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zapperrr · 1 year ago

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Web Development Services in Australia by Zapperr

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lokisgoodgirl · 10 months ago

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loki stuffing your panties into ur mouth to keep u quiet while fucking u in the empty throne room !!!

Don't mind if I do. 😎🩲 Ps. I HC that Asgardians don't really do underwear, so we have something else instead.🧤

Throne

Warnings: Smut/ Soft dom! King! Loki/ Gagging/ Breeding kink elements. I've been off work this afternoon so rattled this out, apols for any snaffoos - I'm in a bubbly mood today so fancied some filth. w/c 750 A link to my masterlist is here

Loki’s angular face is all sharpness and shadows in the gloom of a hundred torches lining the wall.

“Closer,” he orders, and you obey. Your eyes flicker penitently from the floor, pinning on his as you climb the steps. His leather-gloved fingers toy leisurely with the strap around his hips; the pop of metal buttons echoing. Everyone else is at the feast, and the throne room has never looked more beautiful: like a glittering, golden tomb. This isn’t what you expected when the king slipped you a note in the great hall – but now you’re here, you can’t imagine it being anything else.

“Closer,” he says again.

One corner of his mouth curls. You gasp as he reaches out, pulling you to his lap in one harsh movement and the iron meat of his bound cock slams against your clit. Loki’s hands run covetously up your thighs, pushing the chiffon dress around your hips. “Ore and blood,” he breathes, slipping a finger between your folds and thrumming against your clit. "I've wanted you all night. Hel's fire, you have no conception of how much." A strangled moan scrapes from your throat, and immediately the free hand not making lazy circles on your cunt is pressed to your mouth. “Quiet,” he warns gruffly. The god’s hair is glossy in torchlight; tangled with a sheen like magpie wings. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Use your hands. Quickly.” You grasp against his crotch, sliding a hand inside his leathers and curling around what lies within. Your eyes widen, and Loki’s amused expression twists to pleasure as your grip tightens. He's as hard as the marble pillars. “Gods, how I’ve wanted this,” he says breathlessly as you shift up and hover over the tip. “Say it?” you beg, brushing the head of his legendary cock against your slit. “Please…”

Pearls of sweat glisten on Loki’s forehead, and he looks up beneath those dark lashes, his bottom teeth jutting forward as he tries to restrain himself from thrusting into you like the sexual beast he is. “I command you to fuck the king, as you were born to do,” he drawls with all the regal arrogance you’d requested. Your slippery pussy edges down the god’s length, meeting the root with a filthy growl from his throat. Loki’s hands fly to the arms of the throne, and you’re sure his knuckles are whitening beneath those slutty leather gloves as you begin to rock against him. Your groans sound like music in the empty hall; bouncing between pillars of marble like mockingjay song. “Quiet,” he grits, brows peaking. “You’ll alert…a-alert the guards.” You tighten around his cock in response and give an insolent, echoing whine of pleasure. Without another word Loki brings his hands together and peels one tight, leather glove in front of your face. You follow his movements as he plucks the tips of his fingers: one, by one, by one. “Don’t…fucking…stop,” he enunciates slowly – and a thrill of dangerous desire swells in your lower belly. His face is clouded with manufactured disdain as you moan again, squeezing around the fat, sensitive tip before sinking to the base with a rattle of his name.

It’s interrupted by Loki’s fingers flying to your jaw; stuffing the leather glove inside your open mouth. You choke on nothing, eyes wide and cunt throbbing.

“There. The perfect angle for me to fuck you full of myself: here where you belong…me on my throne, and you on yours.” Loki’s eyes blaze as his grip moves to your ass, pulling you flush to his chest; buried against your cleavage and thrusting so deep you think you might shatter. “When the king tells you to keep your voice down, he means it,” Loki whispers hot in your ear. He releases a disgustingly gravelled rasp of pleasure as his one gloveless hand tangles in your hair. It pulls gently while the other guides your hips: leather sticking to the sweat misting your skin.

A muffled moan of understand is all you can muster as Loki’s cock stretches you; his pubic hair tugging your clit; an orgasm so powerful welling between your thighs you could swear the throne was trembling. The leather stuffed between your lips tastes warm; oak-birch undertones of his natural scent making you dizzy. Even if you both screamed your orgasms to the old gods, the guards won’t come, they know better than that. And he knows it, too.

“Where better for my glorious wife to conceive a future king than on my throne,” Loki growls, his voice beginning to break as it comes undone. His mind, too. And as he does, unhinged and bucking everything he has inside your heat – so do you.

The glove isn’t enough to stifle the cry of his name in your throat - it never is.

-----

👑❤️x Tags in comments as per.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki drabble #loki imagine #lokismut #smut

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comatosebunny09 · 2 months ago

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serve & protect [ prologue ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, brief mention of injury, marking, tension, jealousy, kind of a slow burn, will get steamier — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024) movie. tysm for reading! — now playing: waltz no.2 - cihat aşkın

You would feel bad for badgering him if he wasn’t prone to disappearing like this.

Prone to shirking off his duties like an entire kingdom didn’t rely on his guidance.

You sigh for the umpteenth time amid the night-blooming jasmines. Fingers tighten around the strapped leather grip of your sword, fastened to your hip. Your feet move on autopilot, carrying you through the garden on a path you’re all too familiar with, the grass shining with dew and crunching beneath your feet.

Your shift just began after a grueling week of training. Yet, you’ve already been tasked by his royal advisor with locating your charge before even shrugging into your coat. You’ve become something of a glorified babysitter these days, practically telling your liege when to eat.

If not for his advisor threatening to lop your head off—he could very well try—you would leave the king be. He hasn’t found much reprieve these days, what with neighboring countries pushing for peace treaties, reformation efforts to rebuild the outlying cities, and distant kingdoms shoving their daughters at him for marriage, amongst a slew of other issues.

It isn’t uncommon for your charge to slip away when the weight of the world is too much to shoulder. For him to retire to his private garden to catch his breath. He’ll never admit it aloud, but shouldering an entire kingdom on his own deepens the violet bags hanging beneath his eyes. The sleepless nights. The impending anxiety stewing in his gut.

Only you know of the secret passageways that lead to his most favored spots in the garden, where his servants get lost trying to navigate the network of rose bushes arranged like a labyrinth to keep them out.

It’s often your responsibility to fetch him since you work more intimately with him than anyone else. You know His Majesty’s habits like they were mapped on the back of your hand. You wouldn’t have it any other way; it’s nice to be the only person allowed into these private quadrants of his life.

A shock of white stains your peripheral, peacefully nestled between swaying hydrangeas.

You near him, noting that he’s propped up on an ironwood bench. His head is lowered and crooked to one side, arms folded over a broad chest, lips slightly parted. A book rests open and forgotten on his thigh, legs crossed. You tamp down a smile when you realize he’s fast asleep.

“Your Majesty,” you beckon with a hidden fondness as your steps slow to a stop before him.

He doesn’t stir. Of course, you don’t expect him to. When sleep claims him, it’s hard to free him from its ivy-like crawl.

You kneel dutifully, bowing your head, your sword scrawling a thick line in the dirt. You caution his name again, the sound of your voice competing with that of the breeze threading through the leaves.

Still nothing. Just the steady rhythm of his breaths and distant morning birds singing their symphony around you.

With a sigh, you incline your head to look up. And what a mistake that proves to be, traitorous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He’s a beautiful contradiction amid the soft stir of pastel flowers. A dark cutout of regality, slumbering like a dragon guarding its treasure.

His hair is reminiscent of a thick blanket of snow, piling itself amongst the treetops. He wears summer skin in the midst of spring. Stretched taut over a pretty Roman nose, angular features, full lips. He’s ethereal, limned in the sun’s amber glow, a sight that could bring the end of days or sink ships to the bottom of the sea. Thick, furled lashes dance with dreams beneath furrowed brows. A gruff sound escapes his mouth as he lightly stirs before falling still again.

Even in sleep, he maintains the intensity with which he’s known to rule.

A quaint smile touches your lips. You quell an impulse to soothe the divot between his brows with your thumb. To smooth out the hard press of his lips together. A well-timed gust of wind kicks in, rustling the velvet-soft hair framing his face.

Your fingers twitch with an impulse to touch. To tuck those unruly locks behind his ear. You instead curl them into a loose fist on the ground, quietly chiding yourself for allowing such thoughts to trickle in.

He is your charge—your king. Affectionate gestures like that are forbidden. A conflict of interest, no matter how harmless they may seem.

Besides, you’re unworthy of touching him. There’s dirt caked beneath your nails and an ever-present film of grime adorning your cheeks. He should have someone of equal stature smiling at his side. A pretty, glittering doll in flowery dresses, well-versed in the tongue of nobility. In the art of being poised and prim.

You’re a mere servant. A shield to be used at his disposal, your hands battle-worn and skin sun-kissed. You threw away all hope for love when you took an oath, binding your life to his and pledging your fealty to him.

He handpicked you to serve as his personal bodyguard, a decision you still grapple with several years later. Many seasoned knights served in the royal guard longer than you’ve held a sword. You would never do anything to jeopardize his trust, to betray his kindness.

The affection that unfurls like lotus petals in your chest for him is deep-rooted. However, it results from serving under him for so long and nothing more.

At least…

That’s what you tell yourself whenever his gaze lingers a little too long, pilfering the air from your lungs.

Or when his dexterous fingers brush over your wrist under the guise of reaching for something in front of you.

When he presses a warm and possessive hand at the small of your back whenever you tour the citadel’s grounds with him, or he requests your input on something at his desk.

When he flashes a rare quirk of lips that’s boyish and dimpled and disarming when he thinks no one else is the wiser.

You clear your throat, remembering yourself. Your voice is more assertive this time, dispelling the nebulous haze of your musings.

“Your Majesty, please. You have to get up.” The urge to stroke his cheek returns. You squeeze your thigh to curb it.

As if the Gods grant you mercy, that does the trick.

His lashes flutter, and his voice is thick and raspy, rolling like thunder over the horizon in his chest. You watch him blink away the bleariness, the scarlet wash of his irises causing your heart to pull.

Your king studies you as if making out the colors and texture of your face. You try not to shiver under his scrutiny, instead looking away as warmth inhabits your face. You’ve always found his eyes to be one of his most devastating features. They could easily glean through the mist of your mind, your guise, reading you like the yellowed pages of a book, even without tapping into the power residing in his right eye.

Heat permeates through the thickness of your uniform when, after setting his book aside, he suddenly pitches himself forward, elbows digging into the pockets of his knees. He rests his chin atop his folded together fingers, and you don’t need to fully look at him to see the smirk crooking his lips. The scent of unfettered energy and stripped sandalwood rolls off his skin, curling around your senses, threatening to root your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

The air between you is rife with tension. So thick, you can cleave through it with your blade. Your king watches you amusedly, and you do everything within your power to resist the bewitching pull of his gaze. The comfort and strength he exudes.

When he speaks, you nearly jump fifty feet out of your skin. His voice is as devastating as his eyes, puddling in your stomach, turning your brain to smog.

“I knew you were there all along. That’s why I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I was merely resting them.”

You scoff despite the anxiety scorching your innards. Closing your eyes, you retort under your breath, though loud enough for him to hear, “Sure, Majesty. You were resting your eyes while snoring with drool running down your chin.”

Your charge releases an indignant sound from the back of his throat, reeling back to touch his face, mortified. Your shoulders shake with your quiet laughter, and you hide the round tug of your lips behind your fist.

“Funny,” he says, and he gives you a look. One he’s used to silence an entire court of hecklers, its sharpness boding danger.

You clear your throat, donning that straight-faced mask you’ve grown so accustomed to wearing. You’re friends—childhood companions—yet you know when to shift from candid to serious.

Recalling why you were initially sent to fetch him, you stand to full height, brushing the dust off your hands on your thighs before snapping to attention. Your king raises a brow as if sensing something on your mind.

“At ease,” he orders, his voice devoid of its usual sternness as he leans back against the bench, a long arm draped along the bench’s headrest.

You get a good look at the veins peering through the cuffed sleeve of his button-up, spilling down his forearm to puddle at the back of his hand. You swallow against the barbs forming in your throat, your mouth growing dry.

“Speak freely.”

You nod, your hands clasped together at the small of your back. “You have a brunch date with the Queen of Universum today, sir.”

He blinks as if this information is news to him before recollection forms between his brows. His Majesty scowls, drumming his fingers on the bench’s rim impatiently. “Of course. Another noble here to throw their daughter at my feet.”

Your shoulders slightly drop at the dejection in his tone. You wish people weren’t so insistent that he take a wife. His father ruled just fine without one following the death of his mother. Still, having been around His Majesty so long, you understand why it’s imperative he marry soon.

Your shoulder throbs dully, serving as your reminder.

You try to ignore how the thought of some pretty noble wrapped around his arm makes you bristle, green-eyed feelings stewing in your belly. It would never be you—never could be you. You’re content with being his handler, watching him mutter obscenities over paperwork from your position at his door.

“How does that make you feel?” His Majesty suddenly asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

You blink, caught off guard. “M-Me?”

His chuckle is rich and endearing, and you unconsciously step back when he stands, swaddling you in his warmth and imposing aura. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he pokes your nose, and you go cross-eyed looking at his slender finger.

“Yes, you. How does it make you feel, knowing that so many women would kill to take my name?”

He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Trying to weasel something out of you you’ve tucked in the deepest regions of your mind. You don’t humor him; instead, you give him a haughty look, your chin defiantly jutting forward.

“I think anyone willing to marry you is clinically insane.”

He laughs at your brazenness, your teasing, full-bodied and soothing. Dimples crater his cheeks, and the softness washing over his eyes causes a smile to twitch your lips. Without warning, idle fingers scorch your skin through the fabric of your jacket, easing down your arm, past the crook of your elbow, further still…

You’re breathless as His Majesty coaxes a hand from behind your back, and you watch with slightly parted lips and through the wispy sweep of your lashes as he draws it to his mouth. His eyes drill into the hulls of your soul whilst his molten lips brush your knuckles. He kisses them with such tenderness, such reverence, as if you’re an idol forged from glass, meant to be preserved in a museum.

The sound of your pulse pounding like a war drum blots out every bit of noise around. Your throat thickens, tongue bolted to the roof of your mouth.

“Good morning, by the way,” he drawls as if ensnaring you in a secret, his warm breath ghosting your skin, limber fingers scorching your hand to the bone.

You snatch away quicker than you mean to. Smooth your palm down your thigh before pinching yourself, studying the blades of grass licking at your boots. You wish you hadn’t caught sight of the fleeting pain in his expression. Wish you hadn’t been the cause of it.

“W-We should get going, sir,” you divert, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice.

He pushes out a weighted breath, stuffing the hand once curled around yours into his opposing pocket. “Lead on, then, dear friend.”

“Right.” With a curt nod, you turn on your heel towards the patchwork of greenery you emerged from.

He follows wordlessly, closely, a towering presence at your back, footfalls weighted in the grass, swallowing up the sound of your smaller ones. Static charges between you, imbued with something potent. You practically feel his eyes boring holes into the space between your shoulder blades.

You try to no avail to quell your thundering heart. To ignore how your knuckles throb where his lips imprinted themselves on the rough stretch of skin.

You wince, inwardly warring with yourself, praying that His Majesty keeps his hands to himself long enough to get through his meal with the queen.

You could only dream he would behave.

His Majesty is as infuriating as he is handsome.

masterlist | next >>

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus qin #lads sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #king!sylus #royalty au #serve & protect series

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ceilidho · 4 months ago

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fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl.

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head.

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint.

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew.

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent.

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence.

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent.

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time.

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission.

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from.

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful.

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?”

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words.

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare.

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation.

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig.

“It’s not about that,” you croak.

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours.

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly.

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden.

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out.

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her.

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance.

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers.

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction.

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers.

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening.

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head.

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much.

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe.

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence.

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously.

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal.

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway.

But he does have a scent.

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing.

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm.

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.

Something is very wrong.

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door.

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now.

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours.

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold.

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height.

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you

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rakurairagnarok · 5 months ago

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Destination Unknown

Jared cussed. His alarm didn't go of so now he was going to be late for work. He had just seen his tram leave right before he got to the doors.

He sat down on the bench as he grabbed his phone to call his boss to let him know he would be late. Before he could send dial he saw a tram slowly approaching him. Frowning Jared slowly gets up as he grabs his card to check in.

The tram stopped perfectly in front of him, and Jared gets on. He walks to the driver. "Ehm, excuse me, is this tram Going to the city Centre stop?"

The driver laughs mischievously and nods. "We take you to wherever you need to go."

Dumbfounded by the weird cryptic answer Jared sat down and looked around. The inside of the tram was a light pink, the seats have frilly cushions, and a faint rose scent permeates around the inside of the car. Two other guys are sitting a few rows behind Jared. Both are wearing similar clothes to him, a buttoned shirt and dress pants, but where you wore perfectly tailored clothes the other guys seemed to have washed them a bit too hot. The clothes were tight around their thick arms and their buttons were fighting for their lives.

Jared turned back around and put his headphones in. Not his fault people don't know how to buy clothes.

After a few stops Jared shifted in his seat. Grimacing he looked down to see his shirt looking a bit tighter than it was supposed to. Rubbing his stomach he felt a slightly more tense response than he was used to. He scratched chin feeling a bit of stubble, which in retrospect wasn't very surprising due to him not having time to shave in the morning.

Looking out of the window he noticed he was nearing his stop so he got up and walked to the nearest exit. Looking across the car he noticed two new guys sitting in the same spots as the two dudes that were in there before. They were very out of place in this princess pink tram. Their muscles were massive, pecs shelving, biceps bulging. They were eyeing eachother hungrily as the tram got to a stop. They looked up at you and both smiled with their perfect pearly whites.

Shuddering Jared quickly got off. He sighed as he stepped into the cold December air. While walking to his office, Jared felt his legs grind against eachother in a very uncharacteristic way. Looking down his pants seem to be hugging his legs a bit tighter than before. He brushed it off to it being do to having to leave in a hurry and shortly after got to the office.

The day went by in a blur. His colleagues congratulated him on multiple occasions on his physique, which actually got him more self-conscious than ever before, mostly due to the fact that he did not work out in the slightest. After a few hours he had enough of it and went to the bathroom to check.

As he looked into the mirror Jared was shocked to see his face more angular than he remembered. His jaw was sharp and there was a noticeable amount of scruff on his face. Looking at his body he noticed his arms tight in his shirt, similar to his legs.

"Oh... my... god..." Jared's face flushed as he noticed the obscene bulge his pants were containing.

"What is happening to me..." Jared thought out loud. His mind went into overdrive. Was it an allergic reaction? It couldn't be. He didn't have the time to eat anything he didn't before. Unless he's allergic to too much sleep that wasn't it.

The only conclusion left was...

"But that can't be..."

The tram. The weird ethereal, rose smelling, pink tram. Jared grabbed his phone and on his way back to his desk, searched online for any hits on "Pink tram transformation". The rest of his day was spend on browsing the web. At the end of the day he had finally found a hit. Apparently there was an urban legend where a pink tram will take you wherever you want in life. People would exit it changed in some way that would propel them in the right direction in life. A few warnings on the thread about people also going missing didn't seem to alarm Jared as he looked at the way to summon the pink tram. "You just have to be very adamant on going somewhere."

After going home Jared devised his plan. He had a day off tomorrow, so he had time to spare. So he would go to where no one has seemed to go before. The end of the tram.

______________________________________________________________

The next day Jared waited at the station for the next tram to arrive. He figured the best way for the tram to come would be after the regular one to have just left. After the last tram left, Jared closed his eyes and wished.

"I want to get to the end of the pink trams ride."

Like clockwork, he heard a tram approaching. He opened his eyes and saw the pink tram. Full with glee he entered the Tram. He saw the driver eyeing him up and down with a smirk.

"Welcome back"

"Thank you, there's no limit to how long I can ride this tram right?"

"No sir, we are glad to have you, please take a seat and enjoy the ride."

Jared smiled and made his way into the car. Looking around he noticed a handsome guy sitting alone and he decided to test something else. He sat down on the opposite side of the tram of the guy and looked him in the eyes.

"Hey, I'm Jared, where are you going?"

"Oh, hey, I'm Bruce, I'm just on my way to work. Funny story I missed my regular tram, but then this one showed up almost right after."

Jared grinned. "The same happened to me yesterday. Have fun!"

And with that Jared got up and walked to the back of the tram.

He kept an eye on the guy who seemed very enthralled into his phone. Slowly but surely, with each stop, Bruce's shoulders seemed to broaden out. He also seemed a bit taller and have a bit more scruff on his face, but before more could change, he got off.

Jared sighed. He wanted to have a bit more fun. Before he could linger on it though, he realized he was man spreading. He looked down. His legs, which he smartly had clad in baggy sweats, were twice the size they were before. His shirt was almost bursting at the seems with his pecs already pushing the limits of the buttons. Jared got up and ran a hand across his bulked up torso.

"This is insane! I'm massive!" Jared smiled and walked to the door, ready to get off. But the tram kept going. Not only that but it sped up. "H-hey I want to get off!" Jared yelled to the driver.

The driver got out of his cabin, slowly walking to the panicking man. "You wished to arrive at the end did you not?" The man got closer and closer. Jared's jaw dropped as he noticed the drivers physique. He was massive. Clad in leather, his muscles rippled underneath his clothes. A devilish smile appeared as he reached Jared.

"We will arrive shortly, time to speed things up a bit" The driver snapped his fingers and the Tram started to speed up more. The man smiled as the tram began shaking heavily. Each shake send a ripple through Jared's body. Every ripple pulsed his muscles bigger. His ass jiggled as it got bigger and bigger. His bulge began to strain his pants, his balls churning.

"W-wait... please." Jared moaned. He dropped to his knees, eye level with the drivers groin.

"W-who are you"

"I'm a long forgotten being, a god of pleasure and depravity. I ride this tram for my own fun, and I seem to have found my next play thing."

The man ran a hand through Jared's hair making his locks fall out, leaving a neat buzzcut. He grabbed his chin, more scruff appearing.

"By entering this tram you enter a contract with me. By exiting you fulfil it. You decided to stay on so you are now mine. Which means I get to do with you whatever I want." The god smiles, lighting a cigar and blowing the smoke into Jared's face. The smoke flows into his mouth and nose, making his head foggy. Slowly Jared feels his sense of self escape by blowing out the smoke. Looking back up at the man in front of him he sees the mans cock hanging out of his pants , an alluring scent wafting from his large rod and balls. Without a second thought he takes the whole length down his supple throat. With each bob of his head, Jared loses more and more of his identity. Before long, nothings left. a blank slate. As soon as the last drop of Jared leaves him, the man shoots his load into the young mans throat. As the cum fills his mouth, so does the new persona fill his mind. Jay looks up at his divine daddy, smiling as the salty substance fills his stomach. Warmth spreads all over his body as he begins to expand.

His chest fills with thick muscle and hot liquid, slightly sloshing around. His balls churn as more and more testosterone gets pumped through his body. His pits begin to emanate a subtle musk, while his feet are now permanently moist. His ass balloons out, lifting him more, pushing more and more of the mans dick into his mouth, which has grown longer in the time that Jared has drained out of him.

Slowly taking out the engorged rod from his Trophy boys mouth the man smiles. "I am Kama, but you can call me daddy boy, now rest."

And with those words, Jay falls unconscious, having reached the end of the trams ride.

______________________________________________________________

In the days that follows, Jay spends his time working out, and working as an assistant at his Daddy's office. He seems to be the owner of a large multi-faceted brand called Rakurai Inc. Its perfect for him. He only has to think of fun things to make men into fun boys. No hard thinking because most of the blood is spend in his massive rod. Oh right, Daddy is almost on break better send him a picture.

#transformation #rakurai #male transformation #male muscle growth #gay tf #dumbing down #musk #jockification #rakurai Inc.#divine tf

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sensualnoiree · 7 months ago

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wealth indicators in astrology

The 2nd House and its Ruler The 2nd house rules personal wealth, income, possessions, and material resources. A well-placed ruler of the 2nd house (in dignified signs or making favorable aspects) can signify strong potential for financial success. Wealth in this house is not just about material resources, but also about how we value ourselves, our talents, and our ability to manifest abundance through self-worth.

Jupiter and Venus (Benefics) in Key Positions Jupiter represents expansion, luck, and abundance, while Venus governs pleasure, wealth, and beauty. Their placement in angular houses (1st, 4th, 7th, 10th) or making harmonious aspects (trines and sextiles) can indicate financial prosperity. Jupiter and Venus bring grace and fortune, but their spiritual lesson often revolves around generosity and the willingness to share abundance. Wealth is also cultivated through relationships and faith in higher principles.

The 8th House and its Ruler The 8th house deals with shared resources, investments, inheritance, and other people's money. A strong 8th house or a well-placed ruler can suggest gains through partnerships, inheritance, or financial support from others. Wealth from the 8th house comes through deep, transformative experiences and often asks for a surrender of control. It's the wealth of vulnerability and trust, leading to shared material or emotional resources.

Strong Earth Sign Placements (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) Earth signs are practical and grounded, making them naturally inclined toward building wealth through hard work, perseverance, and material stability. Earth placements teach the lessons of patience, discipline, and respect for the physical world. Wealth is accumulated over time through effort and practical application, but it also reflects our connection to the body and the material environment.

Pluto and Transformation of Wealth Pluto is often associated with power, control, and transformation. When in aspect to the 2nd or 8th house or their rulers, Pluto can signify major transformations in one’s financial situation—often through crises or periods of intense regeneration. Pluto teaches that true wealth is the result of deep inner transformation. Pluto forces us to face our attachments to material security and transforms our relationship to wealth through cycles of death and rebirth.

North Node in the 2nd or 8th House The North Node in the 2nd or 8th house suggests that the soul’s evolutionary journey involves learning how to master finances, resources, and self-worth. The North Node points to the soul’s spiritual work. Wealth accumulated in these areas is not just about money, but about understanding one’s true purpose and karmic lessons related to material possessions.

Saturn in the 2nd or 10th House Saturn represents discipline, structure, and long-term success. In the 2nd or 10th house, it often points to delayed but enduring financial stability through consistent effort and hard work. Saturn teaches us that wealth is earned through time and dedication. It can also represent karmic lessons around financial responsibility and the maturation process necessary for true success.

Venus-Jupiter Aspects Harmonious aspects between Venus and Jupiter are considered one of the best indicators of financial prosperity, as these are the two most beneficial planets. While this aspect can indicate material wealth, it also highlights spiritual abundance and the capacity for joy, love, and appreciation of life’s pleasures. It's a reminder that wealth is more than money—it's the richness of life.

MC (Midheaven) and Career-Related Indicators The MC, 10th house, and its ruler are tied to one’s public image, career, and long-term achievements. Favorable planets in the 10th or supportive aspects to the MC can point to career success and financial gain. Success comes through aligning with one's higher calling and being of service. True wealth is found in fulfilling a vocation that resonates with one's spiritual purpose.

Favorable Aspects between the 2nd and 10th Houses Harmonious connections between the 2nd and 10th houses or their rulers can signify the ability to generate wealth through career pursuits. Career and personal values must align for wealth to be truly sustainable. There’s a spiritual dimension to finding purpose in work that also brings material rewards.

follow for more astro insights like this and head on over to @quenysefields or my etsy --> sensualnoiree to grab my new astrology guidebook on reading your own natal chart :)

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stervrucht · 11 months ago

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“Just a second,” Eddie calls from halfway beneath his bed.

Steve taps his foot as he looks around Eddie’s room. It’s messy and there’s a lot of stuff. His eyes drift around, taking it in. There is a poster with ‘Corroded Coffin’ on it in scrawled graffiti and from what Steve can see, Eddie has at least two guitars.

On Eddie’s desk, he spots a skull — some sort of animal, but Steve has no idea what.

Steve hears Eddie groan as he tries to move back from under the bed.

“You need any help there, Munson?”

“Nah, I got it.” Eddie turns with some difficulty and then he’s out from under the bed, sprawled halfway across the floor. He sticks up his hand and holds out a book to Steve.

“There you go.”

“Eh, thanks.” Steve flips the book over in his hand and it’s just stupid D&D stuff. “Dustin better be grateful.”

“Is he ever?” Eddie responds while he works himself in a sitting position. There is dust in his hair and his shirt is risen to expose half his chest.

“You got a point there.” Steve lets out an unamused laugh.

When Eddie finally stands, he readjusts his shirt and quickly combs his hair. Dust still clings to his dark curls.

Steve’s eyes fall on the skull again and from his periphery he sees Eddie follow his gaze.

“You looking at the skull?”

Steve hums in response.

“It’s a fox. Pretty sick, huh? I found it myself.” Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks oddly proud.

“Pretty cool,” Steve echoes. “How do you know it’s a fox anyway?”

“Oh, just you wait.” Eddie leans over, reaching for the skull and holding it up to Steve.

“Skull size, teeth, and see these babies—” Eddie points at the eyesockets. “They’re huge.”

“Aren’t fox heads larger?”

“All muscle and fur.”

Muscles and fur.

Suddenly Steve comes to the horrifying existential realization that humans are also just bone and muscle and skin. He looks over at Eddie, studies his face, and suddenly it’s like he has never seen him before.

The way skin pulls over muscle, the lines around his mouth as he smiles. And how smiling pulls Eddie’s jaw taut, appearing more angular than when it’s relaxed.

“You okay, Harrington? Guess skulls are a bit morbid, huh? I sometimes forget how normal people think.” Eddie laughs sheepishly and puts the skull away again.

When Eddie looks back, Steve is still staring.

The skin over collarbones is thin with little muscle.

He looks down at Eddie’s hands which have grown nervous under Steve’s eyes.

Silver rings, skin, muscle, bone.

Without thinking, Steve reaches out. He holds Eddie’s hand, runs his fingers over Eddie’s.

Soft warm skin.

“Eh…Steve?”

Steve looks up and the urge to touch is overwhelming. He raises his hands and touches Eddie’s cheeks with curious fingers.

The skin is more coarse here — marked by a five-o-clock shadow — but it’s also warmer.

“What are you—”

Eddie stops talking when Steve runs a finger over his lips, pulling them open, just a little.

They’re different from regular skin; warmer and wetter.

And then Steve has no idea what he’s doing, but he moves forward and brushes his own lips over Eddie’s. Under his fingers, Steve can feel the muscles in Eddie’s jaw grow taut.

That piques his interest.

He slides his hand from Eddie’s jaw to his nape. From there he can feel the muscles in the jaw, thin over bone; those in his neck, thick and strong.

He runs his tongue across Eddie’s lower lip and he feels Eddie’s lips part, his body growing soft under his actions. Eddie’s lips are moving, tentative and testing against Steve’s.

There is no bone there.

He licks into Eddie’s mouth, feels the smooth skin under his tongue; runs his tongue over Eddie’s teeth and takes in the contrast.

Steve pulls back, his hand growing slack against Eddie’s neck as he realises he just let himself go.

Eddie stares at him with dazed eyes.

“I didn’t know skulls did it for you, Harrington.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fics #ficlet #this is pretty random #ster writes steddie

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stellarsecrets86 · 4 months ago

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Sun In Signs Of Groom Persona Chart