neck, pulling him close enough that he could rest his forehead on yours. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you're kinda stuck with me, sweetie."

"I may want to get that in writing one of these days," he shot back, his hands lightly grasping your sides before he pressed your bodies even closer together, if such a feat were even possible. "And if anything, you're stuck with me. There's no version of my future that I could ever see that doesn't have you with me."

He started to move inside you again, leaving you no choice but to process his words later, his hips moving in long, slow thrusts that had you feeling every devastating inch of him. "Again?" you whimpered breathlessly.

"You should know me well enough by now, goddess," he whispered, a devilish smile gracing his features and searing an image so erotically charged into your memory. "Once is never enough."

That was the day you agreed that quickies would never be an option again moving forward.

A/N: Another Kinktober 2023 story in the bag! Wait hold on…if I knocked out two prompts in this (kinda sorta), does this mean I only have 2 more to go before I get my initial goal or are y'all gonna absolutely snipe me ded if I pull that technicality? 🤣

I know I said 'bath/shower' with Magnus was next but I parallel-wrote that with this and this one got the banging out first while the other still has me blocked because smut is just…it's not my strong suit okay--it takes me 5-7 business days to get it done 🥴 Currently parallel writing that and the Conrad piece for 'slow & soft' and the President Loki piece for 'fingering' all at the same time so only time will tell which one of them will go up next 🫡

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

kinktober 2023 taglist: @azula-karai-27

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #muddyorbs writes

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the-kr8tor · 10 months ago

Note

Little potion request for your anniversary too!<3 Cardamon for Hobie with❣️ for some playful, competitive wrestling please! I always love a good playful wrestling- so don't be afraid to add in a few nips into the potion too ~ Signed by: 🐦‍⬛

Oooohh yessss I love this 😈😈😈 Thank you for requesting! Here's your potion 🩷

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Fluff!

Katy's one year celebration! 🎉

“I'm going to bite you—!” Your warning falls on deaf ears as he tosses you on the bed. You giggle out, body bouncing up and down from the force.

Hobie stands above you, grinning widely, eyes full of mirth. “That's illegal y’know.”

“Biting?” You scoff, smiling through it all. He grabs the heavy blanket, bunching the fabric on his arms. “Since when are you an obedient citizen?”

“Wasn't talkin’ ‘bout laws and shit, love.” Flinging the fabric above you with finesse, it lands square on you, plunging you into darkness. Your laugh gets muffled by the cloth, he chuckles, thinking that you might get lonely being alone on the bed, so he puts his knee on the edge of the mattress and then plops himself over the blanket and above you. “I was talkin’ ‘bout wrestling rules!” You wiggle about, and he scoops you up in his arms, blanket and all.

“I can't breathe!” He sees right through your plans. “Wrestling rules? You don't even read our flat rules!” And he whispers something about hating landlords. Your laughs are still muffled by the barrier, palms trying to push him and to get some leverage with your legs. But alas, his hold on you is tightly sealing you under the covers. So you go test out another plan, you slither a hand away from under him, inching closer to his sides. With a little wiggle of your fingers on his exposed skin, he guffaws, torso immediately leaning away from your tickling hand. His thighs are still cageing you in, hand holding your own to prevent another attack.

“You little—!” Hobie pulls the covers away from your face, he regrets it when he sees your amused face. Hair messed up, nose scrunched up from laughter, and eyes brighter than the warm lamp on the bedside table. It's the most beautiful sight. “You did an illegal move.” He tries his best to look intimidating but his soft eyes and lopsided grin betrays him.

“Guilty as charged!” You'd lift up your hands in surrender but he still has your hands pinned down, warm gentle fingers making patterns around your wrists. “Say ‘uncle?’” You tilt your head playfully, tone lilting, beaming up at him as the late afternoon sunlight filters through the thin red curtains that bathes him in the same passionate colour.

“I'll say uncle…” The bed creaks as he leans closer to you, a hair's width away from your nose. You bat your eyelashes, toying with him. “...If you admit that you're a stinkin’ cheater that cheats.” His breath fans your cheeks, you could only chortle at his choice of words because of him being so close. When you let out a giggle, he puckers his lips to press a quick kiss on the tip of your nose. It has you melting and admitting to your so called crimes.

You softly laugh, cheeks hot from the position you're in. “I'm a stinking cheater that cheats.” You lift your head, kissing his cheek, neck aching at the movement. “Only because my opponent has super abilities…” you peck the corner of his lip, “and I'm at a…” mirroring his affection, you kiss the tip of his pierced nose. “Disadvantage.”

Hobie blinks, frozen in place, pulse thrumming from your barrage of attacks. “That's also an illegal move.” He whispers like he's surprised even though he knew you'd do exactly that the moment you raised your head.

You duck, soft lips meeting the stubble of his jaw, and you swear you heard his breath stagger in his throat. “Even that one?” You say against his searing hot skin.

“Especially that one.” He sighs, eyes closing for a moment.

“Say ‘uncle,’ Hobie.”

“You're never lettin’ me win one, huh?”

“Nope, never, especially that you look so good like this.” You blow hot air on the shell of his ear before laying down. You've brought down the amazing Spiderman without even using your hands. “Losing to me.”

Hobie's head falls limp, chin laying on his clavicle. “Uncle.” He whispers, and you laugh victoriously.

Your victory is short lived as he flings the blanket away, hitching your shirt up to reveal your waist, long warm fingers tickling your sides. Hobie laughs like a villain for a minute before giving you reprieve and then finally resting his head on your chest like he has done the most grueling work in the world. You heave, laughing into the crown of his head as he embraces you, hand lifting yours up, intertwining his fingers with your own until you hear soft snores upon your chest, only then you join him in dreamland.

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transgenderer · 1 year ago

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A jitsuin (実印) is an officially registered seal. A registered seal is needed to conduct business and other important or legally binding events. A jitsuin is used when purchasing a vehicle, marrying, or purchasing land, for example.

The size, shape, material, decoration, and lettering style of jitsuin are closely regulated by law. For example, in Hiroshima, a jitsuin is expected to be roughly 1⁄2 to 1 inch (1.3 to 2.5 cm), usually square or (rarely) rectangular but never round, irregular, or oval. It must contain the individual's full family and given name, without abbreviation. The lettering must be red with a white background (shubun), with roughly equal width lines used throughout the name. The font must be one of several based on ancient historical lettering styles found in metal, woodcarving, and so on. Ancient forms of ideographs are commonplace. A red perimeter must entirely surround the name, and there should be no other decoration on the underside (working surface) of the seal. The top and sides (handle) of the seal may be decorated in any fashion from completely undecorated to historical animal motifs, dates, names, and inscriptions.

Throughout Japan, rules governing jitsuin design are very stringent and each design is unique, so the vast majority of people entrust the creation of their jitsuin to a professional, paying upward of US$20 and more often closer to US$100, and using it for decades. People desirous of opening a new chapter in their lives—say, following a divorce, death of a spouse, a long streak of bad luck, or a change in career—will often have a new jitsuin made.

The material is usually a high quality hard stone or, far less frequently, deerhorn, soapstone, or jade. It is sometimes carved by machine. When carved by hand, an intō ("seal-engraving blade"), a mirror, and a small specialized wooden vice are used. An intō is a flat-bladed pencil-sized chisel, usually round or octagonal in cross-section and sometimes wrapped in string to give a better grip. The intō is held vertically in one hand, with the point projecting from the carver's fist on the side opposite the thumb. New, modern intō range in price from less than US$1 to US$100.

The jitsuin are kept in secure places such as bank vaults. or hidden in a home. They are usually stored in thumb-sized rectangular boxes made of cardboard covered with embroidered green fabric outside and red silk or red velvet inside, held closed by a white plastic or deerhorn splinter tied to the lid and passed through a fabric loop attached to the lower half of the box. Because of the superficial resemblance to coffins, they are often called "coffins" in Japanese by enthusiasts and hanko boutiques. The paste is usually stored separately.

A ginkō-in (銀行印) is used specifically for banking; ginkō means "bank". A person's savings account passbook contains an original impression of the ginkō-in alongside a bank employee's seal. Rules for the size and design vary somewhat from bank to bank; generally, they contain a Japanese person's full name. A Westerner may be permitted to use a full family name with or without an abbreviated given name, such as "Smith", "Bill Smith", "W Smith" or "Wm Smith" in place of "William Smith". The lettering can be red or white, in any font, and with artistic decoration.

Since mass-produced ginkō-in offer no security, most people either have them custom-made by professionals or make their own by hand. They were traditionally made of wood or stone; more recently of ivory, plastic or metal, and carried in a variety of thumb-shape and -size cases resembling cloth purses or plastic pencil cases. They are usually hidden carefully in the owner's home.

A mitome-in (認印) is a moderately formal seal typically used for signing for postal deliveries, signing utility bill payments, signing internal company memos, confirming receipt of internal company mail, and other low-security everyday functions.

Mitome-in are commonly stored in low-security, high-utility places such as office desk drawers and in the anteroom (genkan) of a residence.

A mitome-in's form is governed by fewer customs than jitsuin and ginkō-in. However, mitome-in adhere to a handful of strongly observed customs. The size is the attribute most strongly governed by social custom. It is usually not more than 20 millimetres (0.79 in) in size. A man's is usually slightly larger than a woman's, and a junior employee's is always smaller than his bosses' and his senior co-workers', in keeping with office social hierarchy. The mitome-in always has the person's family name and usually does not have the person's given name (shita no namae). Mitome-ins are often round or oval, but square ones are not uncommon, and rectangular ones are not unheard-of; irregular shapes are not used. They can produce red lettering on a blank field (shubun) or the opposite (hakubun). Borderlines around their edges are optional.

Plastic mitome-in in popular Japanese names can be obtained from stationery stores for less than US$1, though ones made from inexpensive stone are also very popular. Inexpensive prefabricated seals are called sanmonban (三文判). Rubber stamps are unacceptable for business purposes.

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rrrrinmaru · 1 year ago

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bury me (raf x mc, nsfw)

wc: 3949 rating: E warning: pussy eating, strip tease

Up until the moment you’re sat in the entertainment room that’s apparently been renovated on emergency notice, you don’t quite believe the situation you’ve found yourself in.

It started as an off-handed comment you didn’t think much of. Frankly, you didn’t think anything of it—the two of you were watching a movie (ok, Magic Mike, it was Magic Mike) and you mentioned, casual as ever, that you’ve always wanted to see a lap dance up close.

Rafayel went still. But Rafayel goes still at the strangest things—he once froze up at the sight of you petting a cat on the sidewalk and fell to the ground right next to the fire hydrant, in broad view of everyone walking down that very pavement—so again, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he wanted to see a lap dance up close as well. Maybe, irrationally, he got a little jealous at the thought of you thinking of watching other men grind against flushed women, eyes bright as they watch the sheen of sweat on thick muscles centimetres away from their face.

You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect—

“You spent how much on the lights?” You ask, bewildered. “You got these custom made?”

“I wasn’t about to install cheap LED lights in my house,” Rafayel replies, fiddling with something in the corner. “The cost doesn’t matter. The real expensive baby was the audio system, but I already owned that before I got the bright idea to remodel this place.”

“You spent money to turn a room in your house into a strip club?” You say, voice slightly hysterical on the last two words. You almost don’t want to know the answer to your next question, but things have already progressed far enough. There’s no coming back from this. “Where’s the stripping pole?”

Rafayel shrugs. He’s wearing this thin, sheer fabric; so pale it’s almost transparent. It clings to the width of his shoulders, dipping down between the slope of his shoulder blades and the top tapers off at his waist. When he turns around, you can’t help but stare at the (quite frankly) whorish cut at the front.

The front of the shirt has this deep plunge all the way down to his abdomen. It’s practically two strips of fabric loosely folded over each other, and if he bends over, you get a full view of the hard planes of his chest and the curve of his tits.

He’s also wearing leather pants. Did you mention that? They look like they were painted on. The material stretches tight over his thighs, making him look even taller than he already does.

His feet are bare, toes curling into the rug covered floor. Rafayel stands there, weight shifted to one leg as he always does, and he practically preens under your undivided attention. Under your greedy, hungry gaze as you run your eyes up and down his body.

Behind him, the stereo system flares to life. This persistent, thumping drum beat slowly starts to build.

“Can’t we just—you know?” You say without thinking, leaning forward instinctively at the thought of getting your mouth on Rafayel. Has he even looked in a mirror before he decided on this particular set of clothes?

Rafayel smirks. Fuck, you swear you can see the literal imprint of his cock through his pants.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, voice honeyed as he takes his sweet time to walk over to you, that casual, loping stride that you can’t look away from. “Be patient.”

“This is the first time you’ve turned down my offer,” you say petulantly. “Please?”

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part,” Rafayel says, eyes glittering as he leans over. His hands land on the back of the curved sofa you’re seated on—they frame you like a solid wall of muscle, caging you in his embrace. His legs are on either side of your thighs, close enough that you swear you can feel the kiss of leather against your skin, the sheer heat radiating off his body.

The beat is loud, now. It’s loud enough that it sounds like you’re at a club; it sinks through your chest, filling your body up like a balloon as it seizes your senses. Your heart pulses in time with the heavy, throbbing bass—you stare up, eyes wide as all you hear is the sound of your heart and all you see is Rafayel’s eyes.

You could drown in that gaze. You know you could.

“No touching,” Rafayel breathes out. When he bends over, cheek barely milimetres away from your own, your breath hitches at the view down his shirt. “First rule of the club, Miss. No touching the performers.”

“Raf,” you whine, fingers curling desperately into fists by your side as you trace your eyes over the curve of his Adam’s Apple, the crook of his shallow collarbone, the slope of his tits and the fucking sight of his nipples, pebbling from the cold. You want to flick them. You want to put your hands on his abdomen and cup his tits and you want to mess him up.

“It’s better when you wait for it,” Rafayel murmurs. His breath is hot against the crook of your ear, and you can feel the break in his breathing when he laughs. “Do you like this?”

“Do something,” you whine, tilting your head back just to get a better look at the lithe line of Rafayel’s body hovering over yours. It’s driving you insane, having him this close but not touching—you’ve been conditioned to expect skin contact from Rafayel, his little absent-minded touches as he grazes his shoulder against yours, a hand curving around your waist to gently nudge you aside when he walks by, fingers wrapping around yours.

When he exhales, you swear you can see it. The shadow of smoke in the dim light, swooping down in the empty space between both of your lips. It’s maddening having him here, having this sliver of space between you two. You could reach up around his waist and drag him down; you could wrap one hand around the base of his neck and pull and he would go, sweetly, obediently, and he would make the most delicious sounds into your mouth.

You know this. You know it like you know the back of your hand, because he’s done it a million times before. You think you’ve never known anyone as well as you know Rafayel—like looking into a deep pool of still water and finding your reflection looking back.

Rafayel hums, the heat of his breath scattering over your collarbones as he rolls his hips. You swallow, mind spinning from the slightest scrape of tight leather against your thighs. He does it again, hips grinding in this slow, torturous move right above your core.

“Your muscles,” you say weakly, eyes riveted to the tension in his abdomen. His muscles are taut, pale skin clearly visible through the dip in his shirt. A bead of sweat drips down, tracing a path between his pectorals and down, down, down—

Your eyes follow it greedily, wishing you could chase after it with your tongue.

“You look delirious,” Rafayel whispers, his voice low and hoarse. There’s a husk to his words, and you can’t help the way you swallow, fingers tightening further into fists. You’re familiar with that voice. That’s how he sounds after he’s been worked up beyond belief, until all he can think of is laying you out and eating you clean.

This is clearly doing it for him too, just as much as it’s working on you. The lights flicker, bleeding from one color into the next. It’s crazy how Rafayel looks bewitching in every color; the neon red light looks like crimson splashed across his face, highlighting the cut of his cheekbone and the glint of his teeth when he smirks at you. The blue light casts his face into darkness, smoothing his features out and the shadow stretches over him, the color melting into his hair. He looks like a siren rising out of a water surface, eyes half-lidded and lips barely parted, fingers itching to steal your soul away.

You’re possessed by the sudden desire to dump a glass of water on him. This look would be greatly improved if he was drenched to the bone, you think dizzily, with crystal droplets hanging off his eyelashes, dipping in the crook of his lips, pooling in his clavicle. His shirt, translucent as it is, would turn completely transparent. It would cling to his skin even more than it already does.

“Please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re begging for. His hands on you. His mouth on you. His weight on you, pressing you down, holding you in place as he does whatever he wants to your body.

His smirk is so self-satisfied that you want to kiss it off his lips.

“Patience,” he murmurs. Rafayel braces his knees against the seat of the couch and leans back, wearing a brazen look as he looks at you. His smile spreads as he crooks his fingers at you—you bend forward, lips parting as if ready to use your tongue to trace the grooves on his abdomen.

Rafayel laughs. It’s a smug sound, but you can’t even fault him. He cuts a stunning figure like this, thighs spread and framed in shining leather, shirt so low and open that you don’t know where to look; the light drips over his skin like someone poured liquid gold all over him, drenching him in a moving pattern of red and blue lights.

He holds a hand out. “Your hand,” he says, and you quickly put your palm in his like you’re no better than a dog.

“Thank you, baby,” Rafayel teases, flipping your hand over to press a kiss to your fingertips before he pulls it to his jaw. You flex your fingers, trying to swallow past the sudden thudding of your heart as he presses your hand to the slant of his jaw, down to the line of his neck.

You’re not given any time to linger on the heat radiating off his body. He pulls your hand further down, your fingers grasping uselessly at the meat of his chest, trembling as your palm flattens against his skin.

And then, as if he’s been doing this all his life, Rafayel arches his back. His muscles roll in this slow, sinuous movement as he drags your hand down his abdomen.

You can feel it in aching clarity. The expanding of his rib cage as he breathes, the tension in his muscles as he clenches his abdomen to even out the grind of his hips. The heat, that absurd, blistering heat that you’re certain will melt your fingerprints clean off your fingers.

He does it again. Leans forward, eyes glittering in the flickering lights as he arches his back, letting you feel the way his muscles move under his skin as he rolls his hips.

Without thinking, you reach forward with your other hand. You’re not even sure where you’re aiming at—you just want to get your hand on him. The details can be handled later.

But Rafayel catches your wrist before your fingers even scrape past the loose material of his shirt. “No touching the merchandise,” he chides, holding you in place.

Your fingernails scratch pointedly at his abdomen. It makes him huff out a laugh—a surprised, breathy sound that for some reason gives you the urge to get your mouth on him now.

“I’m already touching you,” you breathe out, eyes glazing over when Rafayel clenches his abs just to watch the way you lose focus.

“I let you touch me,” Rafayel shoots back, smug as ever. “You don’t get to touch me without permission.”

“Raf—”

“Just enjoy it, Miss,” he murmurs, nudging one knee in between yours to slide your thighs apart. “I’m putting on a show. Don’t you like it?”

You like it a bit too much. All of a sudden, you realise why people like to keep pretty things in cages. Rafayel would look entrancing like that, you think, eyes wandering over his body. Lounging in a long column of water with transparent walls, like a fish tank in an aquarium large enough to store a whole pod of dolphins. Stuck with no where to go.

But your breath catches in your throat before you can reply with something intelligent. Rafayel presses his lips to the underside of your neck, at the spot where your jaw meets your throat—featherlight, so quickly that you almost miss it.

While you’re frozen, breath trapped under your tongue, he hums and traces a faint path down your body. His lips on your neck, your collarbones, the dip between your tits—he leans down, switching to your bare arm when the fabric of your slip dress gets in the way.

Surely he can feel it. The pulse of your heartbeat under your skin, a mile a minute, fluttering at the sight of his half-crescent lips trailing against the sensitive underside of your forearm.

And then he gets on his knees. He’s right there, eyes bright and glittering like jewels under the dancing lights as he leans forward to press the side of his cheek against your thigh.

You can feel the way his breath heats up against your knee. It feels like he’s burning a mark into you, etching the shape of his lips into your skin. You won’t ever be able to remove it. It’ll be branded into your inner thigh, the crimson half-moon stains that mark you as his.

“Spread your legs for me,” Rafayel whispers, lips curving into a smile. “Open up, baby.”

The flush in your cheeks feels absurd. You must look drunk, inebriated after one too many shots as your thighs spread instinctively to frame Rafayel in between them. He reaches up, each hand wrapping around the outside of your knees, fingers dipping into the crook at the back.

His grip is light, barely any pressure on your legs, but you feel like his hands may as well be two shackles against your knees, holding you in place.

“Wider,” he says, eyes brilliant in the flickering lights. You could drown in that gaze, if the heat in your core didn’t kill you first. “Come on, gorgeous.”

“Raf,” you groan, thighs spreading even further. It makes you slip from your position on the sofa, inching further down just to make space for your legs to open wider.

The fabric of your dress rucks up around your hips. It folds messily, and Rafayel holds your gaze in this heartstopping, torturous moment as his fingers creep up and under your dress.

There’s something about it. Something you can’t explain, not even with an entire dictionary at your disposal. There is something about the way you can’t see his fingers, his palms as he slides them further up your thighs, below the crease of silk. The way the back of his hands and his wrists slowly, gradually disappear under your dress. While he keeps his gaze on you, eyes burning with such intent and desire it makes you breathless.

His fingers bump up against your underwear, the way the fabric digs into your thighs. The shock of it all makes you yelp a little, hands flying forward to feel blindly for Rafayel’s hands under your dress.

You’re not sure what purpose you want to achieve. You’re just—it’s just—it’s just a lot, okay, and the way he looks at you is so—

Rafayel doesn’t do anything. His fingers go still, frozen under your grip, but you can feel the bracing heat of them through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your damp underwear. If his fingers were to slip, you know he would be able to press his thumb against the wet spot right at your slit, or slide higher to press at your throbbing clit.

You make this low, reedy noise, and let go of his hands. You shift even lower on the sofa, back curved as you lean your head back against the headrest. Your thighs spread just a little bit wider.

“Thank you, baby,” Rafayel murmurs, eyes finally lowering as he lifts the skirt of your dress. “Look at how pretty you are.”

“Get on with it,” you bite out, voice shaky from arousal. The music is getting to you—the deep, pulsing bass throbs at your temples, holding your heart in a vice grip. The singer is crooning something; his deep, low voice rumbling on and on about sex and you’re too out of it to properly register the lyrics.

Rafayel pays you no mind. He takes his own sweet time to push your dress further up your hips, exposing the line of your thighs and your underwear to his hungry gaze.

And then, right under your eyes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your stiff clit.

“Raf!” You try to shut your thighs on instinct, hips jerking at the sudden pressure against your clit, but Rafayel’s hands are firm against the inside of your thighs and he holds you open. He forces your legs wider, and he looks up at you as he fits his mouth to the middle of your panties, tongue flat against where your core burns the hottest.

Fuck, you think, mouth open as you try to gasp for air. Rafayel is good at this—too good, you think, to the point where you flush when you catch yourself staring at his mouth for too long sometimes—and he breathes out on your cunt, relishing in the way your clit twitches in your panties.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Rafayel murmurs, pulling the fabric taut over your pussy so he can see your swollen clit straining through your panties. He gives it another kiss, and you arch your back at the electricity that lights your body up when he does that. Rafayel knows what you like, and he wields that knowledge like a weapon.

You gaze at him, eyes half-lidded as you try to reach for his hair. Rafayel ducks away from your searching fingers, giving you a smile when you scowl at him.

“No touching the merchandise,” he reminds you.

A disgruntled noise leaves your mouth. How are you supposed to hold him in place when he won’t let you touch him? “Take them off, Raf, please—”

It’s as if Rafayel was put on this Earth specifically to raise your blood pressure. Even when he has his mouth on your cunt, face between your legs, he’s still possessed by the overpowering urge to do something that goes against what you say.

“Not yet,” he says, nonplussed, and drags your underwear to the side to expose your dripping center. “Look at how wet you are.”

Rafayel’s voice is gravelly, hoarse as he stares at you. Your pussy clenches instinctively—his gaze feels heavy, like a physical weight bearing into you. You’d really like a physical weight bearing into you right now, actually, and you know exactly where you can find one.

He presses his tongue to your clit. Your hips spasm, eyes rolling into the back of your head when he closes his lips around your swollen bud and sucks. It feels like fire burning through your entire body, pleasure sparking in your veins when he laps at your clit. You could cum like this, his clever tongue working your clit over and over in the soft wetness of his mouth.

“So pretty,” Rafayel murmurs to himself, not even caring if you hear. He drags his tongue down, licking along the length of your cunt, spit mixing with the wetness dripping from your pussy. He rearranges his grip on your inner thigh—his palm frames the vee of your hips now, thumb pulling at the side of your cunt to open you up for his taking.

Rafayel eats you out like a man possessed. There’s this wild, desperate hunger in him, in the way he moves his mouth, the way he surfaces to gasp for air before going back to dip his tongue into your pussy and lick at your insides. He eats you out so greedily that you can truly believe he would be happy here, trapped between your legs and buried in your cunt for so long he goes breathless while you go cross-eyed with pleasure so overwhelming it makes you dizzy.

“Fuck,” Rafayel groans, panting against your cunt. His breath feels like he’s blowing hot smoke against your clit, making it twitch uncontrollably with every gust of air over it. You’re so worked up that just this is enough to make your hips jerk forward, chasing the ghost of his mouth to try to get it back on your cunt. “You taste so fucking good, Miss—”

“More,” you beg, straining against the sofa to try to get leverage, any kind of leverage to tilt your hips up. “Please, Raf, I’m close—fuck, I’m—”

This time, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves his head, tongue curling as he fucks it into your throbbing pussy. You’re so close, right on the precipice—it’s like your entire body is a livewire, hips jerking uncontrollably whenever his tongue hits that sweet spot and making your nerves light up with pleasure. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open; you want to keep your eyes on Rafayel, to see the way his curls bounce as he mouths hungrily at your cunt. But the pleasure is so devastating, so mind-numbing that you can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, your body unable to concentrate on more than one sensation at once.

Your clit is so stiff that it aches. And when Rafayel licks at it, flicking his tongue against your swollen clit and relishing in the desperate, needy sounds falling from your mouth—

It crescendos like a tsunami wave rising to its peak. Your body freezes, mouth falling open as you arch your back, pushing up, up, up against Rafayel’s tongue. It spreads through you like a wildfire, burning you up from the inside out. Your mind is blank, you can’t think, you can’t even make a sound.

You just gasp, silent as the orgasm crashes over you like the tide, taking you under and drowning you beneath the water. Rafayel keeps fucking going, sucking at your clit to keep you right on that knife’s edge, pleasure melting into overstimulation because he knows you like it when it aches. When it becomes a little biting, when it starts to hurt just a little.

He laps at your clit until you shiver, hands weakly pressing against his forehead. Rafayel gives your cunt one last lick, sucking at the lips of your pussy and licking his lips when he catches your gaze.

“All done?” He asks, reaching up to wipe the visible remnants of your orgasm from his jaw. “Another one?”

“I want to suck your cock,” you say, the breath still mostly fucked out of you. “Come—come here.”

“Nuh-uh,” Rafayel tells you, rising back to his feet. The music is still thumping through the walls, resounding in the room as you tilt your head back and stare up at him. “I’m not done. It isn’t a strip show until I’ve gotten naked.”

You blink at him. He still—

“Okay,” you say uselessly. You can see the thick outline of his cock through his pants, so visible that you’re almost certain the leather will burst. “Go on.”

He gives you this smug, confident smile, and you politely don’t mention how the bottom half of his mouth is still wet from your cum.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds rafayel #rafayel #恋与深空 #祁煜 #러브앤딥스페이스 #恋と深空 #rin writes l&ds

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