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theyogainstitute1 · 13 days ago

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Unlock Inner Peace: Why Online Meditation Classes Are the Key to a Calmer, Healthier Life

In today’s fast-paced world, finding a moment of peace can feel like a luxury. Between juggling work, family, social obligations, and the endless buzz of digital distractions, our minds rarely get a break. That’s where online meditation classes come in. Offering flexibility, expert guidance, and the tools to cultivate inner calm, these virtual sessions are changing the way people access mental wellness. Whether you're a beginner or a seasoned practitioner, online meditation can fit seamlessly into your daily routine—and transform your life in the process.

What Are Online Meditation Classes?

Online meditation classes are virtual sessions led by experienced instructors that guide participants through meditation techniques. These can include mindfulness meditation, breathing exercises, guided visualizations, mantra chanting, and more. Sessions may be live via Zoom or pre-recorded for on-demand access. Many platforms offer themed meditations focused on stress reduction, better sleep, emotional healing, or spiritual growth.

Why Choose Online Meditation Over In-Person Classes?

You might be wondering: “Why should I take meditation classes online instead of attending a local studio?” Here are some compelling reasons:

1. Convenience

One of the biggest advantages of online meditation classes is convenience. You can meditate in your pajamas, on your couch, or even during a lunch break. There's no need to commute or adjust your schedule to attend a session.

2. Affordability

Online classes are typically more affordable than in-person ones. Many platforms offer monthly subscriptions, pay-per-session options, or even free classes, making meditation more accessible to everyone.

3. Personalization

With a wide variety of instructors and techniques available, you can choose the style and pace that suits your needs. Want a 5-minute mindfulness session or a 60-minute deep relaxation journey? It’s all just a click away.

4. Access to Global Experts

Online platforms connect you to world-class meditation teachers from around the globe. You’re not limited by geography—you can learn from the best without leaving your home.

The Mental and Physical Benefits of Meditation

Decades of research support the numerous benefits of meditation. Here’s what you stand to gain by incorporating it into your daily life:

Reduced stress and anxiety

Improved concentration and memory

Enhanced emotional health

Better sleep quality

Lower blood pressure and heart rate

Increased self-awareness and mindfulness

Meditation doesn’t just make you feel better—it can change the structure of your brain, improving areas responsible for empathy, memory, and emotional regulation.

What to Expect in an Online Meditation Class

If you're new to meditation, the idea of sitting still and “clearing your mind” may sound intimidating. But online classes make it easy. Here’s what you can typically expect:

Introductory Guidance: Most sessions start with a short talk or explanation of the day's technique.

Breathing Techniques: Controlled breathing helps calm the nervous system and focus the mind.

Guided Meditation: The instructor walks you through a step-by-step process, often using visualization or sound.

Closing Reflection: You’ll often be invited to share your experience or journal about your feelings post-meditation.

You don’t need any prior experience—just a quiet space and an open mind.

How to Choose the Best Online Meditation Platform

With so many options available, it’s important to choose a platform that aligns with your goals and lifestyle. Here are a few things to consider:

1. Content Variety

Look for a platform that offers a range of meditation styles and durations. This ensures you won’t get bored or plateau in your practice.

2. Instructor Credentials

Choose classes led by certified meditation teachers or mindfulness coaches. Check their bios to learn about their training and philosophy.

3. User Reviews

Reading testimonials and reviews can give you insights into the quality of the classes and the user experience.

4. Free Trials

Many platforms offer free trials or sample classes. Take advantage of these to find what works for you.

5. Community Support

Some platforms offer live sessions with chat features or private forums, so you can connect with fellow meditators and stay motivated.

Best Practices for a Successful Online Meditation Practice

To make the most of your virtual meditation experience, keep these tips in mind:

Create a dedicated space: Choose a quiet, comfortable spot with minimal distractions.

Set a routine: Meditating at the same time each day helps build consistency.

Use headphones: Good audio enhances focus and blocks external noise.

Be patient: Don’t expect instant results. Like any skill, meditation improves with regular practice.

Track your progress: Use a journal or app to reflect on your sessions and improvements.

FAQs About Online Meditation Classes

Q: Can beginners benefit from online meditation? A: Absolutely. Most platforms are beginner-friendly, and classes are designed to guide you every step of the way.

Q: How often should I meditate? A: Even 5–10 minutes a day can make a difference. The key is consistency over duration.

Q: Do I need any equipment? A: No special equipment is needed. A comfortable chair or cushion and a device with internet access are enough.

Q: Are online classes as effective as in-person ones? A: Yes. Studies show that virtual meditation can be just as beneficial as attending sessions in person, especially when you stick to a regular schedule.

Final Thoughts

Online meditation classes are more than just a trend—they’re a powerful tool for cultivating mental clarity, emotional resilience, and holistic well-being. Whether you’re looking to reduce stress, sleep better, or simply reconnect with yourself, meditation can make a profound difference in your life.

The best part? You don’t need a retreat center or expensive gear. Just a quiet space, an internet connection, and the willingness to breathe and be still.

Ready to get started? Try your first online meditation class today and take the first step toward a calmer, more centered you. Visit: www.theyogainstitute.org

#virtual yoga #yoga at home #live yoga classes #yoga platforms #online fitness programs

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outstoryindia · 3 months ago

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Stay Fit Anywhere: Virtual Fitness Classes at Home by Out Story India

Fitness virtual classes, especially virtual fitness classes at home, are revolutionizing the way we stay healthy and active. Offering flexibility, variety, and convenience, these classes allow people to work out from the comfort of their own homes. Whether it’s yoga, strength training, or cardio, virtual fitness classes make it easier than ever to stay fit without needing a gym. Affordable, accessible, and adaptable to any lifestyle, they are the future of fitness. Out Story India highlights how these digital workout solutions are empowering individuals across the country to prioritize health and well-being on their own terms, proving that staying fit can be simple, smart, and sustainable.

#fitness #Virtual Class #Out Story India

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angelballance · 5 months ago

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My 4 F’s for Building a Strong Fitness Foundation This Week

If you want lasting results in your health and fitness, it all starts with strong foundations. This week, we’re focusing on four key areas: Faith, Fuel, Fitness, and Flow. And for my group fitness instructor friends, I also have a bonus Fit Pro Focus for a simple mindset shift for teaching more confidently just for you ! Oh and keep scrolling to grab my class calendar and see what events are…

#at home fitness #faith for fitness #group fitness #living life fit #motivation #virtual classes #Warrior #workouts

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

#spilled ink #warm up #“why did u tag it warm up” bc i wrote it off the cuff while drinkin coffee lol #btw the 30 dollar buy in for the dog walking is bc they pay the organizer a small pittance so she can #run fb ads and stuff and like she does put in a lot of work i don't mind paying her #but that's exactly what im fucking talking about like.#ppl can't afford to volunteer their time anymore and we all understand it!!! everything costs money for everyone!#like we didn't have to use to say ''do you mind paying me back for the stuff we ate''#we used to be able to afford to feed our friends once in a while!!!

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heavenbarnes · 1 year ago

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I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader fic #challengers fic #art donaldson fic #challengers smut #art donaldson x fem reader #art donaldson x fem!reader

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toneitdownnnn · 1 year ago

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simplestudentplanning · 2 years ago

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100 Things To Do Instead Of Doom-Scrolling Through Social Media

Read a book.

Write in a journal.

Learn to cook a new recipe.

Practice a musical instrument.

Start a DIY project.

Draw or paint.

Learn a new language.

Do a puzzle.

Exercise or do yoga.

Listen to a podcast.

Watch a documentary.

Play a board game.

Try a new workout routine.

Meditate.

Start a garden.

Plan a future trip.

Volunteer online.

Write a letter to a friend or family member.

Learn to knit or crochet.

Take online courses.

Practice photography.

Organize your closet.

Play video games.

Learn a magic trick.

Write a short story.

Create a vision board.

Make a playlist of your favorite songs.

Try a new hairstyle.

Experiment with makeup.

Learn to juggle.

Play a card game.

Do a home workout challenge.

Explore virtual museums or art galleries.

Do a digital detox day.

Learn calligraphy.

Rearrange your furniture.

Create a scrapbook.

Learn to play chess.

Write and perform a song.

Practice mindfulness.

Learn origami.

Plan a themed dinner night.

Do a home spa day.

Learn to code.

Play a musical instrument.

Build a blanket fort.

Take online dance lessons.

Research and try a new type of tea.

Learn about astronomy and stargaze.

Try a new board game.

Create a podcast.

Learn to solve a Rubik's Cube.

Start a blog.

Make homemade candles.

Research your family tree.

Practice a new type of art (e.g., watercolor, sculpture).

Learn to speed-read.

Write a poem.

Make a list of personal goals.

Learn to play a new card game.

Create a budget.

Build a puzzle or Lego set.

Learn to identify constellations.

Try a new fitness class online.

Make homemade pizza.

Experiment with DIY face masks.

Learn about a historical event.

Create a bucket list.

Learn to tie different knots.

Try a new type of workout (e.g., Pilates, kickboxing).

Create digital art.

Plan a themed movie marathon.

Learn to juggle.

Explore a new genre of music.

Write a letter to your future self.

Take up a new hobby (e.g., birdwatching, geocaching).

Research and try a new type of cuisine.

Make homemade ice cream.

Practice deep breathing exercises.

Create a photo album.

Try a new type of dance.

Write and perform a short play.

Learn to play a new board game.

Take a virtual tour of a historical site.

Make a time capsule.

Learn about different types of architecture.

Plan a virtual game night with friends.

Write and illustrate a children's book.

Try a new form of exercise (e.g., HIIT, Zumba).

Learn about different types of plants.

Create a DIY home decor project.

Plan a themed picnic at home.

Research and try a new type of dessert.

Practice positive affirmations.

Try a new type of puzzle (e.g., crosswords, Sudoku).

Learn about different types of birds.

Experiment with DIY skincare products.

Take up a new form of art (e.g., pottery, glassblowing).

Create a list of things you're grateful for.

Learn about a new culture.

#selfcare #selflove #self improvement #self love #self care #hobbies #self healing #habits

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frownyalfred · 5 months ago

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Okay I was re-reading my “Hal and Bruce in the JL showers” fic and it made me remember something I forgot to add into that fic, which probably didn’t fit as well because it was mostly poking fun at Clark’s Midwestern sensibilities. But someone also mentioned it in a comment so I wanted to expand on it here:

If you’re Clark, and you’re coming into your Kryptonian powers at that awkward age somewhere between elementary and high school (incrementally, heat vision one year and super strength later, maybe) and one day you’re just crazy ripped? The Kryptonian genes decide THAT is when you get the full benefits of sun and therefore the Superman physique?

You’re not taking your shirt off around anyone who’s not your parents. Not in the communal showers, not during gym class, not at swim practice. Middle or high school kids are BRUTAL. You’d think abs aren’t things to make fun of, but it’s not about the abs, it’s the fact that they’re different. Why does Clark suddenly have abs? Does he think he’s better than us? Why is he so freakishly tall all of a sudden? Is he working out every night all night, and that’s why he’s not hanging out with us?

It prompts questions, jealousy, and — most importantly — staring. Nonstop staring, good, bad, and neutral. People are confused. The gym teacher doesn’t understand how this scrawny kid got built up virtually overnight. And why he still can’t participate in sports worth a damn. It’s like he doesn’t even try.

So yeah. Clark keeps his body covered, from that point onward. Clark Kent can’t explain those muscles, not until he’s moved and set up a new life somewhere else. He starts laying the groundwork for bumbling reporter Clark Kent — he wears big shirts, poorly fitted pants, anything that softens or hides the lines of his physique so he doesn’t get questions.

And while we do see him embrace himself and his Kryptonian heritage later on, I always wonder how much that period of potential shame and avoidance early on in life affected his confidence later — not as Superman obviously, not as the shirtless muscled guy on an oil rig saving people, but as Clark. The guy who sees Hal and Bruce showering near each other without any sense of shame, or any staring, or really any value judgements at all about appearance other than “do I have goo in my hair?”

#anyway that’s my bad ramble rant this morning #about how maybe it is just Midwestern sensibilities #but what if it was also internalized shame from childhood #because he was different #Clark Kent #superman #smallville #myfic #theresurrectionist #batman #bruce wayne #Hal Jordan #green lantern

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mattsundaes · 2 months ago

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thank you for the venom ♱ pt. i

— vampire!oliver aiku x f!reader

There are worse jobs than working as a human at a vampire nightclub. It pays well enough to help you keep your head above water, at least. As long as your clients don't try feeding from your neck. But when the last person you're expecting to see comes walking in during your shift one evening, every long-forgotten feeling you've spent years putting behind you flares to life again under the familiar, careful gaze of your older brother's best friend.

word count ; 2.9k

content ; 18+, vampire!oliver, brother's best friend!oliver, feeder!reader, childhood friends, blood drinking, (eventual smut in later parts)

THE REUNION. —

“We’re up.”

You glance over at your co-worker, Hayami, who’s currently nodding in the direction of a table of clients that just sat down.

It’s not exactly what you’d call fun—working as a human at a vampire nightclub.

But the night shifts fit with your class schedule, the pay is generous, and you no longer have to miserably juggle three jobs to pay for tuition and rent. It’s been working out for you well enough in the six months since you started here. Blue Lock is also, arguably, classier than most places that you’d find on a random street corner in Tokyo. For one, you’re not expected to fuck the clientele.

You just have to feed them.

–

“Wrist, please,” you murmur quietly to the man whose lap you’re currently sitting in, trying to carefully adjust yourself away from the lips hovering near your neck as you lift up a hand, letting him see the delicate gold bracelet that hangs from your right wrist.

Blue Lock is strict about giving staff the autonomy to choose where they are and aren’t comfortable allowing clients to feed from, with gold jewelry used as a subtle signifier. Guests who choose to ignore it are typically thrown out without preamble.

Most of your co-workers are fine with neck feeding, some even prefer it, but it’s just too intimate for you. Not with a complete stranger.

The vampire grumbles, glancing over at one of his companions with thinly veiled jealousy as she sinks her teeth into Hayami’s neck, drawing a shameless moan from your co-worker’s lips.

You shudder, wincing only slightly at the prick of pain as your client bites you as well, albeit on the wrist like you’d instructed.

It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, now that you’ve grown used to it.

–

It’s early still when the first group of clients strolls in through the doors on Friday evening, pink and orange staining the lower edges of the sky as the sun lazily eases its way down into the horizon.

Your boss motions for you and Hayami to take care of them, as most of your other co-workers aren’t due to start for another hour yet.

Waltzing directly ahead of you and swinging her hips in anticipation, Hayami gets a clear view of the vamps before you do, and she spins on her heel to turn back to you and whisper, “You know, I wouldn’t mind if fucking customers was a part of the job if they all looked like that.”

Rolling your eyes is a knee jerk reaction to her salacious tone—she enjoys flirting with clients far more than you do. But any response quickly dies on your lips when you actually see the group as they settle into a private booth.

More specifically when your eyes land on one of them in particular—a tall man with two different colored eyes, a jaw shaded ever so slightly with stubble, and a flash of green tucked beneath the lower edges of an otherwise dark head of hair.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve seen him in person, but you’d recognize him beyond a shadow of a doubt anywhere.

(Your stupid heart would, anyway.)

Oliver.

Your brother Haru’s best friend.

Oliver and Haru played soccer together in high school, and they were virtually inseparable for years. Most days, he could be found at your house after school, kicking around a ball in your backyard and teasing you as you labored over homework assignments at the kitchen table.

And most days, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about catching the interest of any of the boys in your grade, not when your thoughts were constantly tangled up in the way Oliver sent your heart spinning off its axis with every stupid grin and wink.

Realistically, he was only two years older than you.

But even if he had seen you in that way, Haru probably would have wrung his neck if he tried anything, given Oliver’s downright awful reputation with girls at school.

(A reputation that’s only become more notorious in the years since he skyrocketed to soccer stardom.)

But a girl could certainly dream.

The long-buried crush rustles awake in the depths of your chest cavity now, unfurling warmly as you stare at him, rooted to the spot. Feelings greet you at the door like an old friend, the brush of a cat’s tail at your ankle, a dog’s cold nose nudging at the back of your hand. You want to reach out, to grasp them—

But the longer you look, the more unsteady you become on your feet as your heart remembers the weight of it, of this near-magnetic pull that used to always exist behind your ribcage in his vicinity.

It’s not news to you that Oliver was Turned—it happened years ago, according to your brother. But it sends a shiver down your spine all the same to see him here. Now.

Of all the places…

Hayami’s quick to busy herself chatting with three of the men in Oliver’s group. Meanwhile, Oliver remains engrossed in conversation with the other one; he’s yet to notice you.

The man he’s talking to does, though, and his lips quirk upward when he meets your eyes. “Well hello beautiful.”

You offer him a polite smile in return, shoving aside the distracting wave of nostalgia gripping at your ankles as you remember that you have a job to do.

Pining doesn’t pay the fucking bills, after all.

“What can I get for you tonight?” you ask.

It’s a bit of a joke, because there’s really only one reason vampires come here.

But it lands, because he doesn’t miss a beat as he laughs, “Well, my friend here says he likes to take his partners home to feed, so I think he might just be a boring cuck and watch tonight, but—”

He’s cut off suddenly by the sound of your name, and he whips his head sideways to look at Oliver, who’s currently staring at you with a completely bewildered expression on his face.

It would be cute, almost, if your heart wasn’t violently lurching in your chest.

You breathe in through your nose, trying to steady the way the room threatens to sway beneath your feet. “Hey, Aiku.”

He physically recoils at your use of his surname; you can’t remember the last time you called him that, not even when you were teenagers.

The man beside him raises a brow, looking between you and Oliver in blatant confusion. “Do you two know each—”

“Yeah. So you should go and find somewhere else to be, Sendou,” Oliver answers pointedly as he cuts him off again, eyes still locked with yours.

Sendou scoffs under his breath, “You can’t just hold one of your fuck buddies hostage if you’re not going to feed, I’m sure she wants to make money tonight.”

Oliver looks over at him, unimpressed and blinking slowly, before he turns back to you. “She’s my friend’s little sister.”

Sendou snorts. “Sounds like something you’d do, Aiku.”

The gap between their bodies closes quicker than you can blink, and the size difference between the two becomes wholly apparent as Oliver leans in close, all traces of amusement wiped from his face when he slowly rasps, “I’d watch your mouth if I were you.”

Something akin to surprise works its way across Sendou’s face, which then morphs into pinched annoyance as he subtly shrinks away from Oliver’s form, dragging a hand through his strawberry locks and petulantly letting his gaze fall back on you. “Yeah, well I’m hungry, and I have money.”

He thumbs at one of his fangs, frowning.

“Not my goddamn problem, Sendou. Go find someone else to feed on,” Oliver flatly replies to him as he lifts his hips slightly to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, though his eyes are solely focused on you. “And I never said I wasn’t paying for her time.”

Sendou collapses backward on the couch, blowing his hair off of his forehead as he crosses his arms and huffs, “Well if you’re paying anyway, doesn’t it make sense for one of us to at least feed on—”

“Sendou,” Oliver says his name calmly, despite the way the dangerous look in his eyes betrays his tone entirely. He smiles, and it’s more a show of dominance than anything else as the whites of his fangs flash against his lips. “Get the fuck out of here. Now.”

His friend rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath about wasting your time before eventually getting up moving over toward the rest of their group.

“Is it Aiku now?” Oliver finally asks when you’re alone, head tilted slightly to the side as he stares up at you.

He says it like it bothers him.

You shrug, sitting down on the couch beside him but leaving a respectable amount of space between your knee and his. “You don’t have to pay if you’re not feeding.”

He ignores you and says again, “Aiku, really?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “How long has it been, six, seven years? It seemed impolite to assume—”

“It’ll always be Oliver for you,” he interrupts, though not unkindly. “And do you know how much money the league throws at me? I’ll pay if it means you’ll sit here with me instead of letting one of those idiots feed from you.” He jerks his head toward the other guys that Sendou went to join.

Warmth churns again in your gut, whether you want it to or not.

“Oliver,” you nod, trying to fight the smile tugging at your lips.

His lips quirk upward in turn, a real smile this time, and you try not to think too hard about the fleeting sensation that dances up the notches of your spine at the sight of the white points of his fangs that rest against his bottom lip when he does it.

It’s easier than you were expecting—catching up with Oliver. In a way, it feels like no time has passed at all as you slip back into the familiar, easy comfort of conversation with him. He asks what you’re majoring in, if you still hate math. If you’ve been traveling at all like you always said you would.

If you’re seeing anyone.

(Your stomach flips at the question, even if there’s nothing suggestive in the way he asks it.)

He asks if it bothers you—the fact that he was Turned.

(It doesn’t.)

Oliver doesn’t look at you with pity or judgement on his face when you tell him that you started working at Blue Lock to help pay for your tuition—he knows that your mother had enough trouble sending your brother to university. Though he does ask about the gold bracelet on your wrist. This must be his first time here.

“This is the only place I let clients feed from me.”

You nod toward Hayami, who’s currently straddling Sendou. He makes eye contact with Oliver as he nudges aside the gold chain around her neck and sinks his fangs in. She throws her head back, burying her fingers in his hair.

Yeah, she may very well end up fucking him tonight.

Oliver looks away, expression wholly impassive despite their near-vulgar display, and you continue, “My neck is off limits at work.”

Unconsciously, you rub your collarbone, and Oliver’s eyes track the movement. Your skin feels hot in the wake of his gaze, even if it only lingers for a moment.

He quirks a brow. “Only at work?”

You blink at Oliver several times, a sudden flash of heat searing its way between your legs at the boldness in his question.

He laughs then, shaking his head, as if thinking better of it. “Sorry, ignore me, that was inappropriate—”

“No, it’s okay. I…just feel like neck feeding should be reserved for romantic partners,” you tell him, and saying that to Oliver of all people makes you feel somewhat embarrassed. “Or sexual partners, whatever. It’s just too intimate for me to let a complete stranger do it.”

You shrug, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist. And out of the corner of your eye, it looks like Hayami’s dry humping Sendou as he continues to feed from her (clearly he’s tipping her well, if she’s yet to slide into the lap of another one of Oliver’s teammates yet).

Case in point.

It’s probably a trick of the light, but you swear Oliver’s eyes darken for just a moment as your words sink in.

Hayami outright moans, but Oliver doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“So you don’t sleep with vampires,” he says, more a statement than a question.

It feels layered, thick with something you’re not sure you want to peel back and inspect too closely. Not when Oliver’s proximity alone has desire creeping its way through the slats in your ribcage like greedy, reaching vines.

You wonder if he knows—just how much you used to think about him.

How badly you used to want him.

(How badly you might still.)

You wonder if he still sees you as his best friend’s little sister.

“I haven’t,” you tell him.

(Not “I won’t.”)

Oliver tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t.”

Your lungs burn on a silent inhale as the two of you stare at one another, and your lips part, as if to say something—until a raucous outburst of laughter nearby distracts both of you momentarily, and the moment collapses like a deck of cards.

The charged feeling in the air ebbs (if only to find shores at the base of your ribs).

You blink, and Oliver coughs. “Hey, remember that old abandoned building your brother swore was haunted?” he asks, changing the topic abruptly without missing a beat.

And you don’t know whether to feel thankful or regretful for it as you try to reconcile the disorienting feelings stirred up inside of you.

The next hour goes by without incident. Oliver talks about himself and what he’s been doing with his life, what it’s like playing soccer in a vampire-based league these days. You learn that the rest of the men with him are on his team as well. Professional sports leagues for the Turned have become more popular in the last decade or so. And when you heard the news about Oliver—that was your first thought. Because you knew how much he’s always loved soccer.

The rest of his group eventually stands, cheeks flushed in a way that only happens when a vampire feeds, and Oliver hands you his phone, silently asking for your number.

Somewhere, your teenage self is flopping back in bed and screaming into a pillow.

You stifle the foolish thought as the pads of your fingers tap the screen, hand briefly brushing against his cool skin when you give the device back to him.

Oliver goes to slide his phone into his back pocket, and for whatever reason, you blurt out, “Are you sure you don’t need to feed?”

He freezes, gaze slowly returning to yours, and he stares at you for a moment before he finally responds, “When I feed, it’s in my bed.”

You remain rooted to the spot long after Oliver leaves with a wave and a smile that once again shows the barest hint of his fangs, not trusting your legs not to give out on you.

And when you eventually go to head to the back for a break before entertaining another group of customers, your boss catches you and tells you Oliver paid for you up through the end of your shift. So you can either take another client and earn extra for the evening, or head home early.

You choose the latter with a knot of warmth in your chest, electricity fizzing at the edges of it.

–

Later, tucked beneath a blanket on the corner of your couch with some awful reality show playing quietly in the background, you hate the way you find yourself staring down at Oliver’s Instagram profile.

It’s been a while since you’ve let yourself peruse his posts.

The grid of photos is mostly a mixture of professional shots from his games and promotional ones, with some various shots of food, city landscapes at night, and a rare selfie here and there.

You panic when your thumb slips and you nearly like a shirtless photo of him standing in his bathroom mirror, too focused on the large, dark bruise that blooms across his ribs.

oliku23: note 2 self, don’t block sendou’s penalty kicks at practice from 3ft away

After that, you decide it’s safer sticking to the thumbnails, but still you find yourself unable to resist the urge to carefully tap open another selfie—he’s grinning in this one, nose, cheeks, and teeth covered in blood, and a red-stained soccer ball perched in one hand.

oliku23: promise i didn’t bite anyone

Snorting softly, you put your phone down on the couch beside you, resting your chin on your knees. It doesn’t look like he has a girlfriend, or if he does, he’s completely private about her. Either that or—judging by Sendou’s comment earlier—he’s probably the same Oliver you used to know: a professional at sleeping around and not getting attached.

Your phone lights up again from where it’s perched on the cushion beside your socked foot, a notification hovering on the lock screen.

Unknown: It was nice seeing you tonight.

♱ TO BE CONTINUED.

#oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #dee writes #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock fanfiction

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etherealrin · 5 months ago

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ᯓ★ thinking about academic-rival!rin

“you…you’re my rival!” an angry, red-faced itoshi rin had foolishly declared in second grade, after you’d scored a perfect 100 on the latest math test—he’d only received a 98.

rin hadn’t seriously meant it back then, but you took it very much personally. over the ten years which ensued, the two of you had developed an odd dynamic. it was intense, to say the least. you took the competition very seriously, taking every advanced course your school had to offer, and rin followed right alongside you. the obvious result was matching schedules; each year you’d chosen virtually identical classes. you’d decided to hate him, and your rivalry was no secret either, with your and rin’s name always occupying two of the top three spots in class rankings. despite that, he’d never done anything to suggest dislike for you. even the teachers had taken to teasing the two of you, they seemed to love pairing the two of you for group projects, watching you both struggle to outperform the other on presentation day.

“not again,” you groan as you realize that rin was your partner. rin mirrors your displeased expression from across the classroom. your english teacher smiles at you both, thoroughly entertained.

“you two will be assigned romeo and juliet,” she says, feigning indifference. you swear she’s trying not to laugh. the rest of your class inevitably snickers: of course the two who hate each other would have a blast presenting the iconic love story!

“no, no, no, no!” you find yourself telling rin as you pace around his room, pointing at his computer then back to him, anger evident in your tone. “juliet is not stupid, she’s only trying her best to save herself from never seeing romeo again, and inevitably divorcing paris,” you exhale. of course rin couldn’t be trusted with the character analysis of juliet—he was so cold that he probably couldn’t comprehend the idea of love. in your fit of annoyance, you’d walked closer to rin, fully invading his personal space. to be precise, your faces were barely inches away, but you only continue your rant. “you probably don’t even get what love is, just let me do the analysis!” you huff, arms crossing.

you’re met with his clear azure gaze, and, weirdly, he laughs, low and melodic.

“do you really think that?” rin asks, leaning in just a bit closer, breath tickling your nose. “that i’m not capable of love?”

“well-“ you falter, unsure of your answer. and why the hell was he so close to you? why did his cologne smell infuriatingly good, was it le labo santal 33?

“why do you act like you hate me?” he whispers. there’s no hint of mockery in his voice, it’s genuine.

“because i do?” your voice shakes. you’re not even confident of that—but wasn’t he supposed to be your rival?

“hmm, but i don’t think so,” he breathes. his fingers move to ghost up your face and cup your jawline. you’re hesitant to move away; honestly, you don’t want to move. the tension in the air is thick enough to slice and you can’t help but indulge in the enigma of itoshi rin—what would be his next move?

maybe it was all just a ploy to make sure you failed english?

“here, let’s pretend you’re juliet and i’m romeo,” he says suddenly, still hovering above your face. “since you think my analysis is so bad, maybe i’m a hands-on learner.” his hand trails down your waist as he speaks, his touch dizzying. you were probably malfunctioning, because you should have seen the red lights and sirens in your head. yet you’re frozen still, all you can do is stare back stupidly wide-eyed at him, letting him slot his lips against yours and you hate how perfect he feels, how he tastes faintly like the peppermint gum that you love.

it feels like sparks rushing through your veins, you feel high on something else entirely. you feel him smirking into the kiss, like he’d known all along that you would fold the second he tried something. because you had never truly hated him, not one bit.

you give into his touch, into the kiss, as rin pulls you closer, fingers skimming through your hair. rin was the smarter one, unfortunately. he’d known that your little rivalry was only a product of misplaced feelings, because how could the second grade him tell you that he liked you, admired that you were smart?

“you win, rin,” you admit once he lets go of you, gasping for air.

“…i thought so.” he replies. “is now a good time to mention that i might’ve bribed our english teacher for this project?”

“you what?”

a/n: i never forgot when lya posted ab this omg. ooc rin probably but idc! ugh i’m sorry this isn’t the best

masterlist.

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1d1195 · 6 months ago

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Two Negatives - Extra I

Read Two Negatives here | ~1.8k words

From me: idk if anyone is going to like this. I feel like nothing about it makes sense but I just wanted him to worship her.

Warnings: smut smut smut (but probs not the kind you want from this Harry)

Summary: Harry loves annoying her still. Especially when he wants to please her.

It had been two months of Harry doing so many sweet things for her. Granted he headed home for his winter break, and she stayed on campus so some of the sweet things were virtual but that was fine by her. He FaceTimed her every single day, making sure she had enough to eat and that she wasn’t overexerting herself with tutoring the winter classes and working at the local coffee shop. “It’s kind of nice being here alone,” she said quietly. But it felt like she was saying the opposite. He knew she missed her mum and knew that she was a bit lonely. Her mum sent presents and so did Harry. Each of them FaceTimed her on Christmas day and she had dinner at a local, good restaurant per Harry and his money.

He tried to get her to come back home for Christmas, but she begrudgingly told him she would be upset and missing her mom and didn’t want to put a damper on the holiday.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him. “I hardly got you anything in comparison.”

“Honestly, kitten, jus’ being yourself is a gift t’me,” he assured her. “You’re like m’missing piece.”

“Well, you got me too much stuff.”

“Y’winter coat was stressing me out. Can’t have a popsicle for a girlfriend. S’not even name brand, so don’t have a fit,” he reminded her. He sounded slightly irritated. Like how he sounded when she was in class and didn’t want to give him an answer or all the back and forth when she didn’t give him a pencil. “M’not ignoring you,” he said when his face disappeared from her screen and the little pause took his spot. “M’going through withdrawals,” it had only been two weeks since he left school for home. “M’checking m’calendar t’see when I can come visit you.”

“Harry?” She asked quietly. The thought that he was letting her know why he was paused made her woozy.

“Yes, kitten?” He answered instantly, still not looking at her as he presumably looked over his calendar.

“I love you.” The pause turned back to Harry almost instantly. He blinked, his lips parted ever so slightly. She wasn’t sure she had ever caught Harry off guard and the silence that ensued in those following moments made her feel ridiculous. “I’m sorry,” she looked down at her lap, embarrassment in the form of red cheeks took over her face. “I know it’s probably too early to say that and you probably don’t feel the same—”

“Kitten,” he shook his head.

“—it’s just I don’t have any other words to explain how—”

“Baby,” he tried again.

“—I feel and it’s like I can’t keep it bottled up because it was just dying to come out, I want to say it all the time—”

“Your Majesty,” he chuckled shaking his head making her finally stop rambling when she heard the slightly antagonistic nickname that she hadn’t heard as often since he replaced it with kitten and baby. There was no need to tease her much anymore, not to the degree he had been. “I love you, too. M’gonna pack some clothes, and m’going t’make my way out now. Because the only reason I’ve hesitated t’say it these last two weeks is because m’not there t’kiss every inch of your pretty face when I say it,” he explained. “Now sit tight, wait an hour, and m’planning on doing just that.”

Her face remained flushed, and she wondered how anyone in their right mind broke off a relationship with someone as sweet as him.

True to his word, Harry didn’t pressure her to have sex. In fact, he considered not doing it with her at all. Not until they got married if that’s what it took to gain her trust. But when he slept over, he was a slave to nature, and she couldn’t help but notice his hard dick pressed against her butt when she woke in the morning.

“Sorry,” he mumbled turning his hips the other direction.

“I think it’s actually very complimentary,” she shrugged.

He chuckled. “Well, m’hard jus’ ‘bout all the time from jus’ looking at you, kitten,” he assured her. “Y’don’t have t’worry ‘bout that.”

“I would really like to have sex with you.”

“I know,” he brushed his hand over hair brushing it down softly. “I do too.”

“Well, can we?”

He brought her closer again, a breath of laughter warmed her ear as his body wrapped around hers. “I jus’ want t’make sure s’what y’want. Because... I don’t want you t’think m’with you, in love with you, and downright obsessed with you, because I think you’re going to be extremely hot in bed.”

“I don’t think that. I want that too. I’ve heard really good rumors about you,” she reminded him which made him snort through a bout of laughter.

“Mmm...”

“I just think it would be special. To be that close. And... I don’t really know how else to...” she heard it coming out of her mouth before she completely said it. Fortunately, she managed to stop herself.

“Yeah,” he nodded and kissed the side of her face. “I know.”

“I don’t mean... It’s not like I don’t love you... it’s just that— I’m—”

“Kitten, I don’t want you t’do it because y’think y’owe me something. Y’don’t. The fact y’even want to is mind-blowing,” he acknowledged. “But... I don’t think s’a secret that I teased you a lot. Then I didn’t. That y’had t’deal with a lot of heavy stuff on your own,” he reminded her. “Y’don’t owe me for anything. So if we have t’wait, then we wait.”

“You’re so much sweeter than I ever thought you’d be,” she sighed.

He chuckled. “Good.”

“Can’t we do... something, though?”

Harry was tracing his finger along her skin, going up her neck and across her jaw. He smiled. “S’that something y’want?” He asked. “Cause I can do something for you,” he brushed his lips along her ear. “S’obvious I’ve been dreaming ‘bout a few things I could do t’your body, hmm?” He asked sliding his hand along her hip.

“Well...” she cleared her throat. “I meant more so something I could do for you.”

Harry could feel his dick twitch. “Kitten,” he hummed. “I don’t—”

“I have never had any complaints about—”

“Baby,” he laughed. “I know s’going t’be perfect.”

She blushed. “Well... can I?”

His heart fluttered. “Are you... begging?”

“Well, I don’t want to but you’re being stubborn!”

He chuckled. “God, you’re sexy,” he brought her mouth to his. The kiss made her hot and flustered. He pulled back and smiled at her. “No, y’can’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry. You’re even obnoxious when you’re sweet,” she sighed dramatically.

He chuckled, kicking the covers back. “Take your pants off.”

“You just said—”

“Well, m’going first,” he shrugged.

“But I—”

“Y’need t’relax and m’insistent.”

“It was my idea!”

Harry shrugged and propped his head on a pillow and laid completely still. “Y’can sit on m’face now or not. But if y’don’t, m’not letting y’suck m’dick.”

His bluntness made her flustered, her face beat red, and Harry just waited patiently while she decided. Smug and hot. The worst combination and yet he was all hers. “I haven’t even showered, Harry.”

“Y’already made the sale, kitten,” he tutted.

“Jesus Christ,” she covered her face and slid her pants off her legs as quickly as she could.

“Y’think I told you I was going t’break each of your fingers one by one and not about t’make y’come on m’tongue,” he teased.

She straddled his chest and Harry’s hands clasped the outside of her thighs urging her forward. “I don’t...” she swallowed.

“What?” He paused giving her thighs a squeeze.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “Isaac only did this like once and I don’t really know how I’m supposed to...” she pressed a hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“It would be an honor,” he assured her. She didn’t answer. “Kitten, look at me please,” his voice was gentle. “You’re stunning and I love you,” his voice had a promise in it’s tone. “If y’want t’stop, we stop. It doesn’t have t’be all or nothing here,” he rubbed her thigh. “M’not even going t’take your underwear off unless y’ask. Please relax or it won’t be fun,” he reminded her. “And m’a grown man, if y’suffocate me, I’ll let you know,” he promised.

“You could just let me suck your dick without begging and then maybe I’d—”

“Kitten, jus’ let me make y’come, alright? God you’re so stubborn,” he tugged her legs toward his face so she would be lined up with his mouth.

“Wait!”

“My God, what?!”

“I love you too,” she said quietly.

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Good. Now shut up. Unless you’re going to scream my name.”

“I don’t scream,” she warned but her voice was thin. His breath was warm against her core. Even with the small layer of underwear between her and his sinful mouth that she all but dreamed about.

“Oh, kitten,” he practically cooed. The thought of every exam they took, all the homework questions they argued over, every single time she bantered with him about a pencil... all of it was at the forefront of his mind but now coincided with the gorgeous image of her straddling his face, pressing a hand to the wall behind his head. If he argued with her in class from then on he was going to be fucked. He would probably come in his pants just thinking about this moment and he hadn’t even tasted her yet.

Which was short lived as he licked a stripe over the triangle of fabric covering where Harry wanted her most. He groaned as she gasped. He soaked her underwear with his tongue and the mess she was making. He pulled her hips closer. He wanted her closer to his mouth and he could tell she was holding back. But as he licked and licked, making her underwear practically translucent with his saliva and her wetness, he was able to suck and swirl his tongue over her clit. Her whimpers were music to his ears. Hopefully she would beg him to remove her underwear in the next few moments. But he was perfectly content with this as well. It was heaven. She was heaven. “C’mon, kitten. Don’t y’want t’scream?” He teased.

“No,” but her voice cracked, and she moaned softly. Harry pulled her tighter to his mouth, only pulling her away ever so slightly so he could speak, and she would hear it over her gasps.

“Y’sure, kitten? Y’know I love a challenge. Especially when it comes to you.”

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

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@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #college!harry styles #academic rivals!harry styles #two negatives

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eternalsa2z · 11 months ago

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Retraining

Ashton Inspirion was one of those guys who never got out. He lived in a different world…the virtual world. He was always gaming, tinkering with his computer, isolated from the rest of school.

Virtual learning suited him, so he signed up for a class called 'Retraining'. He thought it'd be an easy CS course, especially since it was filled with a bunch of ditzy Sigma Lambda Tau sorority girls. It was different that he expected. More of a virtual reality concept where he had to create and develop a model.

All the other girls in class were building hot bimbo models. So Ashton thought he'd try it. He built up his online wardrobe with pink, tight fitting clothes. Changed his hair to be long and blonde. Even discovered how to hack the NSFW settings and give himself the biggest set of fake tits and lips that seemed possible.

The other girls LOVED him for that and started sharing tips and tricks. Ashton had never had friends…let alone BFFs…and started to really get into the role. Spending more time in the game than any before. Really focusing on making 'Ashli' dim and ditzy and doll-like.

He found it easier the deeper it got into the system. Controlling his character using a full-body VR set built by SluTech that was a required part of the course. Using voice inputs to say 'Um' and 'Like' a lot for a valley-girl speech pattern. Walking with a wiggle and arms akimbo to get the perfect bimbo gait down. It became easier to develop Ashli by just being Ashli.

Little did the student know all-consuming the course really was. Outside the game, VR headset finally taken off her long blonde hair, Ashli 'AI' Insipid stared blankly at a screen. She was pretty sure she had logged out. But she was staring at her character. The plump, pouty pink lips. The cute pink top. The dumb ditzy look. Was this the game…or real life?

The truth was too much for the dumbed down doll to process. The virtual model was a role model for how she transformed. Her big fake tits were now real. She had been reprogrammed, turned into her perfect image.

Even if she could comprehend the changes, it didn't matter. All Ashli cared about was that she was late to meet her BFFs! So instead of slipping on the headset, she slipped on a cute skirt and some stripper heels, and trotted over to SLT with a wiggle and a giggle. Just like she had been retrained.

#bimboification #m2f transformation #hypnosis #mental transformation #technology transformation #slutech #sigma lambda tau

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inkyquillstories · 6 months ago

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DreamGrid: Best friends living their best lives (A Body Swap Story)

The 2020s was the time where smartphones and AI were the biggest thing. This decade however, virtual reality was the biggest gamechanger. Technology has gone to a point where not only can you see and hear your virtual world but also smell, taste, and feel it. All five senses connected to this virtual reality called DreamGrid.

Inside the DreamGrid, it automatically detects everything about you from your body to your preferences. We barely have secrets from companies these days since all our data has been uploaded in the cloud. Once you’ve logged in and wear the helmet, you can see, smell, and feel your real life body in the virtual world. In this world, the possibilities are endless.

Tom and Nate have been best friends since they were kids. Their parents were friends and they became friends themselves. They would always do sleepovers and do everything together. When they got into school, it became apparent that they had their own strengths. Tom was one of the smartest kids in the class while Nate was very athletic and charming. It didn’t affect their friendship though, in fact, it was strengthened. Tom would help Nate with his homework while Nate helped Tom with his social skills and physical-related tasks.

Years later, they’re still best buddies. They actually moved in together ‘cause it’s cheaper that way. Tom now works for DreamGrid while Nate became a physical therapist.

(Tom)

(Nate)

One day, Tom received headsets from DreamGrid and Nate insisted on immediately logging in along with Tom. They went through all the registration and setup until they were both in the virtual world.

Even in DreamGrid, they decided to be roommates. In this virtual world though, their apartment was bigger with more expensive furniture. Nate couldn’t believe how tasty virtual food is while Tom spent more time decorating his room with virtual knicknacks. Eventually, both guys logged off because there’s just too many things to do in DreamGrid but not enough time.

After a few months, both guys had a stressful day at work. They ranted to each other what annoyed them that day. Despite the very different type of jobs they had, one being very technical while the other being very physical, one of the common denominators that contributed to their stress was how routine and how repetitive each day could be. Given it was the weekend, Nate had the idea to go visit DreamGrid again to do something new with his best friend.

“Hey Tom, let’s go log on DreamGrid. I just need a break from my life right now.” Nate said.

“You know what, me too.” Tom replied.

Both men wore the headsets and hopped into their virtual apartment. What they didn’t anticipate is how similar it felt to real life. When they set up their accounts, they chose to still have the same jobs in the virtual world. Others would usually choose jobs they don’t have in real life.

“Hey Tom, I have a crazy idea.” Nate said.

“What is it?”

“What if I log in DreamGrid as you and you log in as me?”

“You want us to be each other in the virtual world?” Nate replied.

“Yeah, I do. I think it’ll be fun to be my best friend for a while.”

“Oh I don’t know-”

“Come on! We both know each other very well and our avatars have all the know-how anyway!” Nate insisted.

“Well I guess there’s no harm in doing it.” Tom finally relented.

Both men logged out and exchanged headsets.

When they logged in, they were each other.

“Holy shit, this is so freaky! No pun intended” Nate said.

“I know! It feels so weird being taller than you, or I should say, me.” Tom said.

“I’ve never been this fit before.” Tom said.

“And I haven’t been this hairless since 9th grade.” Nate replied.

Both men agreed to go to each other’s room to explore their new bodies.

In Nate’s room:

“Holy shit, it feels so weird to be in Nate’s body” Tom thought as he lifted his shorts.

Tom opened his selfie camera and admired his new hairy chest. He ran towards the bathroom and took a selfie there.

In Tom’s Room:

Nate peeled off Tom’s shirt and inspected his own body. It was certainly very different from his own. However he enjoyed every minute of it.

Like Tom, he went to the mirror to take a selfie of his new self.

Both guys emerged from their rooms and decided to go to each other’s jobs. Tom enjoyed helping people as a physical therapist. Nate enjoyed thinking about complex problems at DreamGrid. At the end of the virtual day, they met again at home and discussed.

“Tom, your job is amazing!” Nate said.

“I haven't thought that hard in a long time. It felt good being able to solve the complex problems they gave me.”

Tom replied “Well I had a lot of fun in your job too! You know I exercise too but I’m not as fit and strong as you and having your body helped a lot.”

“But it’s time to log off. Do you wanna do it again?” Nate asked.

“I sure do.” Tom replied.

Both guys removed their helmets and got back to the real world. Tom looked at his body with a bit of disappointment. Unbeknownst to him, Nate felt the same way.

Both guys excitedly got home and immediately wore their headsets. Tom was happy being Nate and Nate was happy being Tom. In fact, they preferred being each other more than being themselves. By extension, both men dreaded going back to the real world every time. They wished the virtual world was their reality.

This continued on for months. They would be each other virtually and do the bare minimum in reality. Both guys were able to articulate their common desire to swap bodies so they decided to be each other permanently in DigitalGrid.

However, this was not enough for either of them. They wanted their virtual identities to be their real and physical identities. In fact, Tom felt wrong being Tom in real life. He felt like he was too short and weaker than he should be. Nate hated being taller and stronger. This did not feel like the life he was meant to have.

When Nate is in DigitalGrid, he would work on a way for their consciousness to be reuploaded in each other’s bodies in real life. In the real world, Tom would tinker with the physical helmets to be able to trick the software that Nate was Tom and Tom was Nate. After a few more months, both men succeeded.

“Are you sure about this Tom?” Tom asked Nate. They decided to call each other by the other’s name a few months ago.

“Yes, I’m sure Nate.” Nate replied.

Both men smiled and wore the headset. In the virtual world, Tom was Tom and Nate was Nate. They both wore the headsets in the virtual world as well and pressed a button. Both men felt a shock and removed their virtual headsets. Tom was now Nate and Nate was Tom. Again, they removed the real headsets.

Tom found himself in Nate’s body and Nate found himself in Tom’s body. They hugged each other and said thanks as they looked forward to being each other for the rest of their lives.

The end.

#male body swaps #DreamGrid #inkyquill

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