Pesco's Treasures

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes. If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Sweet Revenge

Disclaimer: These photos were taken by a very dear friend of mine; all credit goes to him. Thank you very much, Aphelion.

Gavin was the perfect guy: Nice, an amazing athlete, always empathetic, with a perfect smile, dreamy hair, and a voice like velvet against your skin, and his scent...

His only flaw was his damn sister, Raquel. She was the typical queen bee of the university, mean, ironic, and sarcastic to the point of wounding with the slightest glance – the very image of arrogance in all its splendor.

That's what Nick hated about her, and dude, he have plenty of reasons to hate her; ever since they'd both started university, it seemed like she had no other purpose in life than to make the poor guy's life unbearable, making fun of his clothes, his appearance, even going so far as to call him "Fatty Nico". If they were ever on the same team for a class, he was guaranteed to end up doing all the work while Raquel just stared at her hair in the mirror and checked her perfect nails.

But everything worsened when "someone" leaked some of his very very… personal photos, scattered all over the university campus like hot pamphlets, fresh from a hellish oven. Nick's reputation plummeted deeper than the Mariana Trench. He was resentful, and unlike any other victim of her bullying, he had the perfect way to strike back in the most brutal way possible.

In a very... familiar way.

Nick was part of a lineage of dormant sorcerers and witches; generally, magic was always something sacred, without banal uses, much less malevolent ones like revenge, but he was fed up and utterly exhausted. Why did he have to keep putting up with an insecure bitch whose only pleasure could be derived from making others feel bad?

— Dolor in possessionem mutetur, et possessio mutetur in sanguinem eius quem maxime odi… – he murmured softly, seated around a pentagram, scattering grains of salt around him, his gaze fixed on a specific photograph in the center. The area was surrounded by candles, with a dark and tense atmosphere that made the quartz crystals, amethysts, and other delicate herbs almost crackle as he continued incantating. He took a piece of branch to wrap around a ball of red yarn, then took the photograph to wrap it as well, closing his eyes. Murmuring and continuing the wrapping with each incantation, he continued – Frater eius ultionis meae scopus sit... Conscientia mea in corpore eius habitat... Per eum desiderium meum impleatur!

A distant thunder sounded. Nick's body twisted backward, his face contorting as his eyes turned white. He mumbled a few things, as if still speaking Latin. His fingers tensed, and his mouth opened, unleashing a torrent of energy that shot through the ceiling, leaving his body on the floor, completely extinguished. The candles around him gradually went out until total darkness remained.

— Ugh… – Gavin groaned, shaking his head as he tried to concentrate on lifting one more rep of a weight. His whole body felt sweaty and sticky; his tank top was soaked in the armpit area. And although it seemed disgusting, he had no other choice. In reality… He had always been very sweaty. No matter how much deodorant and antiperspirant he used, he always ended up drenched in that foul stench. That was why he always tried to train at night when the university gym was empty. During exercise practices, he always brought an extra change of clothes because the first one was already smellier than any cheese with vinegar. The guy tried to lift another weight when he noticed the ceiling lights flicker for a while before returning to normal. He just sighed, refocusing on his routine, so much so that he didn't notice something spying on him – Just three more – he muttered with a grunt, pushing his body to the limit. His bicep bulged, his jaw clenched – Three... Two...

— One.

Just as he was about to pause to inhale on the last repetition, an invisible force forced its way into his mouth. The poor guy, completely unprepared, dropped the weight and was forced to swallow the invader. He collapsed to the floor without any resistance, beginning to writhe.

— UGHHHH! – he groaned with even more desperation. His entire body was writhing, plagued by spasms and uncontrollable movements. His eyes rolled back as if in a trance. He opened his mouth to spit out a little saliva along with his tongue. His pecs hardened against the fabric of his t-shirt, producing even more sweat from the uncontrollable effort coursing through his nervous system. He felt himself losing more and more control of his body. He couldn't feel his feet, his hands, anything in his torso. It was as if, little by little, he was fading away until nothing remained of him. He groaned in despair, feeling a final jolt of electricity before collapsing to the ground, his chest heaving, his pulse racing, erratic and uncontrollable.

Little by little, he calmed down until he opened his eyes, a reddish gleam blending with his irises before fading. He blinked a few times, bringing a hand to his head.

— Mfh… Maybe I should have waited for a calmer place – he murmured, his voice unfamiliar to him. It was higher-pitched, less athletic and imposing than usual. He looked down at himself, initially calm and even indifferent, before a mocking smile spread across his face, followed by a chuckle – No way – he whispered – Woah…

His hands went to his chest, raising and lowering it in disbelief. A huge grin was etched on his face. He raised his arms and began flexing them forcefully, fascinated by the way his biceps bulged, how the flesh came together to form a perfect mound of muscle he desperately wanted to sink his teeth into. He licked his lips, trying not to calm down, his areolas prickling and pressing like rocks against his sleeveless shirt.

— Damn, it feels so good to be you! – he let out another erratic laugh, lifting and lowering his legs on the tatami mat, his composure completely gone – Fuck, seriously, sorry Gavin, but hey… I've got a great body now, don't you think? 

He stood up and began pacing the empty gym until he found a mirror in front of him. He raised his arms again, launching into a parade of bodybuilder and almost superhero poses, a mix of ridiculousness and fascination. How his muscles looked, how tight his sweatpants felt, his biceps and those well-defined shoulders, and… 

— Shit, I have abs! – he exclaimed happily as he lifted his shirt to reveal his sculpted abdomen. He licked his lips like a madman. The outline in his pants was gigantic, like the trunk of an ancient tree. His skin was tanned, glistening, so tempting… “Gavin” couldn’t resist lifting his shirt again and pressing it completely to his nose, inhaling as if it were the last oxygen in the universe. He kept sniffing until his nostrils were clogged with that fetid, testosterone-laden, rancid, and slightly acidic aroma, which only left him more dazed than if he had seen the gods themselves.

— This is so fucking delicious, haha. Why haven't I done something like this before?! I could have saved myself so many shitty deals – the guest pressed himself against the mirror, rubbing against the cold reflection that only chilled his skin, causing him to gasp. The mirror's surface was completely battered and slightly fogged by the heat. His gaze focused on the new one that belonged to him, smiling. 

— Well, big guy, thanks for the ride. I didn't mean to involve you, but… I think you have a sister who's a real bitch. Don't you think?

And the key Nick needed to carry out his entire plan against Raquel was Gavin. Why? It was simple. Raquel's success and reign of terror were based on being untouchable, not because she was the prettiest or the most beautiful, but because she was his sister. Everyone gave her a second chance, hoping she'd be as pleasant as her older brother at the end of the day. The professors didn't dare not raise her grade for fear of "facing" Gavin's charm, which would make them back down the moment he walked through the door. She had no power of her own; everything was at her good brother's expense.

— I'm sorry for what's going to happen – he murmured – But if it's any consolation, I assure you, you won't remember a single thing about this.

Gavin was always known for his calm, gentle, self-controlled, and diplomatic personality – the most outstanding figure at the university, the perfect face of the institution that boasted of its values ​​of respect, humility, empathy, and…

— Who wants to see my abs?! – The new Gavin stood in the middle of the cafeteria, perched on the central table, wearing nothing but tight, shiny, almost spandex-like workout clothes. He had on dirty, worn-out shoes that smelled like rancid cheese.

Everyone in the room stared at him in disbelief, some surprised, others scandalized, and even horrified. Gavin wouldn't dare do that even if he were completely insane, but with the advice of his new "best friend" Nick, he was definitely going to let loose.

He brought his hands to his pecs and squeezed them together, flexing again and starting to sway his hips like an exotic dancer. His hand slid slowly up his thigh before he stood up again and slapped his own buttocks, letting out a gasp. He stuck out his tongue, then knelt down and began crawling around the table as if he were putting on a show for his fans. Some had already pulled out their phones and weren't bothering to turn off the flash. He felt like a pop star in the middle of a leak, and ironically, he wasn't bothered in the slightest.

Well, Nick wasn't bothered. For the first time, he felt so seen, and especially, under his own control. No more embarrassing photos on the web, much less making humiliating piles of papers in the hallways. If he stuck out his tongue, if he raised his armpit, or took off those disgusting shoes, he was sure the result would be masterful.

The athlete stood up again only to begin unbuttoning his bodysuit and slowly pulling it down. The scent hit everyone as soon as his skin was exposed, that earthy, musky aroma of a real man. The audience was mesmerized. 

— What the hell is this?! 

Principal Abrahams had to intervene to stop the scene, practically dragging Gavin to his office. The whole way there, Gavin kept smiling at the people staring at him, licking his lips, running his tongue over his perfect teeth, or flexing his biceps like male birds displaying their plumage to impress females. But in this case, let's just say Gavin was paying a little too much attention to other athletes, nerds, or lone wolves who were staring at him for a bit too long.

— Can you explain what just happened? Have you lost your mind?! You're the face of the school, how are you going to avoid getting expelled?!

— Actually, Principal… I think I have the perfect solution, so you, you know, can… – he murmured, kneeling against the principal’s face, sliding under his desk to force him to open his legs, running his hand along his thighs and lightly digging his fingers in – Forgive me.

The sound of the zipper being lowered, the nearly fifty-year-old man was completely stunned, frozen in place, the guy’s agile, athletic hands moving to slide the principal’s tool down and begin to take care of his “urgent needs and annoyances”.

From that moment on, that was “Gavin’s” way of solving any problem. Bad grade? He’d wait for his critical thinking teacher in his office with his legs open after a tiring game. Coach complaining about his performance? He could pay him a visit in his car and kiss him desperately like wild animals in heat. Some nerd who didn’t want him on his team because he never worked? Maybe a good sniff of his smelly armpits could change his mind.

Rumors, photos, videos, and stories passed from ear to ear spread through the university hallways like wildfire, and while Gavin's newfound "reputation" soared to the heights of outer space, Raquel's reputation plummeted to a much lower level. Whispers behind her back, laughter – all the power she had amassed in the shadow of her perfect, athletic brother had completely evaporated.

— Yeah, I've heard what you've said about my sister, but hey, I'm a good brother, and I actually get along really well with her. She's an angel. Don't be mean to her. We get along so well we even share clothes! 

Nick had gotten Gavin to open an OnlyFans channel and other social media accounts that weren't exactly focused on glorifying his athletic achievements. He was wearing a thin-strapped top, some damn tight pants that looked more like leggings, and a totally "uninhibited" attitude in front of the camera, flexing his muscles as his hungry audience demanded, eager for more, more skin, more humiliation, more of everything.

A part of Nick truly felt terrible for having such a gorgeous guy like Gavin in trouble which it wasn’t his. He knew he could have possessed Raquel's body instead and given her the lesson she deserved, but a part of him also knew his fun wouldn't have been the same. He wouldn't have had those defined pecs, the strength in his hands, his thick, muscular thighs, his biceps, or his damn smelly armpits… But more importantly, the satisfaction.

— What the hell is wrong with you, Gav?! Are you a fag or wha-?!

— It's called being gay, Raquel. We're not in the 18th century, and if I am, what's it to you? It's my life, isn't it?

— You're ruining my reputation! You can't keep doing that!

— Oh, really? Just because you say so? Sure, don't worry, little sister, I'll stop just because you say so – he smiled as cynically as he could, making sure to puff out his pecs and slap his own thighs hard, the result of years of nonstop training – Although it'll be a shame not to let so many guys dominate me in so many ways the way they want, it turns out you were a bitch to almost the entire university and for some reason, they want to take it out on your brother. Don't you think it's ironic?

The revenge continued and continued, rising like the ocean waves. More revealing clothes, dirty socks soaked with sweat; there were days when he didn't even bother putting on a t-shirt or shirt, it was better to go au naturel in this heat. Heh.

The clothes that only came out of his closet for working out now plagued his daily life, and his more reserved and calm personality had been buried by constant flirting and an excessive desire for other guys to see him. And god… He certainly had no shortage of spectators in the locker room.

The reputations of both siblings were buried seven meters underground. Even though Nick abandoned Gavin's body, it was obvious the damage was done. And despite the possession having served its purpose, Raquel had become almost an outcast, the laughingstock of everyone else. She still tried to maintain that same abusive and domineering personality, only it no longer worked whenever she tried to hide behind her "brother". If she did, she only got double entendres, provocations, and laughter on her poor face, but even so, Nick wanted more.

— Woah! Shit! That was intense – he said with a chuckle, wearing nothing but swim trunks, barefoot, shirtless, and drenched in that characteristic sour sweat. His hair was disheveled, he wore sunglasses, his tongue was sticking out, and he was dancing in the middle of a beach surrounded by people.

Gavin had an important trip with the rest of the sports team; it was the finals, the one that would put the university on a pedestal in front of other faculties. The game would be held on one of the most beautiful beaches in the country. Nick was ready to compete. He could be acting without any inhibitions, but since he'd been spending more and more time in Gavin's body, some of his tastes had also assimilated into Gavin's: sports, exercise, some video games. Luckily, he hadn't developed an attraction to women; that would have been weird, lol.

But until the game, he could have as much fun as he wanted: drink after drink, a passionate kiss with a stranger, acting more easy than even at home. What if his pictures ended up all over the internet? So be it!

Nick was intoxicated with power, and not exactly with revenge. He loved everything! The attention, those defined abs, his amazing physique, the strength of an athlete without ever having lifted a finger to get it, that incredible body – guys saw him, noticed him, and socializing and flirting were effortless! Gavin's original life could go to hell!

He'd found out that Raquel had dropped out of university. Apparently, the joke's only funny until you're the butt of it. Nick could practically go back to his old life without any problems or consequences… But he didn't want to. He wanted to enjoy being Gavin, being an attractive athlete, without many restrictions, insecurities, or limits. He could stuff himself with food and drink, one after another. 

The guy had the stamina and metabolism of a demigod! He could eat almost ten hamburgers one after the other and not gain a single pound of fat; on the contrary, it transformed into muscle!

And his fans? He was watched by tons of pervs every day, making a ton of money – more than he'd ever imagined! Selling photos, some smelly clothes, he'd even thought about taking things further. Wouldn't people fight over a single date with him? Of course they would, damn it! He was like a diamond in a room full of thieves, all eager to sink their claws into him and claim the grand prize.

No more laughter, no more degrading comments about his body. Maybe he was taking someone else's life, but screw morals and ethics, that's what he wanted.

— Mmmhw… – The poor Nick groaned, a terrible headache throbbing as he woke up in his hotel room. He was drenched in sweat, shirtless, just tangled in the sheets. He felt sticky, and not from his own sweat. He smelled… funny. 

Fuck, fuck, the match! The former loser tried to get up as best he could, only to let out a sigh and lie back down on the bed. What did the match matter? He could give the judges and the referee a "hand job" or even use his mouth, so his team would win; that was the least of his concerns. 

He should go back to enjoying the beach; the sand and water felt delicious here, and with that body… He wouldn't have any trouble finding company.

Ah, damn, how he loved his new body.

----

Hey everyone!

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

This is my first collaboration of this kind, so… what did you think? Did you like it? Feel free to tell me what you think in the comments!

And even better, if you liked the whole approach, I have a slightly longer version available on my Patreon, so you can enjoy a "darker" version /wink wink

And all for just $3! With over 150 stories available, what are you waiting for? Join now!

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

Ugh, that sounds like one annoying fellow. Though another thing annoys me even more. All the untruths you told me about yourself. So let me correct you on a couple of things.

First off, you aren't 64 ... you're 24. You bought the couple of houses you're currently renting out from the money you got off the tech deal you made just when you left college. Rumor has it Zuckerberg paid you a ton of money for your idea in return for you not disclosing what it was.

Secondly the scrawny thing. You couldn't possibly be scrawny if you spend all day at the gym. With all the money you have at your hands you basically spend all your free time working out and damn it shows. Those arms must be at least 22 inches. And don't even get me started on your enormous muscle tits. Hard to believe you only started roughly a year ago. Seems like it's true what they say about you being blessed with amazing genetics (thanks to some magical reality altering device).

Which is also why I'm so confused at you saying you're 5'4 or that the 6'3 personal trainer intimidates you. After all if he's really 6'3, he'd barely be up to your swollen bull neck. Though seeing how he's barely eye level with your perky silver dollar sized nipples, I'm guessing he lied too. Probably a good bit under 6 feet tall that guy.

You also said that he has people over every night. You probably mean guys and girls begging for a taste of his 7 inch cock. That's actually one of the few true things you said, though it really wouldn't have hurt to tell the full truth. While he tries to get people to sleep with him, once they get a with of your pheromone laden musk wafting over from a couple of doors away, they forget all about him and are desperate for a ride on your horsecock. And the sounds you hear (if you can even hear them over the sound of your pounding) is probably just him jerking off his own dick to the symphony of your porn star prowess.

Which brings me to my last point. I think I know why the guy is so late with his rent. It gives him a good reason to have you come over all the time. I even have it on good authority that he's been training a lot more glutes lately (again, you're welcome), hoping he can pay off his debt some other way.

And now it's up to you. Either make him pay up with money or have him work it off by becoming your eager and willing cumdump. Just be careful if you decide to do the latter. Poor guy has only ever been training on bananas and is probably pretty unprepared for what you have to offer.

I've been playing around with AI a bit and it actually gave me good inspiration to write a slightly longer story again. Or rather a multi-parter. A big thank you goes to @hughmichelsen for proof reading and giving great feedback!

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

Rain tapped softly against the windows of Adrian’s apartment while his five friends crowded against the battered oak table, that was half buried under dice trays, energy drinks, miniatures and enough takeout containers to qualify as biohazard.

It was Friday night and ever since their first semester there was one adamant rule. Friday night was reserved for Dungeons and Dragons.

Ever since their first session another adamant rule was that their talented Dungeon Master Adrian would host their little group of misfits. 

Tall, pale and thin as a scare-crow he may be, Adrian had the unsettlingly intense eye contact of someone who spent too many nights buried in half-forgotten ancient texts and rule books to give his players one hell of an experience with each session.

His black hair was combed back neatly, rectangular glasses sitting low on on his nose, barely concealing the heavy bags under his eyes, as he organised the papers with devoted, almost ritualistic precision and diligence. A running gag among the group was always that he looked less like a graduate student and more like a cult leader pretending to be one.

Unbeknownst to the players that sentiment wasn’t too far off from the truth.

“Okay.”, Adrian clapped his hands and smiled at his friends with that unsettling grin of a maniac with a plan. He handed each of them a blank character sheet. “Since our last campaign finished, I thought some system changes and … adjustments were in order for the new one. And don’t worry I’ve got some big plans for you guys.”

“God, that sentence is terrifying. Why do you gotta make it sound like we’ll be wiped by the end of this session.”, Ethan muttered.

The others just nodded solemnly, naturally agreeing with the loudest member of their group. Even though Ethan was a short, scrawny Asian man who'd spent far too many hours in front of a computer, what lack of physicality he had was compensated by a sharp tongue and biting sarcasm. Usually he stuck to rogues, who flirted with everyone and everything, but the moment someone flirted back he’d fold like wet tissue paper.

Next to him, meekly nodding, sat Marcus. Unlike the small and skinny Ethan, Marcus was a broad shouldered black man. Not in an athletic way, his thicker frame was from that way that formerly chubby guys were since he'd never quite lost that freshman fifteen.  He was constantly pushing his glasses up his nose, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, which wasn’t easy with his respectable 6’ frame. As the self proclaimed lorekeeper of the group he approached the sessions with the same academic seriousness as the introductory programming he'd taught with. Three filled notebooks with NPCs, story interactions and settings sat next to him ready to be referenced. 

“Yeah … I feel like he’ll have us facing a beholder right off the bat…”, Oliver said from across the table, laughing nervously. He was pretty in a way that should have warranted confidence, but despite his messy blonde hair and cute face, he just could never muster up any. Oliver was the artist of the group, his fingers stained with ink from drawing character concepts during his classes when he got bored in class. Which happened pretty often to the honours student. Too bad most of his characters usually ended up being either mages with an overly tragic backstory or healers that got too emotional during battles, something that annoyed his fellow players on the regular.

"Please tell me this isn't another hyperlethal realism campaign," Noah looked like he was already shaking from the thought. As the nerdiest member of the group, it looked like puberty had completely passed him by. It was almost concerning with how his short, scrawny frame never put on any weight. Though, unlike Ethan, he didn't have the same level of confidence. The only time he could push past that nervousness was playing DnD or someone talking comic as the shop he worked at.'

Noah took a breath. "I'm still traumatized by the bridge incident..." 

“You walked into obvious bait,” Marcus said.

“It was roleplay accurate.”

“You licked the cursed obelisk.”

“It looked important.”

As the rest of the group joined the argument about how their last campaign had ended, Adrian smiled faintly. It was good to see his friends relax into their little squabbles. After all, the DM knew that all of them needed a reprieve after the week they’d had. Little Noah had once again been shoved into a locker by the bullies from the football team and hadn’t been saved until hours later. Adrian, after messing with the wrong jock had found himself beaten to a pulp over one sarcastic comment too many. A group of students in the class Marcus taught had been incredibly obnoxious and started calling him names like “lardass” and “fatso”, bringing his old complexes back to the surface. And apparently some jerk online had gone on a campaign ridiculing the art he posted and was very proud of.

Hidden beneath the table, away from the curious eyes of his friends sat an old, leatherbound grimoire, it’s pages humming softly.

He had used it to spice up the campaign a bit, using one of the oldest spells in existence. The character sheets had been painstakingly prepared and enchanted over the last week to make the spell come to life. A spell about stories, identity and numbers who had been assigned meaning. And Adrian had made sure his friends, like the rest of reality, would adapt seamlessly around it.

With an almost giddy smile he interrupted the argument, Noah and Ethan arguing that it was hardly the rogue’s fault they had gotten roasted by the dragon he had been trying to seduce. 

Ethan pointed at Noah next to him.

“Not fair. That doofus managed to roll himself!”, he accused, taking his own dice.

“Maybe you’re just jealous.”, the Barbarian answered, flexing his massive biceps and chuckling.

“I am jealous!”

“You should be.”

The fact that the line somehow sounded smooth instead of unbearably cringe made Ethan groan loudly into his hands. He had always been envious of Noah’s effortless charisma, his own attitude not even managing to be half as likable as Noah’s.

Adrian was still surprised by how well the spell had worked out. Noah had become enormous.

Not just muscular—overwhelmingly masculine. Thick forearms. Huge chest. Powerful thighs spread confidently beneath the table, framing an unbelievably huge cock. Every movement radiated relaxed physical dominance. Even sitting still, Noah seemed to occupy twice as much space as everyone else

And somehow the ginger giant barely seemed aware of it.

“Alright. I’m next.”, Ethan proclaimed, “If Noah is playing the sexiest Barbarian alive, I’m absolutely not staying human.”

“What are you playing?”, the DM asked.

“Elven ranger.”

“Tiny elf twink.”, Noah chuckled loudly.

Everyone laughed at the joke, just Adrian’s eyes flickering faintly. “Roll in order then.”

Strength was first and with a dramatic gesture Ethan rolled the die.

6

The transformation began immediately. The Asian nerd’s already slender frame started narrowing even further. His shoulders lost breadth, his waist tightening dramatically. Any lingering bulk he might have had simply folding into his frame, leaving him lean and compact instead of weak looking.

His limbs lengthened subtly, elegant and graceful. Even his hair lightened subtly, his features losing some of their Asian heritage as he shifted more towards the aesthetic of a blonde elf.

The contrast between Noah and Ethan was astonishing. While Noah now resembled a Barbarian warlord, the man sitting next to him looked small enough to effortlessly get thrown over one of Noah’s massive shoulders.

Without even needing to be told, Ethan rolled the dice again to determine his Dexterity, his jealousy of Noah’s enormous size fueling his ambition.

17

The effect hit instantly. Ethan’s body refined itself with almost artistic precision, every moment suddenly becoming fluid, catlike and purposeful. His body became even tighter, filling out again slightly with lean athletic definition forming across his slim frame. It wasn’t bulky muscle, but the perfect, proportioned build of a dancer … or a ranger for that matter.

His lower body didn’t miss out on the change, his hips becoming ever so slightly wider, making way for his ass. Ethan twisted in his seat to see why his chair suddenly felt extra cushioned, finding the answer with one look.

The Dexterity roll had given him an absurdly round and firm bubble butt beneath his jeans, almost mythologically perfect. Noah had predicted it earlier, but the rolls were now making Ethan into the poster boy of the Elven twink community. Without the other players really noticing of course.

Noah stared openly now. “Damn.”, he said in his foghorn like voice, readjusting his enormous horsecock through his grey sweatpants..

“Fuck yeah, great roll on Dex.”, Ethan exclaimed, squirming his big breedable butt cheeks into the seat.

Every one of his movements was smooth. Graceful. And teasing the horsehung Barbarian Bull next to him without fully meaning to, Noah’s beautiful green eyes following his every move.

Adrain noticed thiis immediately, finding it incredibly interesting that apparently the magic had decided to connect the Barbarian and the elf archetypes.

“Constitution next, Captain Bubblebutt.”, Adrian chuckled, Ethan picking up the dice again.

7

The change was smaller physically this time. Ethan’s lean body lost some resilience. The athletic sharpness remained, but he now looked more delicate overall—less durable, easier to exhaust physically.

And beneath the table the change didn’t stop, Ethan abruptly freezing. Like Noah before, he noticed something settling, despite reality adapting seamlessly. Noah noticed first.

“What?”

“Nothing…”

“Is it your tiny elf dick again?”, Noah teased, grabbing his own swollen tube of manmeat, “Don’t worry, little guy, I got enough cock for both of us.”

“Shut up.”

The words came automatically, but Ethan’s expression betrayed something else entirely. Because despite the embarrassment, his gaze kept drifting back toward the barbarian. Toward Noah’s huge thighs.

Toward the visible outline beneath the sweatpants.

The attraction hadn’t fully manifested yet, but the groundwork was there.

Adrian smiled faintly.

The elf was bonding to his chosen archetype perfectly, despite Ethan trying very hard to act unaffected.

It lasted maybe thirty seconds.

“Okay,” he said, crossing one long leg over the other while very deliberately not looking at Noah, “next stat.”

Noah smirked knowingly from across the table. The barbarian transformation had left him with surprisingly strong instincts despite his diminished intellect, and one thing was becoming increasingly obvious:

The elf liked what he saw.

“Intelligence.”, Adrian said, watching the die bounce as Ethan rolled.

12

Unlike his physical transformations, this one settled more gently.

He didn’t become mentally simple like Noah, Ethan just finding his mind slightly nudged. He remained clever, quick-witted and sharp-tongued. But his intelligence changed flavour. becoming less academically obsessive and more emotionally and socially intuitive, nicely aligning with his elven twink persona.

He became acutely aware of how his flirtatious and teasing remarks affected people, especially the gigantic simple-minded Barbarian Bull that was Noah. Who had been staring at the newly created twink (who Ethan had always been in this version of reality) as if seeing him for the first time.

Adrian just leaned back in his chair with renewed interest in the pair. 

While Ethan understood what he was doing perfectly well, Noah’s simple mind understood it on a far more instinctual level. A very dangerous combination really.

“Wisdom.”, the DM prompted. Ethan didn’t Ethan watch the die settle, winking at Noah.

10

There was barely any transformation this time. The stat didn’t change Ethan. It stabilised him.

Unlike Noah, Ethan retained his independence and self-awareness. He could still judge situations normally, still make decisions freely, still understand consequences.

Which made what happened next significantly more embarrassing for him.

Because now there was no stat-based excuse. The attraction was simply genuine. 

Ethan looked toward Noah again.

Toward the barbarian’s enormous shoulders and relaxed dominance. Toward the heavy musculature stretching his tank top. Toward the rough copper stubble framing an unfairly handsome face.

And then, inevitably—

Toward the visible bulge beneath the sweatpants.

Ethan swallowed.

Marcus immediately noticed.

“Oh my God,” he said.

Ethan snapped toward him.

“Don’t.”

“You’re down catastrophic.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Noah barked out another deep laugh. This had become a regular point of teasing over the last couple campaigns. 

The sound alone made Ethan visibly flush.

Adrian watched the magical narrative threads tighten further.

“Last roll.”, he said with amusement, “Charisma.”

19

“Awesome!”, Ethan said as his already pretty features refined into something ethereal, almost unreal. 

The last traces of his Asian heritage were swallowed by the elven side with renewed vigor. His skin cleared, glowing flawlessly. His lips softened. His eyes became brighter, more expressive, turning blue as his hair took on a stylish cut, lightening to honey gold, that perfectly accentuated his sun kissed tan. 

Every one of his glances carried intent. Every smile landed perfectly. His voice became smooth and warm like velvet.

And somehow the twinky elven aesthetic crystallized completely around him without becoming cartoonish. He now looked like the physical embodiment of every fantasy archer prince stereotype brought to life: slim waist, elegant limbs, graceful posture, pretty-but-still-masculine beauty. 

And a spectacular bubble butt that Noah was now very obviously staring at, his anaconda of a cock stirring under the table.

The changes to reality solidified and an unresolved, unspoken chemistry settled between the towering mountain of a man and the flirtatious twink.

Ethan leaned lazily against the table looking over to Noah. “So, big guy. You gonna keep staring?”

Noah’s ears burned under the football cap. “Maybe…”, he rumbled with his impossibly manly voice.

The table exploded at his awkward reply, even his immense charisma utterly outclassed by one tiny elf with a breedable bubble butt.

Except Adrian.

Adrian merely watched the rewritten world settle around his completed elf and his barbarian.

The party dynamic was already beginning to form itself naturally.

Marcus watched Ethan and Noah bicker across the table with growing disbelief. Somehow the atmosphere between the two, which had always been oddly complicated and loaded with tension, had become aggressively flirtatious ever since they started the character creation half an hour ago.

The barbarian lounged back in his chair, massive arms folded across his titanic chest while Ethan leaned against the table beside him, one hip cocked casually, presenting his butt. Their personalities fit together disturbingly well somehow.

“You keep touching my arms.”, Noah rumbled.

“Because they’re like battleship cannons.”

“They’re not…”

“You’re massive!”

Noah grinned at the compliment.

Marcus stared. Oliver stared. The situation wasn’t odd per se. Ethan always flirted with Noah constantly. And of course Noah liked the attention despite himself. But it somehow felt even more intense than usual today.

The only person who remembered otherwise sat calmly behind the DM screen, watching with calm fascination as Ethan absentmindedly rested a hand against Noah’s solid shoulder while reading over his own character sheet. The Barbarian didn’t react. No one but Adrian noticed  Noah slightly leaning into the touch. 

Finally having enough of watching Marcus rolled his eyes. “Okay … my turn..”

“What’re you playing?”, Oliver asked as Marcus nervously readjusted his glasses. 

“Paladin.”

Noah snorted approvingly. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Marcus grinned shyly at the Barbarian’s enthusiasm.

“Big holy knight aesthetic. Heavy armor. Big mace. The works.”

“Fits you weirdly well.”, Ethan admitted, still half draped against Noah’s chair.

Adrian nodded.

The enchanted parchment shimmered, having already instantly accepted the Paladin archetype. Marcus picked up the dice and Adrian nodded at him to roll. “Strength first.”

The die rolled across the wood.

17

“Ha, still stronger than you!”, Noah barked, ignorant of the transformation hitting his black friend.

Marcus groaned slightly as his body surged upwards in the chair, his old heaviness vanishing almost instantly under slabs of dense, heroic muscle. His already wide shoulders becoming even wider, working together with his broadening chest to stretch out his shirt. His poor shirt almost lost the race to adapt, trying to fit the enormous torso that was quickly accentuated by the thick muscle filling out his arms and thighs. His shorts almost exploded off of the new tree trunk legs before adjusting.

Unlike Noah’s enormous rugged Barbarian size, Marcus transformed into something cleaner, something knightly. Not much smaller than the massive ginger mountain of a man that Ethan seemed hellbent on climbing, but somehow having a more heroic feel to it. He wasn’t even much shorter than the towering Barbarian, maybe only an inch or so in difference in height, which only made him look broader.

And as always Ethan the greedy twink looked between the two like he’d won the lottery. Sure he was mainly preoccupied with the rugged Barbarian Noah, but another piece of major eye candy certainly didn’t hurt.

Adrian smiled, loving the direction his magic was taking the party. “Next roll. Dexterity.”

Marcus nodded and rolled again.

The die stopped.

10

This time the transformation didn’t really have an imposing effect. 

Definitely nothing like the Strength roll. Instead Marcus’ movements refined slightly. While almost as huge as Noah, the Paladin’s imposing frame now moved with controlled precision and grace, contrasting the Barbarian’s heavier groundedness nicely. Sure he wasn’t a graceful dancer like Ethan, but he carried himself with disciplined athletic coordination nonetheless.

Like someone who trained for swordsmanship. Or a mace fight for that matter. His posture looked balanced, stable. Confident even, which was especially surprising seeing how he still had his old slightly awkward personality.

Another indicator of that being that his nervous habit of adjusting his glasses still hadn’t changed. Though now he did it with paw like massive hands while Noah laughed at him for having the posture of a huge boy scout.

“Oh shut up, doofus. That just about makes him the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”, Ethan countered playfully punching Noah’s dense shoulder that the elven twink was leaning against. And while he barely felt the punch, the statement made Noah frown.

“Rude.”

“You’re still winning overall.”, Ethan calmed him, rubbing the swollen biceps to calm the beast.

“Good.”, the Barbarian said, looking genuinely pleased. Though that might have been because of the fond, rewarding, almost practiced looking smile Ethan threw him with the compliment.

The physical contact between them kept escalating too. Small things. Casual things. Ethan’s hand on Noah’s forearm while laughing. Noah resting a huge arm across the back of Ethan’s chair. Their knees bumping under the table and staying there.

Neither seemed remotely self-conscious about it anymore. Reality had already rewritten their chemistry into something longstanding and familiar.

Marcus watched them with amusement, “They’re gonna be making out by session three.”

“We’re sitting right here,” Noah pointed out.

Ethan tilted his head.

“Would that bother you?”

Noah opened his mouth.

Paused.

Thought very hard for someone with an Intelligence of five.

“…Not really.”

A statement that made Ethan look very pleased, like a child that had just been promised dessert. Meanwhile Oliver couldn’t help but laugh.

The grimoire pulsed warmly against Adrian’s thigh below the table, prompting him to urge for the next change. “Constitution.”

Marcus rolled and the die settled almost immediately.

19

And just like what had happened to Noah before, the transformation surged through him hard.

His already massive frame thickened further, becoming even denser with powerful muscle, making him look more like a superhuman fantasy hero than an ordinary hunk.

He just radiated vitality now. Not quite the dense enormity of the Barbarian, but rather a beacon of power and life, just a picture perfect valiant Paladin.

One part of him was especially radiating life, a part of him that now threatened to burst through the slowly adapting crotch of his shorts as it was ballooning with size.

Marcus shifted in his seat uncomfortably as his mind quickly acknowledged and accepted the sensation of now being hung like a horse. While Noah and Marcus had both nailed the same insane roll, there were noticeable differences. Like Marcus’ cock being longer and Noah’s being fatter. Or the Paladin being circumcised, unlike the Barbarian. Though the Paladin did end up with generally larger loads by comparison. Just the energy of life running through him helping a lot with that.

“With rolls like that, you guys are gonna make me feel left behind.”, Ethan complained, looking between the two towering hunks, pouting, “This little elf doesn’t have your stamina.”

“At least you’re pretty.”, Noah offered, “And tiny.”

“You like that I’m tiny.”

The Barbarian’s ears reddened slightly again.

Marcus stared between them.

“…You two flirt like people who already share an apartment.”

“With how often I spent the night at his place, we basically do.”, Ethan chuckled, resting a hand on the blushing Noah’s obvious cock bulge through the sweatpants.

“Intelligence.”, Adrian interrupted the bickering, nodding at Marcus to continue.

16

Marcus straightened. Not really physically, but mentally. 

Behind the glasses sitting on his square jawed, masculine face his eyes sharpened, his thought processes becoming faster and more efficient. A lot more things suddenly made sense to him, connections, patterns and concepts coming easier to him.

Reality adjusted around them all, making that a statement that had always been true. While Noah had been the lovable idiot, Marcus was the brilliant brain of the group, though still lovable. His mind was simply so strategic and educated. So much so that he wasn’t teaching beginner’s computer classes in this version of reality. But rather highly advanced courses for seniors. And effortlessly too.

Adrian watched Marcus with a lot of interest. He was becoming downright dangerously perfect. With his towering body, handsome face, sharp intellect, enormous cock and calm but commanding voice he was basically shaping up to become the leader of the group. But the DM just grinned, knowing that a third of the stats hadn’t been rolled yet and things could still go awry.

With a smile and a throw at the elf-Barbarian pairing, which now included Ethan having basically abandoned his seat to sit on Noah’s lap, Adrian prompted the next roll. 

“Wisdom.”

Before rolling, one could almost see Marcus running some quick calculations on his odds. 

3

Marcus’ eyes went wide at the disastrously low roll.

But the transformation hit almost immediately after that and the look of shock morphed into a smile.

Not a thoughtful one.

Not a careful one.

Not a dumb one.

A trusting one. An open one.

His posture relaxed dramatically as tension he didn’t even realize he carried simply… vanished. The strategic sharpness remained intact—his Intelligence stayed exactly where it was—but his skepticism disappeared almost completely. His eyes softened. His need to question things evaporated.

He by no means became dumb. But he lacked caution now. The entire table could suddenly recall story after story of Marcus getting into trouble simply because he was too trusting of people. Especially people he knew and liked. Like if Ethan told him there was a buried treasure outside, Marcus would grab a shovel and start digging. He wasn’t an idiot himbo like Noah. Just really gullible, despite all his intelligence.

Adrian smiled behind the screen, finding the newly crystallized character flaw fitting beautifully with the archetype of the devoted Paladin. It also fit in beautifully with the increasingly touchy pair on the other side of the table.

“Last roll.”, the DM said, “Charisma.”

Marcus nodded obediently.

13

Unlike Ethan who could tell people the sky was red and they’d believe him simply because of his personality being so magnetic, or Noah, who always seemed to be the heart of a party, Marcus’ transformation wasn’t quite as severe.

His charisma manifested as presence. Authority. Warmth. The air around him suddenly saturated with trustworthiness, inspiration and an overwhelming feeling of kindness and safety. He’s become the kind of guy who people wanted to confess to. The kind of guy people wanted to trust.

His face changed too. It lacked the raw ruggedness of the Barbarian, but had a softer look, one that showed he smiled a lot, despite his lantern jaw. His eyes darkened slightly to the colour of hot cocoa, making him permanently look like a very playful golden retriever with how disastrously low his Wisdom throw had been.

“At least that one’s decent.”, Marcus chuckled, the sound relaxing the group, his aura of warmth grounding the intensity of his Barbarian friend.

Adrian watched the character solidify. A gigantic holy knight with immense strength and stamina, sharp intelligence, almost nonexistent skepticism, and overwhelming inspirational charm. Beautiful in a noble, masculine way rather than Noah’s rugged dominance or Ethan’s elegant seductiveness.

“Guess we’re gonna go with an emotional support tank.”, Ethan grinned, knowing full well that that was how their group dynamic had always worked. Though it was fun seeing their real-life dynamic transition into the game and making Marcus a “big lawful puppy” as Noah so eloquently put it.

Adrian’s eyes drifted towards the last player left as the grimoire pulsed warmly beneath the table.

The entire table gulped audibly as Adrian handed them the character sheets. Even though they didn’t know about the magic, something about the sheets felt weird to them. However that feeling was quick to pass as the excitement of creating new characters took over.

Noah went first, basically vibrating as he grabbed the dice.

“Okay,” he said, grinning nervously. “I’m doing it. Full commitment. Human barbarian.”

Ethan burst out laughing immediately.

“You? A barbarian?”

“I can play against type!”

“You look like you lose fights against folding chairs.”

Noah flipped him off, but blushed slightly, looking at Adrian for the okay to start the character creation.

“Roll in order.”, Adrian nodded softly, “Strength first.”

The D20 clattered against the old wooden table, everyone’s eyes drawn to the shiny piece of plastic.

18

For a second nothing happened. And suddenly Noah inhaled sharply as he sat upright   in his chair, his posture suddenly remarkably straight.

Underneath his hoodie his shoulders shot out to the sides as meat piled onto his frame, the fabric just barely adjusting in time to not get completely shredded under the pressure of the frail nerd’s inflation. His forearms thickened, his biceps bringing the sleeves devastatingly close to breaking point, veins pushing out against his skin. His hands flexing as they grew to the size of dinner plates, powerful and manly. Then his chest expanded, pulling the fabric already struggling with his cannonball arms tightly against his enormous pecs.

The chair creaked.

“Oh my God,” Oliver whispered.

Noah lurched upward as another inch—then another—was added to his height. His knees pressed awkwardly against the underside of the table before the transformation settled. Not monstrous. Not absurd. Just overwhelmingly athletic. Broad. Powerful.

Like a heavyweight fighter hidden beneath a nerd’s clothing.

And then reality adjusted.

The others blinked.

New memories appeared, the image of tiny Noah disappearing like ice under the midday sun, the awkward ginger runt replaced with the overwhelmingly manly mountain of muscle who acted like a tiny nerd. Only Adrian retained his old memories, smiling faintly at the awkward way the towering Barbarian warrior sat there, squeezing his enormous bulk at the table and still trying and failing to take up less space than his intensely huge frame demanded.

Noah himself looked oddly surprised by his new size, carefully balling and relaxing his fists a couple of times, almost seeming unsettled by the size of his own muscles. Only the sound of Adrian’s smooth voice ripped the Barbarian-sized nerd out of his stupor.

“Dexterity.”

Noah nodded and rolled again.

8

The change was subtler this time. 

His posture and movement looked less precise, less graceful. It really appeared like the low roll on Dexterity had grounded the mountain sized geek somewhat. His posture now seemed more confident and solid, heavier even, his behaviour now showing less nervous and anxious shifting. Like someone who relied on power over grace.

A water bottle slipped from his grasp a second later.

“Jesus, dude.”, Ethan laughed, “I still can’t get over the fact that a guy that’s built like a linebacker has finally dipped his toe into playing a Barbarian after all these years. Speaking of which, are you still hellbent on getting on the football team? Coach must be getting fed up with your clumsy ass constantly trying out.” 

Noah just blushed, his ears nearly as ginger as his hair, which he now hid under a cap of the local football team. With his clumsiness he didn’t make for the best player, but he’d tried enough times to like the sport.

Adrian watched from behind his DM screen as reality settled around Noah, curiously observing the mental changes that had begun around the edges. Noah was still Noah … just more.

“Constitution.”, Adrian prompted.

Noah rolled.

The die bounced once. Twice.

19

The effects hit like a freight train this time.

Noah gasped as his frame became denser. Not bigger per se, but more sharply defined, his chest swelling against the fabric and pulling it tight against his mid section, the outline of 6 brick sized abs clearly visible. Even his neck thickened, a prominent Adam's apple pushing into existence and lowering the Barbarian’s voice from a soft tenor to a booming bass.

Even a beard forced itself into existence against his more masculine lantern jaw. Not the teenage scruff he had been able to grow before, but a thick manly beard that looked utterly right on his rugged face.

Noah looked amazing. Not delicate. Not pretty-boy handsome. Dangerously handsome. Like some mythological northern warrior accidentally dropped into a college apartment.

“Hell yeah,”, the incredibly sexy lumberjack said, once again shocking his friends with the foghorn boom of his voice, “Nineteen Con.”

The other three players just nodded. Even sitting down, Noah dominated the room physically now. His shoulders stretched the seams of his hoodie so badly he eventually peeled it off entirely, revealing a black tank top straining across an absurdly broad chest and thick, powerful arms.

The Barbarian shifted in his seat, immediately drawing attention to another result of his roll.

“Dude, can’t you wear underwear for once to DnD? Your sweatpants look ridiculous!”, Ethan complained, trying very hard not to stare at the obvious outline of what was running down his left leg. Noah just blushed, trying to make his footlong soft cock somehow less noticeable through his grey sweatpants. And failing miserably.

Like the rest of him the thing sat heavy, thick and huge off the edge of the chair, even the outline of his bull balls being faintly visible through the fabric trying to cover his crotch.

“Talk about Barbarian Constitution.”, Marcus chuckled.

“Shut up,” Noah muttered.

But he sounded more embarrassed in theory than in practice. The growing confidence from his partially locked-in stats kept blunting his old insecurity before it could fully form.

Adrian quietly watched the magic settle again.

“Keep rolling.”, he said, “Intelligence is next.”

Noah, still feeling high from the absolutely monstrous roll on Constitution, enthusiastically threw the die.

5

The change was immediate.

Noah blinked.

Then blinked again.

The sharpness behind his eyes dulled and he relaxed in his seat. The constant anxious overprocessing vanished instantly as his racing thoughts slowed to a crawl. Adrian just grinned. A Barbarian wasn’t meant to be smart after all. He already had the overwhelming physicality, he didn’t need to think too much.

His posture spread wider in the chair.

Heavy.

Certain.

He looked at his friends with a relaxed and easy smile, confident despite his reduced intelligence.

“Dude, you’re literally playing yourself. Huge in body, but not the brightest bulb.”, Ethan chuckled at his simple friend. Noah just grinned in return and threw up his enormous cannonball biceps in a flex. Reality had settled seamlessly around the giant himbo.

Adrian cleared his throat and nodded towards the dice. “Let’s roll Wisdom next.”

Noah rolled.

6

The effect was subtler but somehow more unsettling.

Noah’s eyes softened immediately.

Not weaker physically—far from it—but more suggestible. More trusting. More willing to follow stronger personalities without questioning them deeply. Especially Adrian. Adrian noticed it at once. So did Ethan.

“Earth to Barbarian,” Ethan muttered. “You’re looking at Adrian weirdly again.”

Noah frowned faintly.

“Huh?”

“You keep waiting for him to talk before doing stuff.”

Noah opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then shrugged.

“Guess he’s the DM.”

Simple.

Logical.

Final.

The room laughed.

Only Adrian understood how profound the shift really was.

Noah’s independent critical resistance had just permanently collapsed. Not mindless obedience. Just reduced willpower. Reduced need to question. The barbarian archetype was crystallizing perfectly. While always physically in charge, he liked for others to take the lead, make suggestions and tell him what to do.

And there was still one stat left.

Charisma.

Adrian folded his hands together behind the DM screen and smiled faintly.

“Last roll.”

Noah rolled the die.

It spun across the wood.

Stopped.

15

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Noah smiled and the entire atmosphere of the room shifted instantly. Not magically glowing. Not supernatural mind control. Just… overwhelming presence.

His posture straightened subtly, massive shoulders rolling back with effortless confidence while his expression relaxed into an easy, rugged charm that looked absurdly natural on him. The lazy grin beneath his copper stubble suddenly carried weight behind it. Warmth. Magnetism.

His face redefined itself, becoming even more devastatingly handsome, manly, rugged. Like his entire look had been designed by someone who wanted to show what copious amounts of testosterone would do to a handsome man’s face.

And reality adapted around him. To the rest of the table Noah had always been overwhelmingly charismatic. He could say the most stupid shit and people would still laugh with him, his entire personality just becoming comfort food, easygoing and welcoming, while never losing the raw sex appeal that made people want to suck his cock or get impaled on his meat hammer within 5 minutes of meeting him.

“Guess I’m just charismatic.”, the massive ginger chuckled dumbly.

The line should have sounded ridiculous.

Instead, all three of them laughed immediately.

Even Adrian almost smiled for real.

The magic settled completely.

The transformation finalized.

Noah Tanner—the nervous valedictorian, comic-shop employee, chronic overthinker—was gone.

Or rather…

Reality now insisted he had never existed in that form at all.

Instead, Noah had always been this. A towering, massively muscular ginger barbarian of a man with movie-star ruggedness, absurd stamina, effortless charm, and the simple confidence of someone who had never spent much time doubting himself. A beautiful brute with long wavy copper hair, heavy stubble, broad hands, thick muscle-packed limbs, and a mind optimized less for critical analysis and more for instinct, confidence, and immediate physical certainty.

And according to everyone’s rewritten memories? He had always been the heart of the group. The guy strangers flirted with constantly. The one who won arguments through sheer presence instead of logic. The one who solved problems by kicking doors open.

Noah himself looked down at the completed character sheet and grinned proudly.

“Damn,” he rumbled. “This dude rules.”

“Our resident himbo literally plays himself.”, Ethan rolled his eyes. “Massive super stud football player, massive super stud barbarian. Tomato, tomato.”

“Still taller than you.”, Noah countered and the room burst out laughing.

And Adrian quietly watched the rewritten world stabilize around the completed barbarian.

One player down.

Three to go.

The grimoire beneath the table pulsed warmly against his knee.

I'd hit the roulette because I've pushed my body far and it's always good to see what my clients feel. I'm 5'11", 215lbs, brown hair. .

The arcade is the last place where a personal trainer would think of spending time. Twenty-eight years old, ACE and ISSA certifications, bodybuilding competitions in the Classic Physique category. One meter eighty, ninety-seven kilos of sculpted muscles, brown hair. He has pushed his body beyond every limit. Now he is curious to try what his clients feel when they rely on him.

He approaches the machine. A new challenge. A different experience.

He presses the button.

🐻 🧓 🚬

The instant after, time runs over him like an avalanche.

Twenty-eight, thirty-five, forty, fifty. The years pass in a few seconds, but it isn’t normal aging. It is a maturation. A becoming something more.

The first thing he feels is the beard. The groomed one, the athlete’s beard, begins to grow, to thicken. It becomes a full, dense beard, mixed with brown and gray. It covers the jaw, the chin, the cheeks. From a mature man. From a bear.

The hair. The brown hair lightens, mixing with gray and white. Still thick, still full, but marked by time.

Then the body.

The muscles do not disappear, they transform. They become fuller, more massive, more… soft. Underneath, the structure is still that of a bodybuilder, but covered, softened. The chest widens, the pecs remain enormous, but now a layer of gray and white hair covers them. Thick, dense, warm.

The belly. A belly begins to form. Not flabby, not loose. Solid, full, a bear belly. Covered with gray hair that comes down from the chest, that wraps around it, that makes it warm and inviting.

The shoulders remain wide, the deltoids full. The arms remain big, the biceps still evident, but covered with gray hair, softened by time. The veins still show, but among the hair.

The weight. Ninety-seven kilos become one hundred ten, one hundred fifteen. All mass, all presence, all bear.

The shirt he is wearing, a simple work shirt, begins to tighten. The buttons stretch over the hairy chest. One after another, they give way. They pop. The shirt opens wide, revealing what is underneath.

The enormous chest, covered with gray and white hair. The soft but solid belly, also hairy. The muscles that can be glimpsed beneath the fur. A bear torso, warm, inviting, powerfully masculine.

And then, between his lips, something appears. A cigar. Unlit, but present. Balanced between the lips, among the hairs of the gray beard. From a man who has lived. From an experienced man. From someone who has seen many things.

He looks at himself in the reflection of the machine. The man he sees is no longer the twenty-eight-year-old personal trainer, sculpted and defined. He is someone else. A man of fifty, maybe more. A bear. Gray beard, salt-and-pepper hair, hairy chest coming out of the open shirt, soft warm belly, cigar in his mouth.

He touches himself. The hands, still strong, still those of someone who has lifted weights for years, now sink into the hairy chest. They feel the gray hair, thick, soft. They feel the muscles underneath, still present, still hard, but covered, softened. They move down, touching the belly, full, warm, covered with hair.

The cigar. He moves it from one side of his mouth to the other with an instinctive gesture, from habit. He feels the taste of dry tobacco, the smell that already begins to soak into his beard.

The sweat. Under the open shirt, on the hairy chest, a light sweat begins to form. Warm, dampening the hair, making it cling, making it shine. It runs down toward the belly, slipping among the hairs.

The smell. New. Deep. Musky, warm, with a note of tobacco and experience. A smell of a man who has lived, of a bear, of someone who knows what he wants and how to take it.

He looks at his hands. More wrinkled, more marked, but still strong. Hands that have guided, that have lifted, that have touched. Hands that know what to do.

He adjusts the open shirt, but it is useless to close it. The buttons are gone, the chest is there, exposed. The gray hair, the belly, everything on display.

He thinks about his clients. The ones he trained, the ones he pushed beyond their limits. Now he would look at them differently. With more experience. With more calm. With more desire to touch, to feel, to guide.

The cigar. He removes it from his mouth, looks at it. Then he puts it back.

He smiles. A slow, confident smile, like a bear. Like a man who knows how to wait. Like a man who knows how to take.

The arcade around him is silent. He stands there, the open shirt over his hairy chest, the cigar in his mouth, the eyes that have seen thirty more years.