Loona
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 9
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Blitzo stepped into the hallway like he owned the oxygen in it. The door banged shut behind him with a satisfying crack, and the fluorescent lights overhead caught every ridge and vein of his new body—bronze skin stretched taut over hypertrophied muscle, vinyl pants clinging obscenely to tree-trunk thighs and a bulge that looked weaponized. Gold chains swung against his exposed pecs with every stride, purple spikes of hair bouncing defiantly. He felt like sin given biceps.
Halfway down the corridor, cigarette smoke curled from the open window ledge where Loona White leaned, one platform boot propped on the sill, silver-gray hair falling in asymmetrical curtains over her scowling face. She took a lazy drag, black-lined eyes half-lidded in perpetual “fuck off” mode.
Then she saw him.
The cigarette slipped from her pierced lips and tumbled end-over-end to the concrete three stories below. Her red irises blew wide, pupils swallowing the black sclera for a split second before snapping back to slits. Mouth parted. She didn’t blink.
Blitzo didn’t miss a beat. He sauntered toward her with the same lazy, predatory roll he’d always had—like the last twenty-four hours of cosmic power-upgrades, room-destroying sex marathons, and infinite-wish genie servitude hadn’t happened at all. As far as the world (and especially Loona) was concerned, this was just Blitzo being Blitzo: huge, shredded, feminine-androgynous perfection on legs.
“Morning, Loonie Toony,” he drawled, voice velvet and venom in equal measure. He stopped right beside her, close enough that the heat radiating off his oiled muscles brushed her bare midriff. “You drop something?”
Loona’s throat clicked when she swallowed. Her nipples poked visibly against the thin fabric of her cropped top, dark peaks straining the crisscross lacing. A slow, betraying flush crept up her pale neck. Between her thighs, warmth bloomed into slick heat; she shifted her weight and pressed her legs together instinctively.
Blitzo pretended not to notice. He leaned one massive forearm against the window frame above her head, caging her without touching, and flexed—casual, like stretching after sleep. Biceps peaked into softball-sized mountains, veins snaking over the surface like rivers on a map. Triceps horseshoed. His pec bounced once, the pierced nipple winking under the mesh crop top.
“Nice day for a smoke,” he continued, as if they were discussing weather. “Or maybe you’re just hot. You look… flushed.”
Loona’s scowl flickered, cracked. “The fuck happened to you?” she muttered, but her voice came out breathy, cracked at the edges. Her eyes kept darting—down to the deep cuts of his abs, up to the flare of his lats, back to that smug violet stare.
Blitzo chuckled low. “What do you mean? This is me. Always has been.” Another flex—this time deliberate. He rolled his shoulders, traps rising like cobras, then popped his chest so the gold chains danced across striated pecs. “You’re staring, Sweet Pup. Like what you see?”
Inside his head—visible only to him—Stolas materialized in a swirl of purple-black smoke, lounging mid-air like a decadent sultan, ghostly muscles gleaming, sarong barely clinging to narrow hips. The genie’s red eyes glittered with wicked delight.
Oh, darling, Stolas purred telepathically, voice dripping theatrical glee. Look at her squirm. Those little black shorts are positively ruined already. Why don’t you pin her against the wall and let her feel what infinite power really means? Or better—make her beg first. Mortals crumble so prettily when they’re wet and desperate.
Blitzo’s lips twitched. He ignored the suggestion—for now—and reached out, slow and deliberate, to pluck a stray strand of silver hair from Loona’s face. His long purple nail grazed her cheekbone; she shivered hard enough that her thighs rubbed together audibly.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he teased, leaning closer until his breath ghosted her ear. “Usually you’d be telling me to fuck off by now. Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you just want something else in your mouth.”
Loona’s breath hitched. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into palms. “You’re such a cocky asshole,” she managed, but the words lacked bite. Her pupils were blown again, fixed on the obscene outline straining his vinyl pants. Wetness soaked through the crotch of her booty shorts; she could feel it, hot and humiliating.
Blitzo grinned wider, showing too many teeth. “Yeah. And you’re dripping for it.” He flexed his free arm again, slow and obscene, letting her watch the bicep curl into a perfect peak. “Admit it, Loonie. You’ve been wet for me since day one. Just took a little… upgrade to make you brave enough to say it.”
Stolas hovered closer, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. She’s seconds from climbing you like a tree, master. Push her. One more flex, one filthy whisper, and she’ll be on her knees in this hallway begging for your custard-thick cock. How poetic.
Loona’s resolve shattered. She grabbed the front of his mesh crop top, yanking him down so their faces were inches apart. Her voice came out raw, trembling with need. “My room. Now. Before I change my mind and kick your over-muscled ass.”
Blitzo laughed—low, triumphant, wicked. He didn’t move immediately. Instead he flexed one last time, slow and deliberate, letting every shredded inch ripple under her grip.
“Hmm,” he mused aloud, tilting his head as if genuinely considering. “Tempting. Very tempting. But should I? I mean… I’ve got infinite options now. Could fuck half the campus before lunch. Or…” His violet eyes locked on hers, predatory and playful. “I could let you think you’re in control for five whole minutes before I ruin you.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting her squirm.
Then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Lead the way, Sweet Pup. Let’s see how long you last before you’re screaming my name.”
Loona’s knees nearly buckled. She turned on her heel, dragging him by the chain around his neck toward her door, platform boots stomping with desperate urgency.
Blitzo followed, smirking, cock throbbing against vinyl, already plotting exactly how he’d break her.
Stolas trailed invisibly behind, cackling softly in delight.
The hallway echoed with the promise of chaos.
Halfway down the corridor, cigarette smoke curled from the open window ledge where Loona White leaned, one platform boot propped on the sill, silver-gray hair falling in asymmetrical curtains over her scowling face. She took a lazy drag, black-lined eyes half-lidded in perpetual “fuck off” mode.
Then she saw him.
The cigarette slipped from her pierced lips and tumbled end-over-end to the concrete three stories below. Her red irises blew wide, pupils swallowing the black sclera for a split second before snapping back to slits. Mouth parted. She didn’t blink.
Blitzo didn’t miss a beat. He sauntered toward her with the same lazy, predatory roll he’d always had—like the last twenty-four hours of cosmic power-upgrades, room-destroying sex marathons, and infinite-wish genie servitude hadn’t happened at all. As far as the world (and especially Loona) was concerned, this was just Blitzo being Blitzo: huge, shredded, feminine-androgynous perfection on legs.
“Morning, Loonie Toony,” he drawled, voice velvet and venom in equal measure. He stopped right beside her, close enough that the heat radiating off his oiled muscles brushed her bare midriff. “You drop something?”
Loona’s throat clicked when she swallowed. Her nipples poked visibly against the thin fabric of her cropped top, dark peaks straining the crisscross lacing. A slow, betraying flush crept up her pale neck. Between her thighs, warmth bloomed into slick heat; she shifted her weight and pressed her legs together instinctively.
Blitzo pretended not to notice. He leaned one massive forearm against the window frame above her head, caging her without touching, and flexed—casual, like stretching after sleep. Biceps peaked into softball-sized mountains, veins snaking over the surface like rivers on a map. Triceps horseshoed. His pec bounced once, the pierced nipple winking under the mesh crop top.
“Nice day for a smoke,” he continued, as if they were discussing weather. “Or maybe you’re just hot. You look… flushed.”
Loona’s scowl flickered, cracked. “The fuck happened to you?” she muttered, but her voice came out breathy, cracked at the edges. Her eyes kept darting—down to the deep cuts of his abs, up to the flare of his lats, back to that smug violet stare.
Blitzo chuckled low. “What do you mean? This is me. Always has been.” Another flex—this time deliberate. He rolled his shoulders, traps rising like cobras, then popped his chest so the gold chains danced across striated pecs. “You’re staring, Sweet Pup. Like what you see?”
Inside his head—visible only to him—Stolas materialized in a swirl of purple-black smoke, lounging mid-air like a decadent sultan, ghostly muscles gleaming, sarong barely clinging to narrow hips. The genie’s red eyes glittered with wicked delight.
Oh, darling, Stolas purred telepathically, voice dripping theatrical glee. Look at her squirm. Those little black shorts are positively ruined already. Why don’t you pin her against the wall and let her feel what infinite power really means? Or better—make her beg first. Mortals crumble so prettily when they’re wet and desperate.
Blitzo’s lips twitched. He ignored the suggestion—for now—and reached out, slow and deliberate, to pluck a stray strand of silver hair from Loona’s face. His long purple nail grazed her cheekbone; she shivered hard enough that her thighs rubbed together audibly.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he teased, leaning closer until his breath ghosted her ear. “Usually you’d be telling me to fuck off by now. Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you just want something else in your mouth.”
Loona’s breath hitched. Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into palms. “You’re such a cocky asshole,” she managed, but the words lacked bite. Her pupils were blown again, fixed on the obscene outline straining his vinyl pants. Wetness soaked through the crotch of her booty shorts; she could feel it, hot and humiliating.
Blitzo grinned wider, showing too many teeth. “Yeah. And you’re dripping for it.” He flexed his free arm again, slow and obscene, letting her watch the bicep curl into a perfect peak. “Admit it, Loonie. You’ve been wet for me since day one. Just took a little… upgrade to make you brave enough to say it.”
Stolas hovered closer, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. She’s seconds from climbing you like a tree, master. Push her. One more flex, one filthy whisper, and she’ll be on her knees in this hallway begging for your custard-thick cock. How poetic.
Loona’s resolve shattered. She grabbed the front of his mesh crop top, yanking him down so their faces were inches apart. Her voice came out raw, trembling with need. “My room. Now. Before I change my mind and kick your over-muscled ass.”
Blitzo laughed—low, triumphant, wicked. He didn’t move immediately. Instead he flexed one last time, slow and deliberate, letting every shredded inch ripple under her grip.
“Hmm,” he mused aloud, tilting his head as if genuinely considering. “Tempting. Very tempting. But should I? I mean… I’ve got infinite options now. Could fuck half the campus before lunch. Or…” His violet eyes locked on hers, predatory and playful. “I could let you think you’re in control for five whole minutes before I ruin you.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting her squirm.
Then he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Lead the way, Sweet Pup. Let’s see how long you last before you’re screaming my name.”
Loona’s knees nearly buckled. She turned on her heel, dragging him by the chain around his neck toward her door, platform boots stomping with desperate urgency.
Blitzo followed, smirking, cock throbbing against vinyl, already plotting exactly how he’d break her.
Stolas trailed invisibly behind, cackling softly in delight.
The hallway echoed with the promise of chaos.
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·
June 13
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