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salem-s · 10 days ago

Note

can you please write a rafe fic based on the song “back to friends”?

like they were exes turned to strangers but there’s sooo much tension and they’re obviously still sooo in love with each other. just angst vibes with maybe some suggestive fluff? idk

just a suggestion though totally understand if it’s too specific for you!

yes! when you sent this in i had no idea what song you were talking about LOL but now ive heard it and it’s so good. love this prompt!

BACK TO FRIENDS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe have been broken up for months, and despite not seeing him since, you haven't stopped thinking about him. then, out of the blue, he's suddenly there at one of your parties: coy yet shy, a presence yet a ghost, looking at you as if he's never seen anything prettier. and all you can think is: what the fuck?

WARNINGS aaaannnngst (miscommunication tendencies is very high here, they’re both idiots), fluff, suggestive content and descriptions of smut. post-grad au, living in a city of your choice. ex!rafe is fun to write, but apologies because this isn't super edited.

WORD COUNT 8.1k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to friends by sombr

You've been single for six months.

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? That's a bit subjective depending on who answers on the matter, but - of course - most of the time you'd argue no. Your ex would argue yes in a self-depricating sort of way. Part of you knew it was coming to a close in those final weeks, taking into account the way you drifted apart as one of life's natural tendencies.

You were heading in one direction. He was heading in another. There are so many things that he probably thought that he never spoke, especially with the way he hinted towards not being good enough for you, not being good enough to follow you into the next stages of your life. You, of course, knew that wasn't true, that it was his mind sending him into a spiral, not his heart. It ruptured your soul when the last image of him was his back towards you, not even having the gall to face you as he said goodbye. You never thought you'd see him after that.

So why the fuck is Rafe Cameron standing in your living room right now?

He looks good. Too good. The long locks that you used to toy with between your nimble fingers are gone, replaced with a slightly grown out buzz that suits him, makes him look more mature and grounded. A simple t-shirt adorns his torso, snug tight at the seams around his biceps, looking a little bigger than you last saw. He's clean cut, sleek in a way that makes your heart pound, and a head taller than everyone around him, commanding the room without even meaning to.

But his eyes tell a different story.

When those pretty blues meet yours, you see what he really feels: an emptiness and search for something to fulfill his soul, radiating a sadness to them that emulates the look of despair he had the last time you were with him. No one notices. He hides it well. But you were always able to read him like a book, to be able to pin point his emotion like it was your day job, to know how to approach him through various emotions to get him to feel better.

You, apparently, still can.

It's absolutely debilitating when you lock eyes across the room, and you can't even describe the weird feeling that settles in your gut. Is it anxiety? Dread? Excitement? It's a kettlebell in your stomach that only weighs more and more the longer you look at him, the more you register that Rafe Cameron, your ex and probably the only person you'll ever love, is standing in your living room in a state you never thought he'd be in with people you never associated him with.

First you feel shock. Then confusion.

How the fuck is he here? Who does he know? Did he - somehow - stumble upon this party in a stroke of pure luck and humiliation (on your part) or is this intentional? Does he know this is your apartment? Did he recognize the same decor that you had in your old place? Smell your favorite candle? See the furniture and overall mood of the house and think of you? Did he even know? How could he have?

It isn't until (some) of your questions are being answered when you spot another friend of yours, Wyatt, clap Rafe on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear, nodding in your direction and tugging him towards—

Fuck.

Tugging him towards you.

You wish you could move. Or do anything. Pretend to be caught up in a conversation with a friend or sneak out onto the fire escape that you can only access through your room. Anything would be better than this: simply standing in place and waiting for the inevitable. You're angry. Yet sad. Confused. You're mad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're sad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're confused that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you.

Before your brain can turn on and make a move, Wyatt's suddenly there with an audacious hand clapped on Rafe's shoulder and gently shaking it to emphasize the presence.

"Honey!” Wyatt chirps brightly (curse his ability to literally befriend a brick wall, and curse the fact that you can't hate him for doing this to you right now if you tried). "This is Rafe, the friend from Coastal that I was telling you about."

"Honey?" Rafe murmurs in surprise, and you nearly stop breathing at the fact that you're hearing his voice again. "This is Honey?"

Before your friend can explain the horrifically embarrassing story as to how you got that nickname that your friends use more than your actual name, you miraculously find your voice.

"And this is the friend from Coastal you were telling me about?" Your tone matches your ex's of surprise.

If Wyatt notices the clear apprehension between you two, he either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care enough to address it. With some sort of magic, he manages to smile wider.

"Yeah! Figured since you both went there, you might know the same people?" He offers innocently, darting his gaze cheerfully between you as if he's waiting for something magical to happen.

But it...doesn't.

Because you fucking laugh.

Right in Rafe's face. And it's out of disbelief (and slight drunkenness) that this is actually happening right now. Your good friend is introducing you to your ex, the same ex that you haven't spoken to (or much less heard from) in six fucking months. The same ex that you've been absolutely devastated over losing. The same ex that you've been attempting to find fragments of in different people, yet coming up short every single time and thus ruining the progression of your love life.

It's comical, really, it is. Because what are the odds of this happening? Of Rafe Cameron standing in your apartment, in a place you thought hidden well enough to shield you from the ghosts of your past? Of the mere concept that this is how you're seeing him again: flushed and drunk and having a great time at a party you organized. It's out of left field, completely throwing you off your game (if you even have one).

"Yeah," you manage to get out, "we know of each other."

Wyatt beams, and Rafe frowns, portraying the happy-sad theatrical masks to a fucking T.

Yet your friend takes that as a cue to pat Rafe's back, sending another knowing glance your way as if to say you're welcome! before disappearing into the party, chatting up another group of friends as if he didn't just cause a rapture in your brain. You let your gaze settling on your friend morphing into the crowd before glancing back at your ex.

Who's staring right at you.

The seriousness in his expression makes you falter slightly, not because of the intensity of it but because you just...miss him. You haven't seen him in so long, haven't been this close to him. If you wanted to, you could reach out and grab him, tether yourself to him, cling onto a bicep like you used to love doing, or sit snug under his arm and relish in the warmth he always unintentionally provided. But you can’t. Not anymore. He made that clear when he ended things with you: he wants nothing to do with you anymore, and that includes your touch.

"Why did you say that?" He asks gently, as if it's plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Your expression must look whack, because you manage a confused smile and an arched brow, as if it's obvious. "Because I'm not about to re-hash the semantics of our break up in the middle of the function right now?"

The tone isn't nice, but it isn't mean either. It is indifferent. Tired. As if you've just picked up the pieces of your heart that shattered with him leaving you, only to have the cracks form again and threaten to burst through the seams of the fragile tape you used to stitch your heart back up. It's a bit crazy for him to ask that, you think. Because why would you bring it up? Wyatt doesn't know any better, as the faux introduction was done out of pure innocence, so why damper the mood with the truth?

Rafe pauses at your words, and the longer he's silent the more you feel stupid. You feel stupid that you're essentially backed into a corner, drawing shapes in the wooden floors with the tops of your toes to keep from slipping, swishing around a drink that has one small sip left in it. It's almost worse that he's silent. You want him to scream. To get mad, for whatever reason. Because then it'll be easier for you to pull away, to detach, to fucking move on.

But he doesn't. He's gentle with you. He always was. Never raised his voice or acted out. He was just...Rafe.

He still is, apparently.

"How have you been?" He manages to ask after a moment's silence, opting for the safe choice of not going on a tangent based on your snotty response.

What do you think? You want to snap.

But you don't. You simply shrug. "Fine. You?"

Rafe furrows his brows, as if his answer is obvious yet prolonging the response to see if you really know, or are asking out of courtesy. You're asking because it's the script you normally follow, when someone asks how you are you typically ask them back. It's not rocket science. It doesn't need to be complicated. God, why is he making it complicated?

Why is he looking at you like that?

"Are you going to answer, or..?" You trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of answer but coming up short.

Your tone is detached, as if you're talking to an old friend who you can joke and kid around with. Not the guy you've loved for years. The wince on his face reminds you of that, that you’re not joking around with just anyone. You’re with him. You’re acting like nothing is wrong, like these past few months have been a walk in the park. It’s funny that you’re going at him as if you haven’t shared your deepest vulnerabilities with him beneath soft sheets that smell of him.

Although Rafe has absolutely no room to guilt trip you right now. He orchestrated this. He wanted this. Not you.

You speak before tears can start brimming your waterline. “Whatever. See you around.”

You’re quick to duck around his audaciously broad figure, beelining towards…anywhere that isn’t here and anywhere that doesn’t have him infiltrating your senses, dulling you down. A flicker of anger crosses across your heart, because how dare he? How dare he show up here (even if he didn’t actually know this is your place, the meaning still applies) and send you all these weird signals? How dare he look at you as if he’s in pain?

Because this is his fucking fault. He broke it off, he separated himself when he didn’t need to, he lost faith in himself as a partner. You loved him through his faults, and you still do, yet that still wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. All him. Not you.

Rafe says your name quietly.

Like an idiot, you turn. Despite the thumping bass and the high pitched laughter wafted through each room, you hear him loud and clear. His blue eyes are too pretty, too intently focused on you, too…everything. It’s almost painful to look at, to see the reminder that you lost him, you lost the privilege of staring shamelessly at those pretty, pretty blues.

“You look beautiful,” he says ardently, low in a tone just reserved for you.

But it only upsets you further, makes your heart split in quarters after he split it in half six months ago. You hate how sincere he sounds, as if he’s been itching to say it all this time. Instead of a compliment, it comes across as a reminder that he left.

All you can do is shake your head. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

And you’re disappearing into the party before he can object.

You’re grateful that your room is somewhat secluded from the communal spaces.

It’s especially forgiving in this instant, when you’re cozied up alone on the fire escape that someone can only access from your bedroom, hugging your knees and staring out onto the cityscape with a scowl so deep one may think the horizon wronged you. A joint that was supposed to calm your racing heart lays untouched next to your lighter, and you don’t even have the gall to light it and try and forget about the events of tonight. Knowing yourself and knowing your brain, the weed will only tenfold the nagging emotion.

You fucking miss him. And you fucking hate him. And you fucking love him.

It caught you immensely off guard to see him again, much less standing in your living room and talking with your new friends without them even knowing who he is, without knowing what he did. The result in your brain is immediate: you miss him. You didn’t realize how much you did until you saw him.

You miss the way he’d always wake up before you, either getting up to brew your favorite coffee blend or simply waiting for you to wake in his arms, tracing idle fingertips along your smooth skin or kissing your hairline. You miss how he always made you laugh, no matter how grumpy or irritated you were at him or at the world. You miss his charm, the way he’d always flirt with you regardless of how long you’d been together, pretending to not know you in public just to ask you out all over again. You miss how he knew you, how he knew your favorite things and brought you your favorite foods and candies, how he’d buy you silly trinkets he saw in a store window simply because it reminded him of you, how he’d know how to approach you when you’ve had a bad day. You miss how he loved you, like there was nothing else around him worth his time.

The tears don’t come. They almost do, but when the time comes for them to fall, they just…don’t.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve already used all of them on him. Or because you’re tired. Or because you’re simply sitting with a pit in your stomach about the fact that he’s here, he’s actually here, probably making friends and slowly integrating himself in the life you wanted him to be in from the start.

God, feelings fucking suck.

“Hey.”

The voice (the all too familiar voice) startles you, snapping you out of your thousand yard stare to whip your head around to face the culprit. You blink dumbfounded when your eyes meet his pretty blues, yours definitely blown wide simply at the mere thought of someone disturbing your fire escape time, a fire escape hidden from the party.

Of course, it’s him. How did he even find you?

You didn’t even hear the window crack open. Nor your bedroom door. You didn’t think someone would have the audacity to enter someone else’s bedroom without knocking, or perhaps he did and you simply didn’t hear it. Regardless of the way in which the events played out, he’s still leaning through your window frame and still too fucking close to be considered apprehensive.

At your silence, Rafe clears his throat with a cautious glance. “Can I sit?”

I don’t know, can you? You almost snap childishly, disastrously still wanting to put on the front you had on earlier to attempt to show him your indifference, but it proves unlikely that you’ll have an ounce of that spark you had from before.

Because now you’re just tired. Worn out mentally. Re-hashing the details of your breakup over and over and over in your head to torture yourself. You have little fight left in you, and the mere thought of trying to stay strong only settles more of a kettlebell in your gut.

Wordlessly, you nod.

It’s a bit awkward when he actually realizes you’ve said yes (gestured it, actually), registering that you’ve given him the green light instead of the red that he had been expecting, especially since your venomous words about an hour ago. His limbs are long and lanky, and it takes him a bit of time to actually situate himself next to you and find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his stature. It’s not the most forgiving fire escape, but you’ve gotten used to the harsh ridges and crates that are now a source of comfort.

Rafe notices the unlit joint. “Were you gonna smoke?”

You shrug, because you don’t even know. You brought it out here just to have some sort of outlet in the beginning, but realized it actually might make your spiraling worse, so you left it untouched. Perhaps for later. You didn’t even bring your phone out here.

The stubborn silence coming from you makes him antsy, you can tell. Because there’s one thing that always made him nervous, and that was when you shut down. When you closed yourself off and drifted into the confinements of your mind that aren’t forgiving. When you are silent, because he’s said before that he loves your words, and life without them always hurt no matter what. He dealt with your quiet as best as he could, and for the most part he always handled it well.

Obviously, his method of coddling you back into speaking isn’t going to work now. So instead he sits, picking at his nail beds that confirms he picked up his bad habit again. You almost instinctively reach out to get him to stop, but catch yourself before you can further embarrass yourself.

“You can have it, if you want,” you offer tiredly, voice quieter than you intended.

But despite the volume, his shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice.

“No, I’m…” Rafe clears his throat. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Then, more silence.

He’s so close yet so far, just barely brushing shoulders and you almost don’t want the connection because it’ll simply remind you of how good it feels to touch him. You don’t want to know it again only to have the rug swept out from beneath you once more. So instead you keep your distance, and don’t lean into him as your heart achingly wants you to do so.

You speak before you make a stupid decision. “How’d you find me?”

In your peripheral, you see Rafe’s head tilt quizzically towards you as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak, to initiate the conversation after the drought. He’s quiet for one, two beats, finally registering that, no, he didn’t imagine it, you asked him a question.

“Wyatt,” he responds simply. His eyes feel like lasers boring into your profile, but you don’t give in, keeping your gaze solely on the city. “Gave me directions.”

You hum. Of course.

“This is nice,” Rafe adds after a few moments. “The place and the…view.”

Again, you hum, ignoring how he’s only looking at you.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask gently.

His brows raise at you bringing out the one million dollar question earlier than you both anticipated, but of course it’s the only one that’s been on your mind for the better part of an hour. He’s here, in the place you initially planned for you two to be in, the place he said he couldn’t follow you to because he didn’t want to bring you down. It feels like one big joke, as if your breakup meant nothing because, despite it all, he’s here.

“Wyatt’s helping me get on my feet,” he answers quietly. “Dad cut me off.”

That piques your curiosity, facing him briefly. “He did? Why?”

Rafe almost looks relieved you’re meeting his gaze. “Backed out of the family business.”

“What?”

He nods. “Put myself in it for a few months and it…” He sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuckin’ blowed. I freaked out, got in a huge fight with him and he just…kicked me out. Cut me off. Told me to go do whatever it is I wanted to do without him.”

Your face must be puzzled as all hell.

He…stepped away from his father’s company? The business he’s been groomed to rule his entire life? Every single major step of Rafe’s life was done to accommodate his eventual take over once his father passes or retires. He majored in business and commercial real estate. He picked up ungodly hours during the holidays or whenever he went home or even logged in from miles and miles away from home to help his dad out with a deal. It’s the only path he’s ever known, only thing he’s ever planned for, only subject he’s been focused on since the responsibility of being a predecessor was high.

And now he’s not doing it anymore?

You want to pry, of course you do, and ask if he’s alright after suddenly dropping the one thing his life seemingly amounted to for the entirety of college. You’ve seen how stressed it made him, how business deals tampered with his mental health and the fear of fucking up weighed on his conscious. More so the fear of disappointing his father.

But Rafe looks content…relaxed, even. It’s as if a massive weight has clobbered to the ground off his shoulders, giving him a newfound lightness to him that you haven’t seen before. Sure, his eyes still brim with a hurt that yours surely reflect, but there’s an easiness to his posture and overall demeanor. It’s almost foreign to see on him.

“And what are you doing now?” You ask incredulously, still wrapping your head around the fact that his life has completely flipped.

Rafe looks down briefly, at the ring you still wear that he gave to you on your birthday one year.

“Working at Wyatt’s dad’s construction site.”

Your brows skyrocket.

He laughs boyishly. “I know. Totally rogue, right?”

Despite it all and despite your aching heart, you manage to laugh with him.

“Rafe Cameron in construction?” You joke. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He hums low and amused, eyes trained on you. “Me neither. But it’s been good. Steady. Keeping me busy enough so I can save up for school.”

You furrow your brows at him for the umpteenth time. “You’re going back?”

Rafe confirms your suspicions when he nods slowly, earnestly. “Hopefully next fall.”

The words ring through silence for a few moments as you study him, really study his face. It’s soft, still laced with the etches of hurt that isn’t seeming to go away anytime soon, but there’s a firmness to his expression that encapsulates his goals for his future. He looks certain of himself, unsure of himself emotionally, but focused with the way he’s talking about his future.

Because he never really had to deal with that uncertainty. Rafe was always going to move back home after graduation and work with his dad. That was always the plan, nothing more or less to it. He never gave second options a chance and always chased the noble pursuits that would aide him in his future with the company.

But now he’s… free? If that’s the right term for it?

You remember how he used to talk about it sometimes as if it was a prison, as a wheel he’s caught on and never not spinning away from his actual dreams and desires. It was always his path, so Rafe never wanted to think about the possibility of doing something different, because it felt like a lost cause. He’d never be able to leave, so why day dream about doing so? It would only hurt his soul.

Now he’s freed from the burden. And he’s never looked more content.

“That’s…” You try and find the right words. “Good for you.”

You say it as genuinely as you mean it, one hundred percent earnestly. Because he does deserve it, the chance to find himself outside the confinements of what he was bred to be.

But it still doesn’t answer the grand scheme of questions, the big kahuna that’s been plaguing your conscious. Not the question of how he found your room, or your private rooftop, but more so you. Your apartment. Your city. You.

“Why here?” You ask gently. “Out of all the places to start over, you…”

You came to me, you almost say.

But refrain. Because that’s fucking stupid to assume.

It must be a coincidence, no? He has friends here, people to fall back on and places that someone else can introduce him to. He’s not completely alone in his endeavors, like he’s said that Wyatt is helping him get back on his feet. That’s no reason for you to assume that his presence, his uproot, is all because of you. You can’t. Because you’ll spiral more than you already are.

And his answer is worse.

“Because you’re here,” he says simply as if it’s law.

Wh—?

You can barely respond. “Bec—because I’m—?“

Rafe laughs quietly at your befuddlement. “I didn’t know you’d be here literally. Wyatt never told me your name when he told me about the party, only called you Honey. So that was…unintentional.” He hums. “What does Honey mean anyway?”

Your panic spikes. “Uh, nothing. It’s not— There’s no reason to— Semantics.” You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here for you. “You’re here— You— For me?”

When he nods, it literally sucks the air from your lungs.

“It’s strange,” he says quietly after a moment of relishing in your panicked demeanor. “Seeing you with people who are calling you a different name. Seeing pieces of you around the apartment. I knew as soon as I walked in, it just…fucking killed me.” His fingers twitch in your direction, as if his body is involuntarily drawing himself to touch you. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so fucking bad.”

You can’t help but frown. “You’re the one who did it.”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, almost pained. “I know. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, baby,” he says, the name slipping out like a second nature that stabs your gut. “None of what I'm doing is fair, I- it's selfish. I know that. But I..."

Rafe trails off, scoffing at his own inability to form the words he wishes to speak. You can recognize that, understanding the frustration is not with you but rather the internal turmoil in his own mind. He's constantly fighting with himself, teetering between what feels wrong and what feels right and almost always self destructing in the end.

Words never came easy to him. It's something you learned early on with him, realizing that his actions spoke a lot louder than he ever could. At first, you thought he was odd for shutting down after arguments with his father or after the two of you would disagree on something. But once you saw the laundry neatly folded after one of your classes or the fridge restocked without you asking, you realized that this, the wordless acts, were his versions of mending broken amenities.

You also know that Rafe was probably never taught to properly emote. Orchestrated by the faults of his father.

So you wait patiently. You let him take time to find his words. You allow him to make up for the blunder of his break up.

Playing with the ends of your hoodie (you changed into comfort clothes an hour ago once you promptly decided you will not be returning to the party), you watch as Rafe studies the ring on your finger, brows knit as his eyes narrow in an attempt to ground himself, to focus his thoughts carefully and calculate what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. Trying really, really hard to articulate his bubbling feelings.

"There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I don't think about you," he starts slowly, tone low to articulate his seriousness. "Every fucking day, all I can see is how I hurt you."

The instinct to say something, to say anything, is stronger than you've ever felt. But you hold back, you bite your tongue, instead sucking in a deep breath with the anticipation that whatever he's about to say is going to fucking hurt. Not because you've already been through this before, but because he's probably about to break your heart without even knowing.

He continues. "It wasn't— When you told Wyatt we knew of each other, I... To look at you and pretend you were someone I've never met as if you aren't the only thing keeping my life together at this point.”

Rafe trails off, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily to avoid going on a tangent, to focus on what's important to him in this moment, to not get hung up on semantics from earlier when you were being an asshole.

With another deep breath, he continues.

"I thought I was doing what was right by distancing myself from you, because I knew I'd be suck at home working a job that would've made me miserable, and I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head.

But you're yearning for an answer. For anything. "You what?"

Rafe briefly meets your gaze, almost shyly, because you're still here hanging onto every single one of his words. And the look on your face is fucking killing him, because you only look more hurt than before yet prettier than ever.

He swallows harshly. "I know what I'm like. Especially around my old man, and I didn't want to subject you to that."

"Rafe."

It's said as a plea, so earnest and heartbroken that he didn't think you would stand by him, through his wide range of emotions. Because you love him. You know the mental struggle he deals with whenever his father is involved in anything, and you knew that going into your post grad lives. Still, you were going to stick by him, no matter what.

Rafe says your name quietly. "I don't like who I am when I'm around him. I'm mean, and self destructive and...and a total fucking head case."

You whisper his name once more.

But he only shakes his head. "Please, I—I know it sounds stupid, alright? I just didn't want you to see that, to see that part of me. The thought of being long distance with you already fucking killed me, and I didn't need my temper adding onto it."

Rafe's eyes leave yours and settle downwards on the metal crate you're practically both sitting on. His fingers immediately fly to his hand, incessantly picking at his nail beds as a tell that he's on edge, close to panicking. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but his eyes dart back on forth as he shakes his head, almost to himself, as the gears in his mind turn and turn and turn to desperately search for something more to say.

The act is muscle memory when your hand goes to cover his, stopping his bad habit immediately.

His head whips up to meet your gaze, jolted by the contact he surely was not expecting.

But you hold your own, gazing at him gently to stop the horrific insecurities you know he's spewing to himself in his head. For once, you need him to stop listening to himself and listen to his heart, listen to you, to stop trusting the devil on his shoulder and self sabotage in fear of others doing it first. You'd never. Not with him. He must know that.

"I know you," you say quietly. "And I know you would never hurt me without meaning to."

He winces.

Yet you continue. "I know you push people away before they can do it to you. But you need to understand something, Rafe, that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere now. When will you let yourself believe that?"

Rafe frowns impossibly deep, brows furrowing at the notion that you're still here. Despite everything he's done to you, said to you, made you think, you're still here. Wanting him. Caring for him. Being too damn sweet for your own good as you always were. And still are. You're still you, through fragments and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes quite yet, but you're still you. Looking at him like you still love him.

When your hand leaves his to cup his jaw gently, it feels like he can breathe again.

Holy fuck. You've almost forgotten what it's like to touch him. To feel him. To run your fingers along the smoothness of his skin and ground him to a moment so emotional that it nearly sends you flying away. Your palm is practically molded to the sculpture of his bone structure, as if it's been without a puzzle piece for so long, spending so much time incomplete and half of a whole.

Subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

"It feels wrong," he murmurs, eyes boring into yours so deeply that you're getting whiplash. "Having someone care about me like you do. It's not... No one has ever... I don't know how to deal with it."

"By talking," you hum low. "By telling me how you feel. Telling me what you need." Your thumb rubs an absentminded circle over his cheekbone.

He nearly sighs at the sensation. "I don't want to be a burden."

If possible, you frown even more than before. "You're not— Why would you say that? You're not a burden. At all."

Rafe doesn't answer you immediately. His brows pinch at the concept, as if it's foreign, as if what you've said is two plus two is five. His cheek is hot under your palm, hot with nerves and vulnerability that makes him temporarily speechless, and all you do is watch him. You wait for him to come to you. You've said (partially) your piece. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he refrains last minute, recalibrating his thoughts into something more cohesive.

"My worst fear is disappointing you," he says after a moment of considering your words. "Bringing you down with me. I can't... I won't let that happen."

"You're not," you say almost immediately.

"But I—“

"Do you remember the first week we met?" You blurt out suddenly, rudely interrupting him.

Confusedly, Rafe's head tilts slightly at the anecdote. Nonetheless, he nods slowly, almost egging you to continue.

And you do. "When I cancelled the dinner date at that fancy restaurant you set up? Because I had the flu?"

It was only one of the worst days of your life. Bedridden. Immobile. Practically death without the actual dying part. Too frail to even pick up a water bottle and too stubborn to ask for help. Teetering between being buried under six blankets to cranking the AC on full blast. It was grueling. Debilitating. You missed a plethora of assignments and social gatherings (despite it only being a few days).

He says your name gently. "What's this got to do wit—"

Again, you interrupt him. "You dropped everything, and I mean everything, to take care of me. And then you spent so much time with me that you fucking got sick too," you reminisce, adding a soft chuckle at the end when you think back on the don't be mad text that came from him just days after he was with you.

But he's still not getting it, blinking wordlessly at you in hopes you'll tell him what you mean, why this story has something to do with anything that's going on right now. What he doesn't realize, though, is that it is exactly the kind of thing he sees past. He probably doesn't know how much that meant to you, despite it probably being mindless for him.

How could he even think of himself as a burden? As wasted air? When all he's done is loved you in every way he knows how? How could he even think he's disappointed you when his love has been unlike anything you've ever experienced before? How could he think that low of himself?

"You could never disappoint me," you continue to further add your point. "Never. When all you've done was love me."

“I still do,” he answers almost immediately. “I haven’t stopped.”

You’re moving forward before you both can process it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your body is instantly taut to his, chest to chest and cheek to cheek as you find your mold against his body. It’s familiar yet agonizing, almost mind blowing that you’ve gone so long without him, without his touch, without his embrace that you quickly grew to love the first time he held you. You feel like you can finally breathe, finally remember the beautiful feeling after losing it.

Rafe’s nearly — if not more — relieved than you are, wrapping his arms around you immediately with one hand butterfly splaying on your back and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close. The deep exhale that emits from his mouth tickles your ear, and you let yourself close your eyes at the warmth of him, of how he smells the same.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

Tears brim your waterline. You’ve been without him for so long, loving a shadow of a man without ever seeing or hearing from him. You wanted to be angry, to hate him, to say fuck it and move on with your life. But you couldn’t. Not when he’s the only one who has ever made you feel alive. Not when he’s been hurting in his own quiet way and self sabotaging at the fear of hurting you.

Rafe sucks in a large breath and, with that, his chest bumps impossibly taut to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” you plead, your voice ghosting the shell of his ear that makes the hair on his arm stand up. “Please. Not again.”

“I won’t,” he answers immediately, sounding absolutely wrecked. “I won’t, baby. I promise. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, readjusting your grip around him to pull tighter — if possible — and practically seating yourself in his lap. It’s not comfortable at all, and you can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him against the grate-like fire escape. But it’s when you need, it’s what he needs, and neither of you can fathom how long you spent away from each other, almost like a sick joke.

And you just stay like this for a bit, holding onto each other as if you’re gripping onto a balloon threatening to float away. Despite his shorter, new hair, his cologne is the same as you first met him. The ring adorning his finger, the family ring, is missing from his hand, instead replaced with a similar looking one. The shirt is sleek and thin and you can feel the ridges and hills of his muscles underneath it. He may look a little different, more mature and in different clothes, but he feels the same as he’s always been, he’s still the person you know through and through.

“Inside,” you say after a while. “Please?”

“Yes,” he whispers immediately, certain. “No need to beg, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

When you untangle limbs, it’s slow, calculated, appreciative. His hands linger on your body longer than they should, mapping regions he hasn’t touched in months, re-familiarizing himself with the dips and crevices of your body. You do the same, pressing the pads of your fingertips along his shoulder blades and on the columns of his neck, skimming gently over the single earring adorning his left ear that definitely wasn’t there before. His skin is hot, almost burning for you, yet inviting in a way that makes you never want to let go.

It takes a little while to mobilize. You’re so caught up in feeling each other that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Not that it matters anyway. Because all you can focus on is the man in front of you, putting his heart on a silver platter and serving it to you hot. It’s all limbs and incoordination when climbing back through your window, soft laughter echoing off the alley walls and reverberating into your bedroom. His hands attempt to help you, drifting down to your waist as you climb through and you assume it’s a gesture just for him to cop a feel. But you don’t mind. You’ve missed it. You never want his hands away from you again.

When you change into pajamas and you slither into bed, your eyes brazenly watch him. The way he peels his t-shirt off his body, or unbuckles his pants to leave him solely in his boxers, in his preferred sleep wear. Yet he does it because he knows you: he knows you don’t like “outside clothes” in your sheets, wordlessly respecting your wishes without even being told so.

Rafe climbs under the sheets like he owns it, and you’ve already designated that side of the bed to him long ago, so seeing him here doesn’t feel so foreign. It’s muscle memory when his hand seeks refuge on your waist, shamelessly settling under your sleep shirt to let the pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh to almost stake a claim, but also to tether himself.

Your hand, on instinct, ghosts the skin of his chest, palm skimming over his heart. Despite not pressing fully, you can practically feel how fast it’s beating, how hard it’s thrumming against his ribcage. Though his content expression is a contrary to the feeling, looking more relaxed than ever.

The sensation makes your lips twitch. “Your heart is racing.” You let your palm press gently onto the rhythm.

His smile is impossibly bright.

“Remember when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I remember you being so nervous that you missed.”

“Alright.” Rafe laughs. “Not what I was referring to, but I guess.”

It’s devastatingly refreshing to see his smile, almost forgetting how pretty he looks like this: happy, unguarded, mind quiet of its vulnerabilities and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to slow down and indulge in the simplicities yet complexities of love.

“Then what?” You hum teasingly, his blue eyes piercing despite the dim lighting. “If not that?”

The laughter dies down. His gaze softens. His thumb traces shapes on your skin.

“Thought my heart was gonna burst out of my fuckin’ chest,” he murmurs casually as if that doesn’t make yours skip a beat, even more so when his hand comes up to caress your face, thumb skimming over your bottom lip. “Every single time.”

“You should probably see a cardiologist.”

“Don’t need a diagnosis, baby. ‘S just you.”

You try not to smile. You really try. But it’s really fucking difficult when he looks so pretty, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself and holding you here in place so firmly yet gently at the same time that you couldn’t move if you tried. And he knows it. He knows you’re trying not to give into his charm, the same charm that you’ve been falling for for as long as you’ve known him.

“And now?” You dare, pressing your hand into his beating heart. “How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s gonna burst outta my chest,” he says before kissing you.

Instantly, you’re arching into his body, palms pressed firmly on his chest as a feeble attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this is happening and, no, you’re not dreaming. Rafe’s here, in your bed, kissing you like his life depends on it (and it probably does). Your brows pinch even though he can’t see your face, furrowed in focus to narrow in on the passion.

Rafe makes a noise. A sigh? You think. Regardless, you reciprocate and deepen the kiss by slightly parting your lips, allowing him the access he’s been craving. And he takes advantage in less than a second, a large hand splayed on the column of your neck to keep you here against him, feeling the way your jaw slightly opens to accommodate him.

“I love you,” he praises between breaths as if it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You say it back. He says it again. You tennis-match the phrase over and over and over until the phonetics are burned into your tongues. He murmurs it against your skin against your lips, you beck, your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. You whisper it into the air as if it’s prayer, an incantation that, strung together, produces a spell unlike any other.

And he’s hypnotized. It isn’t until you finish twice on his tongue that he’s even thinking about himself, and it’s only when you, in a daze, paw at his chest as ask for him, for all of him. He nearly double takes, caught up in the moment of simply pleasuring you, and if you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t asked so sweetly, he would’ve went down on you ‘til sunrise.

The whole ordeal is slow. Unhurried. Deep and sensual that rattles your bones to shake. When he slips inside, it’s fucking euphoric, with an overwhelming sense of longing, nostalgia that causes a pleasure tear to slip from your eye, a tear that falls without you knowing. Not until he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, anyway.

You’re sure you’re a babbling mess, spewing out incoherent sentences and mumbles of an I love you that probably don’t make sense. But he hears you all the same, going as far as repeating the phrase over and over against your skin like a mantra, telling you how nice you feel, that you’re made for him, how beautiful you are despite probably looking like a hot mess.

When all is said and done, Rafe is right there to tend to your needs. He’s kissing your stomach as he cleans the mess from your inner thighs. His thumb is smoothing over the hickies he peppered over multiple regions of your body, praising how beautiful you look, how good you were for him. He patiently waits for you to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed before he’s welcoming you back with open arms, and you’re not hesitating to fall into them. His embrace is warm and familiar, and you find it easy to breathe, to feel like you can relax. Rafe must feel the same, because his breathing is deeper, more evened out. Calmer and more sure of himself. Content.

“Stay the night,” you plea gently as you’re halfway to falling asleep.

You know it’s pathetic to ask, that he probably was going to anyway. But there’s that small sliver of doubt, the tiny voice in the back of your brain that’s haunted from the first time he left, driven to separation by his insecurities. You say it to be sure he knows, that he could stay for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m not leaving,” Rafe reassures against your hairline. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And you fall asleep like that: entangled limbs and sharing the same pillow despite a whole arm’s length of space. Your even breaths are what lure him to sleep, waiting for the crazy thumping of his heartbeat to die down before you can wake up to it. He relishes in the sensation of your breathing, how your chest rises and falls against his, and how you practically nuzzle into his embrace that confirms that you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Rafe pulls you a fraction tighter, refusing to let you go again. It’s a wordless promise that he’s going to try to be better for you, to stop listening to the vulgarities of his mind and listen to his heart. He’s going to allow himself to be loved by you and he’s going to let himself believe he deserves it.

Because if you say it? It’s as good as law.

notes hope this request is what you envisioned???? hope you enjoyed!!

#rafe cameron #salem-s works #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #reader insert #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe x female reader #female reader insert #rafe cameron outer banks #outer banks #rafe cameron obx #rafe obx

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talaok · 5 months ago

Text

At your mercy

Pairing: Joel Miller x Sister-in-law!reader

Summary: You must have put some sort of spell on Joel, because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how wrong he knows it to be, he's never able to say no to you.

Warnings: infidelity (reader is tommy’s wife), joel is very much miserable, smut: sub!joel, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, a tad of breeding kink, degrading and teasing joel.

a/n: This fic is very much inspired by Ledipa and Paulinus' story (or the first part at least) in the book 'Mistress of Rome' because i am sick and i'm obsessed with them. Also,pleasepleaseplease read that book, it's genuinely perfect.

Joel wanted to die.

He hated himself, he hated every single molecule of his traitorous body, mind, and soul... and yet he couldn't stop.

Every single time he tried to deny himself, he begged his brain not to fall victim yet another time, to find his sanity again- and every single time, it did not.

With just a glance, a curl of your fingers, he was back at your feet.

He remembered the day it all started, the day his downfall began and the gates of hell had opened up to greet him in the afterlife.

He had brought you back home one night, and you had insisted - oh how you'd insisted- that he stayed the night, given it was dark out already, and you didn't want him to drive at this ungodly hour in the pouring rain.

And he, like a fool, had accepted.

His brother wasn't in town—if only he had been, if only he hadn't asked to drive you back home that night, perhaps none of this would have happened.

Perhaps he would still have the strength to look his little brother, your husband, in the eyes.

It was such a small decision, and yet...

He was walking out of the bathroom when he noticed some light leaking through your cracked bedroom door, and like a moth to a flame, like a stupid damned bastard, he walked closer, closer and closer until before he realized it, he was peeking inside the room- seeing something he definitely, absolutely shouldn't have seen.

You were sprawled on the bed, your eyes shut closed and your mouth gaped as little whimpers fled your throat.

The covers were pulled down enough to reveal your breasts, your gorgeous, perfect breasts, and underneath the linen, Joel could see movement, he could make out the shape of your hand as it worked at your core- as you pleasured yourself, looking like a dream straight out of Joel's imagination.

He remained there, frozen, feeling his cock harden beneath the sweats you'd let him borrow from your husband- mesmerized and hypnotized by the image.

It was only when your moans started getting higher, louder, that he hastily looked away, that he took a stumbling step back, and then another, and another, until he turned, and while doing so, his arm caught on a vase- he tried to save it from falling to the ground, but his hands were shaking.

The noise broke through the house, and Joel, like a child, ran. He ran to the couch where he should have already been asleep as your moans stopped for a moment, before resuming all over again.

He didn't sleep that night.

The image of your face twisted in ecstasy and the sound of your moans had tormented his mind for hours on end until he felt on the verge of tears.

He couldn't think of you that way, you weren't his, he couldn't...

And yet the next morning, when you took his hand in his and led him to the bedroom, he followed you.

He felt his insides twist into a knot and red-colored shame took over him every time-

every single time your foot caressed him under the table as he sat beside his brother, every single time you'd call him and had him at your doorstep with a simple "come", every single time he kissed you, he entered you, he fell apart, a part of him died- and yet every single time, like clockwork, he succumbed to you.

To your doe eyes, hidden behind your lashes, to your sweet voice, to your perfect body...

He felt awful, he felt like a zombie walking through life with only shame to fuel him.

Even Tommy had noticed it, so many times he'd worriedly asked:

"what's goin' on with you?"

"You're always late to work, you take long ass lunch breaks and you look like you haven't slept in years"

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, man"

Oh but he couldn't

he couldn't tell him that the reason he was always late was that his own wife called him to the house the moment Tommy left for work- he couldn't tell him that sometimes the mornings weren't enough and he was summoned during lunch too- he couldn't tell him that his own conscience hadn't allowed him to sleep in months, that every time he began to fall asleep he would imagine his brother's face the moment he would find out what he'd been doing behind his back.

But things were only getting worse.

You and your husband were hosting a get-together at your house. A bunch of people Joel didn't know were there, and he didn't bother trying to talk to them, he hadn't bothered talking to practically anyone actually.

He'd started to plan at what time he could have gotten out of this without being rude from the moment you greeted him at the entrance- from the moment your arms wrapped around him and you stood on your tiptoes to murmur a simple, devastating, "Hi Joel" into his ear.

Tommy had appeared seconds after,

and he'd wanted to die.

Just like when he watched you dance with your husband in the garden, your eyes inevitably finding him the moment you and Tommy kissed- a wicked shadow lurking behind your iris.

He was almost at the door when he felt a hand on his arm, and he knew it was yours before he even turned.

"Come with me"

"I-I was goin-"

He didn't even finish the sentence, all you needed to do was give him that look, and he was trailing behind you like a dog.

You pulled him into the laundry room, closing the door behind you.

"get on your knees"

You were leaning against the washing machine, looking almost bored with the situation, with him- oh how many times he prayed you would tire of him, that you'd throw him aside like a discarded toy... he knew it would devastate him, but he also knew it was the only way he could put an end to your spell.

"I-I"

"Joel" you cooed, a tad more sweetly now, your eyes trying to lock in with his wavering gaze.

"T-there's people-- and- and Tommy-"

But you'd grabbed his hand and brought him closer, your soft breath fanning over his skin and leaving shivers in its wake.

"Get on your knees"

He made the mistake of looking down at you, and he felt his knee hit the ground before he even realized what he was doing.

You smiled triumphantly as you propped your leg on his shoulder, hicking up your skirt and moving your panties to the side until your foot on his back finally brought his face right where you wanted it.

You watched the fight die in his eyes with just one blink, and in a second his tongue had found your core, slowly, sweetly licking and tasting all he could reach.

He was always gentle, caring... he was pathetic even when pleasing you- he just couldn't help it.

A series of satisfied hums spilled from your lips as he continued his work, his hand going to your waist to get a better angle, but never daring to tighten his grasp, to keep you in place... as I said: pathetic.

Your foot's heel pushed him even closer, trapping him and basically robbing him of all oxygen as your right hand traveled to his hair, fisting a handful of his locks.

His focus shifted to your clit and you couldn't help but throw your head back, a breathy moan climbing up your throat.

"just like that- fuck" you grinned into the air, your eyes shutting as ecstasy took over your body "You're so much better than your brother- so responsive- such a quick learner"

He'd asked you times and times again not to do that, not to talk of his brother, and yet you kept on- it was like you enjoyed seeing how miserable it made him- watching how even when you were breaking all the rules, all the morals, he still couldn't bring himself to stop.

He closed his own eyes as he tried to shut your words out, but his tongue didn't dare stop, he didn't dare stop sucking your clit... especially when he knew you were so very close.

Your hips started moving on their own accord until you were practically riding his face, unabashedly using him for your own pleasure until you felt that sweet sweet bliss build inside your belly.

"oh fuck" you moaned, your back arching "so good-"

And just like that, pleasure took over your body. You writhed above him as he lapped between your folds like a starved man, stretching your orgasm until you literally had to pull him away from your core.

He seemed dazed as he looked up at you, like a lost kid or a kicked puppy- and you couldn't help but smile before unhooking your leg from him and simply curling two of your fingers to beckon him closer.

He obeyed without question, standing up as you eyed him with only pure lust in your eyes.

"Do you wanna fuck me Joel?" you asked, your voice low and sultry and Joel's worst nightmare.

You watched the hurt, the pain in his eyes as they fell to the ground.

Oh how you loved this game

Two of your fingers pulled his chin up, forcing his gaze to meet yours.

"tell me" you purred, your fingers slowly trailing down his body until you were torturously drawing patterns on the bulge in his jeans.

A strained groan rumbled from his chest.

Your lips pulled to a smirk as you started undoing his zipper, watching his breath get caught in his throat the moment your hand fully grabbed his manhood.

"'s this what you want?" you taunted, your hand now finding its way underneath his boxers and oh so softly giving his dick a stroke.

Joel felt on the verge of a heart attack.

You freed him from the confines of his underwear, his dick red and already leaking precum.

You gave it another stroke and he couldn't help but moan.

Again, you smirked, hopping onto the washing machine behind you and making quick work of getting rid of your panties.

He watched your every move like he was hypnotized, and you only needed to look at him that he was getting closer- right between your spread thighs.

He was already breathing heavily as he positioned himself at your entrance, and just when he started finding his way inside you, a grin pulled at your lips as you breathed "You want to fuck your brother's wife?"

Joel could only shake his head, his eyes closing- and yet he kept filling you up more and more

"Your own sister-in-law?" you laughed, as Joel - Oh poor Joel- his face contorted in shame, pain, whatever it was as his head fell to the crook of your neck.

"please" he begged, his hips retracting and thrusting in deeper, his cock fully seated inside you now making you gasp and hum in pleasure.

"please what?"

He'd started his usual pace, slow and deep and so fucking good.

"please-s-stop"

You simply smiled, your hands going to the back of his head as your fingers dove into his curls, your mouth finding his ear to murmur:

"You're bigger than him, y'know?"

The groan he let out was one of absolute despair... and yet his thrusts only got deeper, better, stronger.

He always knew how to hit it just right-

You threw your head back and he used the opportunity to kiss your neck, every single inch that he could reach, as your legs wrapped around him and forced him as deep as he could physically go.

He was lowly moaning with every thrust while you were biting your lips to silence your own cries.

"What if he walked in right now?" you purred, making him hide his face again- but oh you didn't leave it at that, your lips found his ear again "What if he came through that door and saw you balls deep in his wife?"

Joel of course didn't know that was an actual possibility... you hadn't bothered to lock the door.

"what do you think he'd say?" you chuckled "I bet he wouldn't even be able to look you in the eyes... his own big brother"

His dick kept hitting your sweet spot over and over as Joel's soul called for mercy.

"y/n-- please"

But you grinned as you said:

"I bet he'd never forgive you"

A much too loud groan left his mouth as he kept pleasing you oh so well.

"Careful there" you smiled, biting your lip as your hips started meeting his thrusts.

You knew this was wrong... which is why it was so fun. You also knew that if it ever was to go sideways, if say, Tommy actually caught you two, it would be Joel who got the worst of it.

You knew perfectly well that Tommy would forgive you in a heartbeat... you'd just look at him all sweet, bat your eyes and everything would go back to the way it was- your husband loved you to death... and he had never been very smart.

Joel on the other hand... you were certain that Tommy could never forgive him- his own flesh and blood- and so what if it was cruel... you were just having a little fun.

"Oh fuck" you cried as he hit a particularly good spot, your left hand going to the back of his neck, your nails leaving new scratches right where the old ones had started to fade.

"That's good- keep doing that-"

Joel was back at leaving hot wet kisses on your neck, your collarbones, your face, until his mouth had found yours.

You were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted- your mouth was the most addictive poison to ever exist.

"You're gonna make me come Joel" you breathed onto his lips "He never makes me feel as good as you"

And just like that, with a smile on your lips, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you crashed your lips with his, feeding him all your moans and cries as pure bliss blinded your vision.

He watched every second of it- of you falling apart

He looked barely there when you opened your eyes again- his thrusts were sloppy, his eyes droopy and you couldn't help but grin.

"You're gonna come?" you purred "You're gonna fill me up?"

He nodded, his breathing a ragged mess.

"yeah? you're gonna knock me up? fuck a baby in me?" you cooed, watching the plead behind his eyes as he kept going, relentless "What are we gonna tell him when the baby has your eyes instead of his?" you smirked, and without warning, without even wanting to, Joel reached his peak, rope after rope of his come filling you up as your name spilled from his lips.

You kissed his forehead, chuckling softly, before getting out of his hold and off the washing machine, not even bothering to put your panties back on.

"Joel?"

He looked like the saddest zombie ever as he turned to face you.

"stay the night," you said, and once again, Joel wanted to die.

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sematarygirls · 5 months ago

Text

🐞 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── rafe sees anxious!reader's tramp stamp for the first time

cw: suggestive but mostly fluff, angst if you squint, curvy? reader, body image insecurities

It wasn't like you were hiding it or anything. You certainly weren't ashamed of the permanent ink artwork embedded into your lower back. In fact, you had loved it ever since you got it done.

The problem was that you were self-conscious about your body. You weren't big enough to be considered plus sized, but you weren't small enough to be considered ideal either. You were in a weird middle zone that left you feeling utterly undesirable and completely at war with your body, which led you to wearing a lot of high-rise pants and other articles of clothing that obscured your body—your lower back included.

You also met Rafe in the winter. How he, the hottest guy in Kildare and maybe even the entire world, found you of all people attractive aside, the weather meant that you were never in bikinis or cropped shirts and shorts around him.

Those things combined with the fact that you were too scared to have sex with him meant that you had never been in a position where he had been able to catch a glimpse of it, leaving your boyfriend completely in the dark to your tattoo.

Plus, you sort of forgot it was there. After it healed and there was no longer pain or that persistent, unfathomably uncomfortable itch to remind you that you had gotten your skin altered forever, it was out of sight, out of mind.

Until you finally decided to stop being a nervous wreck and spend the night at his house. It was going to be completely innocent, nothing more than some cuddling and a slightly awkward moment of realization the morning after as you felt morning wood pressing against you for the first time. You were inexperienced, to say the very least.

He offered you some sweatpants with a drawstring and a shirt for you to wear, and since you had dreamed of this since you were 13, you had obliged, trying not to seem to excited at the thought of being in his clothes, enveloped by his scent. It just seemed like something oddly intimate and domestic, something you longed for.

You pulled your pants off and pulled his sweatpants on, tying the drawstring, but the pants still hung a little loose on your hips. You turned your back to him, lifting your shirt off, and just as you started to slip his shirt on, you heard his voice, making you freeze.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, his obscenity mixed with shock making the sentence come out much harsher and more jarring than he had intended. He wasn't as angry as his tone intended. In fact, he was really fucking turned on and incredibly curious. His sweet, shy little girlfriend was hiding a tattoo in the sexiest spot he could imagine.

"What?" You asked, quickly pulling his shirt down and turning to him, your eyes wide with worry. Your mind, adept at overthinking every micro expression and shift in tone, immediately started running with possibilities, most prominently, that he had seen something about your body that he didn't like.

"The tattoo," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You didn't tell me you had a fuckin' tramp stamp."

"Oh," you replied softly, your blood rushing to your cheeks. Your mind immediately worried that he didn't like it, that maybe it would be a deal breaker or he'd think you were some kind of slut. "I-uh- I don't know..." You tried to explain yourself, stumbling over your words as your mouth struggled to catch up to your brain. "I guess I forgot about it," your excuse sounded pathetic even to your own ears as it left your lips, but you didn't have anything else to say, nothing that wasn't a string of apologies and pleas that he wouldn't leave you, anyway.

"You forgot you had a tattoo on your lower back?" He raised an eyebrow, sitting up on his bed and crossing his arms, his biceps bulging slightly. He didn't mean to sound like an asshole, but it was practically in his DNA. He was working on trying to be gentler with you, realizing when you needed him to be softer and when you liked him acting like sort of a dick, but working on were the operative words in that phrase. He wasn't quite there yet.

"It's just..." You struggled to find the words to explain. Rafe didn't have tattoos. He didn't know how easy it was to just forget that they were there. After a certain point, it just becomes a part of you that you're used to. You don't really think about it or perceive it as much as other people do. "I don't really see it because of where it is, so I- um- well, it's easy to forget that it's there... I guess?" You sounded completely unsure of yourself, to the point that you worried he might think you were lying, whether that was a valid concern or just your anxious brain trying to fuck with you, you weren't sure.

He leaned forward, saying nothing for a moment as his piercing blue eyes regarded you with a scrutinizing stare that made you feel like he could see right through you. You fiddled with the hem off his shirt, biting the inside of your cheek anxiously as your gaze darted around the room—you always overthought how much eye contact was the correct amount. "Turn around," he ordered after a moment, his voice low and gruff. "Let me see. Properly this time."

"What?" You asked, your eyes snapping to his and widening a fraction as you were caught off guard by his demand. You weren't entirely sure what you expected to be honest, maybe to be broken up with, or just chewed out for keeping a secret or getting such a tattoo in the first place, but for some reason, it hadn't occurred to you that he would want to look at it, really look at it.

"Turn around," he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument this time. He didn't like repeating himself, and he especially didn't like feeling like he was missing out on a piece of you, this girl that had taken him completely by surprise and made him forget that anyone else existed. "Now."

Your brain seemed to short circuit, and you stood there for a minute, blinking at him with your lips parted as if you were going to object, but instead, you simply turned around, holding your breath as you entered your natural state of constant worrying.

Your breath hitched slightly, your eyes squeezing shut in fear and anticipation as he gently tugged the shirt up, revealing your back. he tugged the sweatpants down ever so slightly to see the bottom of the tattoo, and you waited for what seemed like forever before finally feeling his warm fingers run along the healed ink.

The image depicted on your skin, like art on a canvass, was two swans, kissing to create a heart with their faces. One of them was lightly shaded, meant to depict a white swan, and the other was darkly shaded, meant to depict a black swan. It didn't have an explicit meaning to you. You just thought it was pretty and really liked swans, the fact that they mated for life speaking to your hopeless romantic heart.

His fingertips traced the line work, a gesture that was sensual and seemed to leave fire in its wake. He stared at it for a long while, such a beautiful and permanent piece of art on his girl in such an indirectly intimate area making something within stir.

"You hate it don't you?" You breathed out, the words falling from your lips in a concerned hurry faster than you could stop it. The silence was suffocating, not knowing what would come after making your skin crawl with anxiety.

"Face me," was all he said. He wanted to look you in the eyes when he said what he had to say, wanted to make sure you really heard him and understood that he meant what he said.

You turned back around to face him, looking down at him as he placed his hands firmly on your hips, pulling you forward to stand between his legs. Your brows were knitted in worry, looking down at him like you were going to burst into tears if he'd started laying into you. You really liked Rafe—it was too soon to say love but... you did—and that mixed with your people-pleaser tendencies made your stomach turn at the thought of upsetting him.

Realistically, you had no reason to be so nervous about his reaction. It was your body, you could do whatever you wanted to it, and you had gotten it before you two even got together, but your brain didn't really care about what was realistic; it only cared about worst case scenario and disappointing people.

"Baby, you are absolutely gorgeous, alright?" He said sternly, already aware that you were preparing yourself for the worst and probably working yourself up about it. "And, fuck, I mean this tattoo... it only makes you more sexy to me. You're fuckin' perfect."

Your cheeks heated up again, not with fear or embarrassment this time but at his compliment. You also visibly relaxed as the clarification that he wasn't mad soothed your nerves a tad. You let out a surprised giggle as he tugged you down onto his lap.

"You got any more sexy little tattoos hidden under these clothes?" He asked flirtatiously, flashing that panty-dropping smirk that made him look ten times more handsome, especially when he was gripping your thigh with one hand and holding you securely against him by your waist with his other.

"No," you smiled, tentatively wrapping your arms around his neck, not knowing if it was as attractive as it seemed in books. "Just that one. Sorry to disappoint," you continued, your voice soft as you bit your lip shyly—one of your many anxious habits.

"Mm," he hummed, dipping his head into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. "Shame," he murmured, placing soft kisses against your skin as you giggled. The tension in the room had completely dissipated, replaced by a lighthearted and flirty atmosphere.

Rafe knew you weren't ready to go further than just kissing, and he was going to wait for as long as you needed him to. Though he'd be lying if he said he didn't get horny at the idea of pounding into you from behind, your tattoo completely exposed for him to gawk at, but he knew baby steps were in order. He needed to get you okay with sex before he molded you into his little personal porn star.

୭ৎ

author's notes .ᐟ described my own tattoo as the one reader has, but if you have your own or want to imagine it as something else, feel free to do so! i just thought i should describe the tattoo for the story's sake <3

also, i know this is a little different from the giggly and jokey couple we saw in my other anxious!reader x boyfriend!rafe fic, and that is because this is toward the beginning of their relationship. reader is still trying to learn to be more comfortable with rafe enough to be herself and realize that he loves her, even it she doesn't like herself, and rafe has never done the relationship thing, especially not with a girl like reader, so he's still learning to express his emotions and be soft and warm with her the way he wants to and know she deserves.

tags .ᐟ @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /

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rafescherie · 3 months ago

Text

✮⋆˙ confronting stepbro!rafe after the lewd images he sent you

warnings — 18+. MDNI. stepbro!rafe x stepsis!reader, implied smut & sexual relations, stepcest.

sending stepbro!rafe lewd images at the dinner table | part one - you are currently on part two.

cherie's note — listening to fantasize by ariana grande while writing this ... yum. wasn't planning on making a part two, but i had to give u guys something. <3

rafe wasn't expecting an answer. not one like that. not from you.

his stepsister, of all people.

he shouldn't have sent that video in the first place — he knew better, but the second he got yours?

game over.

you thought the regret would fade. that the embarrassment, the shame, the tight knot in your stomach, would loosen after a day or two. but it didn't. every time your phone buzzed, your chest tightened, half expecting rafe's name to pop up.

except, it never did.

he hadn't said a word about it. no sarcastic remarks, no lingering looks. just... nothing. like it had never happened. the silence gnawed at you, twisting and turning, refusing to settle.

the silence was the worst part of it all.

and yet, when you passed him in the long hallways of tannyhill, it was there. the air thick with something unspoken, wrapped in tension and hunger. his gaze lingered a second too long, his lips almost curling into a smirk each time he watched the way your cheeks flushed when your gaze met blue. but then it was gone, like it had never been there at all.

now, the house was quiet. your parents were gone for the night, wheezie sleeping over at one of her friends for the weekend, leaving you and rafe alone. it shouldn't have mattered, but the awareness of it clung to your skin, unable to be washed off even if you scrubbed. you tried to distract yourself — music, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, even half-heartedly attempting to read — but none of it worked.

barefoot, you padded down the hallway, every step echoing in your chest. your stomach tightened when you reached his door, knuckles wrapping softly against the lacquered wood.

"come in."

the man's voice echoes against the wooden oak door. his tone is smug, that much is sure, even through the door — as if he had anticipated from the start, that you'd come crawling.

you stepped inside his bedroom, hesitating for just a second. rafe was sitting on his bed, his eyes glinting in that way that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. his posture was relaxed, though his heart was pounding pathetically out of his chest, anticipation rising as he watched you enter — watching you like he was trying to figure out what you were about to do.

"i need to talk to you," you said, your voice cracking. it was rougher than you had intended, betraying just how unsettled you felt, standing before him, knowing he knew more about you than a brother should.

his lips curled into a half-smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. he leaned back, crossing his arm behind his head. the holes of his t-shirt ride up at the movements, barely able to contain the muscles of his arms. the sight alone had your mouth watering, but you swallowed hard — you had come in here for one thing, and one thing, only.

you were angry — angry at him for making you feel so exposed, and angry at yourself for giving him power over you.

"what about? that little picture you sent me?" the words dripped with something dangerous, something almost mocking, but there was also that same intensity in the air between you.

"what do you want from me, rafe?" your voice was steadier now, but it still cracked with that undercurrent of emotion you were trying to suppress.

his smirk deepened, but this time there was something else behind it — something more real, more raw. "what do you think i want?" he asked, voice almost a whisper now. he wasn't looking at you like some sort of joke anymore. his eyes were searching, like he was waiting for you to admit something you both knew, but neither of you wanted to say aloud.

you shook your head, frustrated. "i don't know, rafe. i don't know what you're playing at. you send me something like that, and then you—"

"i didn't make you respond," he interrupted, sitting up straighter now, gaze unwavering. "you did that. you sent it back. so don't blame me for what you're feeling now."

the edge in his voice had sent shivers down your spine. he was right, and that made it so much worse. he knew exactly what buttons to push — exactly how to make you react, and yet, part of you hated how much you liked it. how it seemed to spike your heart rate every time he spoke.

the air between you felt like it was thickening with every passing second, like the room was closing in on you. rafe didn't step back; instead, his gaze remained locked on yours, that stupid familiar smirk playing at the corners of his lips. the edge was gone, replaced by something far more serious — almost predatory.

"you came to my room for a reason," he said quietly, his voice hanging heavy with intent. there was no mistaking it now. he wasn't talking about a conversation, he wasn't asking for answers anymore.

your mouth felt dry. each nervous gulp you took felt stuck in your throat, heart pounding against the cage of your chest. your body felt like it was betraying you, betraying how hard you'd tried to avoid this. you hadn't meant to come in here for this — it was supposed to be an innocent conversation about what you had so stupidly done on a whim, but it was quickly taking another approach. you hadn't meant to let it get this far. and yet, every part within was telling you that you wanted it. that you wanted him.

"i—i didn't come in here for that," you said, but even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. because your body was already leaning toward him, closing the space between you without a second thought.

that was the worst part.

no matter how much you convinced yourself — or tried convincing him, you couldn't stop the way your body begged for it.

the moment was in fast motion, rafe refusing to give you another chance to think. one second, you were pressed against the door, and the next, he had you caged against it, his knee sliding between your thighs, pressing up just enough to make your breath hitch. his hands weren't tentative anymore — there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. he had never been so sure of anything in his life.

his mouth ghosted over your collarbone, just as his fingers curled possessively against your skin. he had waited months for this moment — ever since the first time he had laid eyes on you. his breath is hot on your skin, hands roaming eagerly against the foreign curves of your figure.

"think our parents would still call us family after this?"

your stomach clenched at his words.

he had said it like a taunt, like he wanted to make this worse — like he wanted you to realize just how fucked up this was. but the way his hands pull you closer, fingertips burning hot against the sensitive skin of your waist, told you he didn't care. he wasn't stopping, and neither were you.

"then stop," you whispered back, challenging. the look in your eyes, staring up at him through your lashes, any ounce of hesitation left in his already hot body, vanished.

his grip on you tightened. his lips dragged along your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils were blown wide.

"you first."

his lips against yours is rough, filled with months of pent-up tension, and pure want. he kissed you hard, like he was staking his claim.

like he was making sure there was no going back.

tag list — @flvredcas, @my-name-is-baby, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @virgoanliterarian.

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nana-au · 6 months ago

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i have headcanons for church boy! yuta/eren. bear with me.

yuta would act innocent and be innocent.

eren would act innocent and actually be a fucking freak.

note: sorry to any religious readers, but for this drabble's sake, i am identifying reader as agnostic/atheist. please refrain from reading this fic if you may get offended. my intentions are not to disrespect anyone or their religion.

both of them were raised in the church, their fathers being pastors so they have this pressure to be good boys. i imagine they both wear the purity rings their family gave them and they spend all their free time at the church. helping their dad find topics for his sermons, volunteering at summer bible camp, putting up decorations for holidays, etc.

maybe you would meet them at bible study. at first you were annoyed your parents signed you up for it but once you saw the tall, dark haired boy at the front of the room you suddenly couldn't think of being anywhere better.

they both would be the spitting image of perfection. dressed in their sunday best, without a wrinkle on their dress shirt. eren would probably have his sleeves rolled up, his forearms flexing when he leaned across the table to help the girl in front of you find her page.

both of them would have spotless, leather shoes that went click clack click clack across the linoleum floor of the now sweltering bible study classroom.

yuta would be so enthusiastic leading the group. his smile genuine and his gelled hair a little messy from constantly running a hand through it. his dark eyes somehow became the lightest things in the room while he dived into passage after passage.

the two of them would introduce themselves to you upon noticing how lost you looked. your parents had decided to turn a new leaf, and suddenly you all went from only attending every christmas/easter service to your family attending every sunday sermon. to say the adjustment was unwelcomed for you would be sort of an understatement. you felt lost while listening to your pastor bring up names like 'corinthians'... and who even is 'matthew'? You were exhausted, and burnt out and how bad of a teacher would they be to not notice someone who needed some guidance in the teaching's of the lord?

yuta would introduce himself - his smile a permanent fixture on his face while he shakes your hand. "if you have any questions, please don't be afraid to ask," he promises you, "that's what I'm here for." his voice was soft and his hand would basically swallow yours in his grasp - but his grip on you was gentle. you could only nod, your ability to speak lost on you upon receiving his undivided attention. his presence could only be described as angelic. his eyes on you felt like sun rays on a cool summer day and his touch felt like water - quenching a thirst inside of you that you didn't realize you had. he caused your breath to catch in your throat but if he noticed he didn't point it out. he was far too polite for that. in reality, yuta was unaware of his affect on people; especially you. you knew that if he was aware - he wasn't the type to take advantage of it.

eren wouldn't be able to hold back a smirk watching you struggle to keep up with what everyone else seemed to understand with ease. he would come over to your table group, singling you out loudly in front of everyone, "having a little trouble?" ...to anyone who was used to seeing eren every day since a young boy they would believe his expression showed genuine concern. but all you saw was a man unwilling to hide his smirk as you stuttered your way through a verse. a man utterly amused being in the presence of a girl who wasn't raised the way he was. he always seemed to linger behind you after your first interaction with him. he watched you highlight the passages he read out loud and witnessed you doodling in the little notebook that was meant for you to annotate. he leaned over your chair, his arms caging you between him and his chest pressing against your back. "cute. but let's make sure we're focusing, hmm?" he whispered into your ear.

they both would end up inviting you to do private studies with them at their home - they were the pastor's son after all - and what better way to prepare to take over as pastor one day then to be able to bring an unbeliever into the light of god?

you couldn't deny them even if you tried. there was something about them that drew you closer.

eren was all-consuming. there was something about the way he carried himself - domineering almost. the tan skin of his neck flexing with every deep swallow he took - his gaze unnerving under the fluorescent lighting of the bible study room while he watched you thumb through the pages of your clearly unused bible.

yuta was electric. he held a youthful attitude towards everything. the kind of carefree only a man of faith could have; so sure of his beliefs and finding comfort in the stories he taught. he was kind, and warm... you hadn't thought it possible to find a man so gentle. or easily flustered.

you had realized the both of them had a deeper reasoning to invite you to study at their house - whether they were aware of it or not.

(pt. 2 coming soon i have to go to work :sob:)

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kabr0ztrousers · 20 days ago

Note

Had an idea that l'd love to see you tackle based on a post I saw you reblog! This is 'boutta be word soup but I hope I can get this across clearly:

Two words: Corruptive cum- Like, reader is 100% human before they roll in the hay with some sort of monster lover- (I love an established relationship, but I leave that up to you!) But when they get freaky, things GET FREAKY and reader is very much not human anymore by the end thanks to a nice dose of monster cum~ Type of monster and level of consent about the transformative effects of the cum is up to you!

I may or may not have a transformation kink, haha-

- 🌙

Kabr0z Writes Episode 147: Side Effects

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: body horror; transformation; tentacles; oral sex;

A/N: HOO, this one's another one where the preamble was tricky to get through. Sometimes I wonder if I should just skip a lot of the buildup and get straight to the fucking... OH WELL it's written now, so you're reading it. Enjoy :3

######################################

You found them months ago. You were Search through the forest for a meteorite you saw falling to earth. You'd known enough to know that if you found it, selling the stone would be well worth your while. When you reached the smoking crash site, however, you weren't prepared for what you found.

Instead of the characteristic honeycomb iron-basalt mineral you were hunting, you found them. A mass of tendrils, crying out in your mind. You didn't think about the implications of what you were doing. In a way this was the most momentous day in human history, first contact with an alien intelligence. All you knew was, whatever this thing was, it was hurt and it needed help. You weren't going to leave it alone for the wolves, the forests of Appalachia aren't a good place to be injured. You scooped the creature up into your rucksack and started the hike home.

Weeks passed, and you cared for your new lodger. They were remarkably intelligent, able to simply think concepts at you. You kept them in your cabin, in the warmth of home. They weren't demanding at all, content to sit on your floor and watch the television with you, eating whatever scraps you could spare. From what you understood, they'd normally subsist off minerals found on asteroids so not having to scrounge for a meal comprised pretty easy living.

Over time they chose a name for themselves, having never needed one before. You helped, mostly to advise them not to call themselves a verb or anything overly esoteric, but you did already know someone called Cinderblock, and that wasn't even a name they'd taken so when Polaris chose that name you didn't feel you had any rights to gainsay them.

Weeks passed and Polaris gradually learned more about the world they found themselves stuck on, quizzing you about history and culture. You answered what you could, and found internet videos on the things you couldn't. You started noticing Polaris getting into romantic comedies, as well as more steamy romance stories. You did have a collection of pulpy romance novellas, mainly anthologies of short stories, some more explicit than others. Polaris could read pretty handily, and you weren't exactly sure what their life cycle would look like. Of course, by this point they were already smarter than you, staying up late at night watching every documentary or video essay they could get their appendages on.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise when their thoughts turned to you. More specifically, to your relationship with one another. At first they started showing you flashes from the romance films, flickers from Pride and Prejudice, that sort of thing. Polaris moved on to more explicit notions, reading passages from some of the raunchier of your paperbacks to you in your head. It was only when they started looking up internet porn, serving images of anime girls happily laying with tentacled lovers that you decided enough was enough.

It's not like you hadn't thought about it. You'd been living with a tentacle beast from the depths of space for the last four months. Of course you'd ran the scenario of them deciding they wanted to fuck through your mind. First as paranoia, then a few times more for titillation. You wouldn't describe yourself as a monster fucker per se, but it's remarkable how your attitudes can shift when fate gives you such a golden opportunity.

Polaris' inquiries didn't stop. Every so often when the sun went down they'd ask again. It was during a particularly lonely dry spell you decided: why the fuck not? You waited for Polaris to ask, projecting hentai along with a quizzical feeling into your brain. For all their learning about humankind, they hadn't ever learned how to flirt but there again neither had you.

They followed you to bed, you lay on your back, inviting them onto you. You'd touched Polaris before, of course you had, they'd lived with you so long you were well accustomed to the smooth membranous skin, the rope-like muscle underneath. They still surprised you with their cool touch, sliding up through between your nightdress and your body. Soft, gently ribbed tentacles wrapped around your tits, squeezing and massaging them. Another probed at your mouth, while yet more slid around your ass and pussy.

You let the tentacled mass have its way with you, opening your legs for them, your lips parting to allow their appendage in. It tasted like unseasoned tofu, soft, smooth, getting slick with your spit. Polaris was being gentle, listening to your sighs and groans, slowly ramping up in intensity as you got wetter. Your tongue rolled the tentacle around in your mouth, you closed your lips around it, gently suckling on the tip as you teased it. You could feel your slick coating your cunt, the tips of several tendrils teasing your entrance as your hips rose and fell, instinctively trying to fuck yourself on a lover who wasn't even inside you yet. You groaned, trying to get Polaris to penetrate you, to take you harder rather than just tease. You started picturing them pushing inside you, every tendril filling you up, willing your thoughts to the creature toying with you.

You don't think it worked, or if it did, Polaris wanted to drag things out. The tendrils toyed with you, sliding across every inch of your exposed skin, never dipping more than the tip into your sodden holes. You groaned as tears welled in your eyes, your aching, hungry cunt desperate for something to fill it.

Maybe it was the deep red of your flushed face, or the stinging throbbing of your engorged clit, maybe Polaris just decided to be kind. A thick mass of tentacles drove into your pussy, stretching you out, writhing over one another. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you half-screamed. Your hands gripped your thighs. Fingers sank into plush flesh as you held yourself open. Your cunt clenched and squished against the mass of mobile, wriggling tentacles inside you.

Polaris started to shudder, leaking from every tendril. The fluids filled your mouth and your cunt, tingling slightly. You swallowed it down eagerly, basking in the afterglow of your liaison.

Then things got weird. You felt lightheaded. After the ground-shaking orgasm you'd just had, you'd be surprised if you didn't, so you lay there a while longer. You noticed Polaris felt heavier, sinking into you a little more than usual. You rolled to get them off you, feeling your many-limbed lover slipping out of your nightdress and settling on the bed next to you, purring contentedly as though enjoying a post-coital cigarette.

God you could do with a smoke. You didn't normally, but after a fucking like that, you're happy enough to break into a packet you kept on top of the wardrobe, for exactly this circumstance. You felt wobbly, getting up was tricky but again, if you can walk properly afterwards then someone's been doing something wrong.

It was only when you passed the full-length mirror you spotted anything different. Your flesh was pink around your mouth. You put your fingers to your face, feeling your lips. They were soft, and cool, like jelly. You stepped back, watching as the pink colour spread. First your skin would go pink, then clear, then you could see through it to the bone. The change was spreading, inexorable, and speeding up.

A queasiness set upon your belly. You tugged off your gown, watching as a circle of the new, clear jelly-like flesh overtook your thighs and lower torso. You could already see straight through your crotch, down to your pelvis. You touched the translucent pinkish gel.

You almost doubled over, mouth open, gasping as another orgasm rocked through you. Your hand sunk into the slime that was your lower body. Pleasure radiated from it, the few muscles left in your legs twitching before they too were overtaken. You looked back at the mirror, just in time to see two eyes staring from your grinning skull, before they too shifted to pink.

Darkness enveloped you. Then light. You could see. The world looked strange, all geometry and vibration. The mirror didn't work any more, a flat plate in front of you. Whatever you were perceiving as sight, it wasn't light now. You felt your bones floating in you, hundreds of pieces of stony solidity, wrapped in the cool matrix of your new self. You let them slip away, seeing every one as it left you, collecting in a pile on the floor.

Polaris slid towards you. You held out what was once a hand. A shiver ran through you as they slid in, swimming through your body, a thousand thoughts flooded your mind. Polaris's thoughts. Some were joyful, some apologetic, they didn't know this would happen, but they're happy you get to be together.

You were happy too. Your lover filled you with such marvellous new sensations, your new body would take some getting used to, but what is life but a series of changes?

######################################

I like transformation too, so if you think this is the last you've seen of the "transformative cum" idea, you're way wrong 😁

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 year ago

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Harry Potter is Actually Really Clever

So often, I feel like Harry is underrated in his own series and I want to talk about how much I love Harry James Potter. Harry is my favorite character in the books and I want to showcase some moments of Harry proving the Sorting Hat knew what it was talking about when it comes to Harry possibly doing well in Slytherin and even Ravenclaw.

(I have more moments listed in my notes, and I'm in book 6 in my current reread, so I definitely am not covering everything)

Let's start then with the words of the Sorting Hat itself:

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting….So where shall I put you?” Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin. “Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that

(Philosopher's Stone, page 88)

The Hat says Harry is brave enough for Gryffindor, clever enough and talented enough for Ravenclaw and has the ambition and thirst to prove himself for Slytherin. And the hat isn't wrong about it's assessment of Harry. Harry is clever and talented and I so often find it underplayed in fics, or ones that do include it, acting like it's fanon characterization when it's really isn't.

Harry Potter is canonically a BAMF.

So, here I'm going to talk about his cleverness and give some moments of Harry being clever from the books.

(I'll have a different post for his magical prowess.)

Harry Has Brilliant Memory

So, Harry James Potter practically has close to an eidetic memory, and no one really seems to mention it.

An eidetic memory is described as an almost perfect recollection of images or events. And Harry actually shows himself as being very capable of it:

Angelina: “…Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 379)

In thus scene its raining during a Quidditch match and Angelina asks Harry about a spell he used a year before. Harry remembered that moment, remembered Hermione was actually the one who cast the spell, a spell he himself never cast before this moment, and he then casts it perfectly from memory.

Harry remembers the incantation and wand movement perfectly enough to succeed on his first try.

Actually, almost every time we see him cast spells he gets the wand movement and incantation right on the first try (even his first attempt at a patronus worked, the happy memory just wasn't strong enough)

In general, they moments we see Harry fail at casting spells on the first try is when he overthinks it and fails himself like that.

Harry stared at the letters in brackets. Nvbl . . . that had to mean “nonverbal.” Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with nonverbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every D.A.D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far. Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head. “Aaaaaaaargh!”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 239)

Harry tends to fail potions, and nonverbal spells when Snape is breathing down on him expecting him to fail, though, in this example, the moment Harry feels he can succeed the spell and isn't overthinking it, he casts it perfectly and nonverbally on the first attempt.

He is the same with potions:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favorites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 660)

When Snape wasn't breathing down his neck and stressing him, even without the Half-Blood Prince's superior instructions, Harry is good at potions. He accomplishes the potion to a level of Exceeding Expectations easily. The problem is never his skill, memory, or talent; usually, it's stress, being stuck in his own head, or carelessness (did anyone diagnose him with ADHD?)

Another example of his eidetic memory in OOP:

“Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,” said Hermione fairly. “I suppose something in that snake’s venom dissolves them or something. . . . I wonder where the tearoom is?” “Fifth floor,” said Harry, remembering the sign over the Welcome Witch’s desk.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 508)

When Harry describes St. Mongos for the first time (about a week before the above scene) he reads a sign that describes what is located in each floor of the hospital.

A week later, without reading that sign again, Harry can recall where the tea room is since he has that sign he read once a week ago, memorized.

Harry is Sneaky

Harry is a proper sneaky slythein and actually has more cunning moments than some slytherins in the books. Here are a few examples I have from my notes:

“Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.” Harry had a sudden idea. “Peeves,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.” Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 197)

Harry is a good liar and scared of Peeves like this in his first year.

“…He likes to keep in touch with me, though . . . keep up with my news . . . check if I’m happy. . . .” And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 435)

But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

(Goblet of Fire, page 24)

Again, Harry lying and tricking the Dursleys so they won't hurt him. Leveling Sirius as a threat against them.

“Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess — I let you pass. Answer wrongly — I attack. Remain silent — I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

[the riddle and Harry thinking through it]

“Spy . . . er . . . spy . . . er . . .” said Harry, pacing up and down. “A creature I wouldn’t want to kiss . . . a spider!” The sphinx smiled more broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass. “Thanks!” said Harry, and, amazed at his own brilliance, he dashed forward.

(Goblet of Fire, page 629)

I skipped the sphinx's riddle, now the riddle isn't a hard one, but still, Harry isn't stupid. But he thinks he is. He even tells himself during that scene:

Harry’s stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the center.

(Goblet of Fire, 629)

But it's just Harry and his low self-esteem. He solves the riddle quickly thinking aloud near the Sphinx and he does solve it, and is amazed by it because he doesn't think of himself as smart, even though he is.

Most of the riddles to the Ravenclaw common room are probably along this line of difficulty too. It just goes to show he isn't stupid.

“There,” she said, handing it to him. “Drink it before it gets cold, won’t you? Well, now, Mr. Potter . . . I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.” He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, “You’re not drinking up!” He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody’s magical one, and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy. “What’s the matter?” said Umbridge, who was still watching him. “Do you want sugar?” “No,” said Harry. He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge’s smile widened. “Good,” she whispered. “Very good. Now then . . .” She leaned forward a little. “Where is Albus Dumbledore?” “No idea,” said Harry promptly.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 630)

Harry is clever enough to recognize drinking anything Umbridge gives him is a bad idea, so he doesn't. And he does so without her realizing.

“even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?” “Umbridge’s office,” said Harry quietly. He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could think of no alternative; Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own. “Are — you — insane?” said Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and was watching the conversation warily. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, shrugging. “And how are you going to get in there in the first place?” Harry was ready for this question. “Sirius’s knife,” he said. “Excuse me?” “Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that’ll open any lock,” said Harry. “So even if she’s bewitched the door so Alohomora won’t work, which I bet she has —”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 658)

Harry can and does strategies. He planned how to get into Umbeidge's office. He employed his friends and actually led them. Being a leader and a strategist — rules we see him grow more into later.

Harry’s mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. He had no interest in it. He just wanted to get them all out of this alive, make sure that none of his friends paid a terrible price for his stupidity . . . The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. “You need more persuasion?” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Very well — take the smallest one,” she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. “Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I’ll do it.” Harry felt the others close in around Ginny. He stepped sideways so that he was right in front of her, the prophecy held up to his chest. “You’ll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us,” he told Bellatrix. “I don’t think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?” She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth. “So,” said Harry, “what kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?” He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville’s arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking. He could feel one of the other’s quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 783)

This is a bit of a long quote, but I really like it. Harry gets the Death Eaters at an impasse because they can't destroy the prophecy. Then, when they threatened Ginny, he changed tactics and got them talking to buy time.

And even when he says his mind is blank:

“What?” whispered Hermione more urgently behind him. “Can this be?” said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, “Smash shelves —”

...

“NOW!” yelled Harry. Five different voices behind him bellowed “REDUCTO!” Five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 785-786 and 787)

He's still the one coming up with plans and pulling them out of there.

And if we look at his grades:

(Half-Blood Prince, page 102)

He is very far from failing academically. Actually considering how little studying Harry actually does, he receives very high grades, even for Hogwarts' abysmal education standards. Harry is naturally smart enough and talented enough that with the bare minimum of effort, he can get almost exclusively Es (his failing being in History, an exam he didn't finish, and Divination, which Harry has only been thought bullshit in).

Makes me wish we saw him put in an active effort. I bet it all would've been Os with his memory.

Even Potions, which Harry is supposedly bad at, he got an E...

I just... Harry is just really smart and it kind of frustrates me how I don't see enough fics that treat Harry being clever and with a cunning streak as if it's canon, even though it very much is.

I don't know, maybe I'm just reading the wrong fics...

#harry potter #harry potter theory #harry potter thoughts #hollowedtheory #hp theory #overthinking #wizarding world #harry potter analysis #harry james potter

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moodymisty · 2 months ago

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Hi!! Big fan of your works!! I am so giddy for the requests open and it took me a while to decide who I was the most thirsty for and, with no surprise too, Sanguinius and Leman are the two I just couldn't decide for so I'll let your wisdom make the choice (I just love them all giggling kicking twirling my hair).

I just like to imagine either Primarch coming back from a long campaing and very eager to see again their wifey only to be slapped in the face by the image of them being VERY pregnant, swollen all over the right places. Suddenly something very feral tackles their brain and while a baby is an amazing surprise, they are EAGER to try and show their appreciation by eating their spouse out like some sort of marathon competition.

My guy be STARVING <333

Author's note: This just felt Russ coded to me Relationships: Leman Russ/Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW, Oral (female receiving) Pregnancy tokophobia warning, Slightly rough

Normally Russ is sometimes keen to take you along with him on his crusades; Let his lady enjoy the sights of the Hrafnkel and the planets they encounter. He knows his sons will keep you safe.

Women are like wolves; They don't enjoy being penned up their entire lives.

This time however the day of departure you suddenly feel poorly; A sudden bout of nausea and fatigue that left you struggling to keep up with him. It wasn't bad, you insisted, but the idea of boarding the ship in such a foul state wasn't entertained. Russ agreed, and left you with a myriad of gruff words and a warm embrace in the cocoon of pelts that adorned your shared bed.

The rest of that day you'd largely slept, serfs knocking every few hours to check on you- if you required anything of them.

You asked for food and a bath; The next few days proceeded relatively similarly. The Wolves didn't see much of their legion mother for a bit, and knew largely by recaps from serfs they pestered and the whining of a Fenrisian wolf whenever there was a locked door between it and you.

With Russ deep in the reaches of unknown space however, there was no way to tell him that a few weeks later, you were able to find an answer to your seemingly random state.

The older female serfs were quite eager to make you clothes as the news began to spread, and it was quite needed; Your belly grew at such a rate that new clothes were being run through at an insane rate, unless they were made with a rapidly expanding belly in mind. Within a few months it was beginning to wreck havoc on your back, and you were more so waddling than walking.

You still had three or so months left of your pregnancy roughly, but it's unsurprising that a child of Russ has turned out to be quite large. Perhaps a bit amusing that in the throws of things abit embarrassing to think about, you forgot the man was double your size, and naturally so; Unlike his sons boasting altered anatomy post birth.

You're now large enough that getting out of bed is even a struggle at times, trying to slowly scoot yourself off the primarch sized bed. The blankets tangle around you as you try to move as fast as you can; The Hrafnkel has finally moored and Russ has returned, you're eager to see him. As well as to show him his child, which he doesn't even know the existence of.

However it seems your excessive sleeping and slow maneuvering means that Russ was able to beat you to the punch, as the door to your most private bedchambers opens and you hear his booming voice as he looks around for you.

"Ah! I'm back! You're-"

You freeze in the halfway point of getting out of bed, and within moments, Russ' eyes focus on the massive swell of your overfilled belly.

"Leman! I..."

You purse your lips as he takes a step closer, eyes locked on your midsection.

"I found out a few weeks after you left."

His expression is unreadable, even as he approaches. A momentary flash of fear rushes through your blood before you're grabbed, and you're unable to hold back the instinctive yelp of prey.

Your belly makes it harder for him to push your legs back like he used to, but he manages it; You leaning on your forearms helps some.

"You taste better than you ever have,"

Your skin is probably hot and scraped by now, but the burn only feels good as his tongue laps at your core. His nose rubs against your clit, and each time your body clenches around nothing you let out the most pitiful whine.

Russ growls against you, his rough beard scratching your skin. He only bothers to cut it when it begins to get too long, keeping it at that stage of rough stubble just about to become a full beard. His braided hair brushes against your skin and almost tickles. He's a bit unkempt after his long crusade, but that's far from anything on your mind.

But even with it all you still feel so empty, and that distinct ache only intensifies as the knot in your stomach tightens to a peak. You finish not longer after, with his tongue against your clit and his nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. He continues to tease you through it, still lapping at your core even as you gasp for air and thrash. He only stops when you begin to writhe even more, and he pulls his face away enough that you can see it all.

You hadn't realized just how much you missed this; Missed him. How he was able to make you feel in comparison to yourself. He could pull any manner of whine and plea from you, with seemingly little effort. And he seemed to enjoy it all the more. The pride he gets from turning you into little more than a pile of pleas and promises is obnoxious, but his confidence and skill is concerning enthralling. Had someone explained his attitude to you, you would've ran far away, but something about him kept you hypnotized.

Your own juices mixed with his spit coat the bottom part of his face, over his lips and into his beard. It's slick across your own thighs as well, and glistens in the dim light with each loud and sloppy sound. He attacks you with the roughness and uncoordination of a ravenous beast but you couldn't care less; That was just how Russ was.

"Quite the surprise you've given me, hmm?"

He chuckles with a knowing smile that highlights his teeth. Your warm face struggles to hide any emotion. Your face and hair feel like a mess, your skin is layered in the slightest sheen of sweat. Your heart pounds against your chest and you know he can hear it, as you stare into his blown out pupils. You briefly feel like a cornered hare.

"I only found out once you were well out of the realm of any communication. If i could have I would've-"

Russ chuckles louder.

"I think I prefer coming back to the sight of you round and ready to pop, actually." His hands still maintain the grip on your thighs, and your heart is still racing.

"Maybe next time will be the same."

#fem reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting #tokophobia tw

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uglypastels · 11 months ago

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Hiya! I was wondering if you could do a fic Logan being all stubborn and caring with an introverted/loner type reader? I’d love if if she were sort of like him in terms of aging and had been used as a sort of weapon in her past, now she’s afraid to be with him, thinking she’d hurt him or something? And he just reassures her that even if she did, he wouldn’t leave her alone. If not that’s completely fine but thanks for reading! Loved your last fic btw!! 💚

i did my best with this and i really hope you enjoy it. also it might not be super clear from how i wrote it, but i wasn't too sure on how else to include it, but the reader's mutation is meant to be that she has spikes pull and retract from all over her body, kind of like a porcupine... ? idk i wanted it to be similar to logan's but different.

warnings: trauma/severe ptsd. angst. nightmares. crying. aggression.

~ X-Men requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Sweetheart, wait,’ Logan called after you.

‘Don’t call me that, Logan!’ You exclaimed as you shut the door, tears ready to burst. You let the weight of your body fall against the door, your arm reaching for the bolt to lock it. You didn’t know what had come over you. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But perhaps that was exactly it. Just one too many times, had Logan come too close. At first, you hadn’t minded it all too much. Actually, you kind of enjoyed it. It was safe when you knew to keep him at a distance. But each time he persisted, you felt your walls tremble beneath his strength, and you wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer. And then that happened… people would get hurt. As they always did.

‘Please, I just want to talk.’ His voice was muffled through the door. But you could feel him as if he was right next to you. The heat of his body radiating right through everything and onto you.

‘Just leave.’ You shouted back at him. Eventually, he would have to give up and go. If not for rest, then nutrition; if not food, then he would certainly need a drink.

‘I’m not leaving you. Not like this.’ He tried the handle, but it just rattled uselessly next to you. ‘C’mon, let me in.’

The tears finally broke through the dam and flooded your cheeks as years of emotions and memories overwhelmed you. It all suddenly flashed before your eyes. Both the things you remembered and those that felt like images from a movie you had never seen before. Puzzle pieces of a life you did not remember and only made your head spin more.

‘It’s happening again, isn’t it?’ He always knew. You weren’t sure how, but Logan could always tell when you were having an episode. Possibly because he was the only other person on earth who understood. Who knew exactly what you had gone through. Perhaps you had known each other before the experiment, but neither of you remembered. All you knew was that you had found eachother, both lost, confused and afraid. You fought for and with eachother, but there would always be one thing that kept you at a distance, no matter how hard Logan would try to get closer to you.

Some minds just weren’t as strong as others, and after everything that had happened, it started to take a toll on you and your powers. The nights where you woke up screaming, bedsheets soaked in cold sweat, had been in the hundreds. And Logan would always be the first one at your side, ignoring the searing pain of the thousand needles that perforated his skin as he held you.

You couldn’t always control your powers. Not when you were in such a state. You were working on it, but the weekly sessions you had with the professor could only do so much. There was only so much Logan could take, and seeing him get hurt because of you only added to the fuel of the nightmares. You had never told him how the lost dozen times you awoke in terror was because of the image of his dying frame at your mercy.

But that’s all that it was. Nightmares. And you would never let it become reality. That was a promise you had made yourself a long time ago.

You were pulled back to reality by a loud, hollow thud coming from the other side of the door. Logan punched the wall, nearly cracking the layers, as he called out to you with no response. Your name echoed through the building, the simple word getting filled with more and more worry with each repetition.

‘Why do you care, anyway, Logan?’

‘Because I love you, damn it!’ He burst out, and it was like the oxygen had been taken from your lungs. Time stood still. You couldn’t move, breathe, speak. Even clear thoughts couldn’t form in your mind. You had no response. None that wouldn’t bring any less hurt than you already had. But the warmth radiating through that door never left your side. For what you didn’t know was that Logan had also made a promise a long time ago, and you’d have to kill him before he’d break it. That much was sure.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

#logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #x-men fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #imagine #request #logan howlett fanfic #wolverine #wolverine fanfic #x men #x men fanfiction

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arcadia-of-pluto · 11 months ago

Text

Twist of Fate; Chapter One

Pairings; Rafayel x reader, Xavier x reader, Zayne x reader, Sylus x reader (Love and Deepspace)

Word count; 4,495 (sorry it's so short, I'll try to post three chapters today)

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Rated; 18+ for swearing and some mature themes

Notes; To make things easier to read, I'm going to use emojis for who is texting.

Y/n 🩷

Rafayel 💜

Zayne 💙

Xavier 💛

Sylus ❤️

Hi everyone! This is my first time posting to tumblr so please be gentle with me! If you like this, then let me know! It would be greatly appreciated. My upload schedule will be every weekend (so either fri, sat, or sun!) Also, if the story seems similar, it's going to be verbatim with the story, just with my own embellishments to it. Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy this first chapter.

Prev || Next

Masterlist

A bright light shines within the dark room. There you lay in bed, playing a game on your phone late at night before bed. The soft background music coming from your speaker as the game loads up. You press ‘enter game’ as images of three men make their way across your screen, each one holding a special place in your heart.

Who says you need a real man? Fictional men are where it's at. They can't cheat on you, can't leave you, can't lie to you. It's a lot better than having to stress over a real person and worry if they'll leave you the next day or not. You know from experience, having two boyfriends in the past and neither lasting longer than six months- both breaking off the relationship before an anniversary. Screw men– well, besides the three on your screen right now. They were fine. Oh, and the fourth one being added a month from now.

The game loads in and you get a greeting from one of the men on screen. They take turns showing up in the Destiny Café, each able to say hello every time you log in. It was always sweet to see what they'd say, how they'd react, or any new text messages you'd get from them. You could even change their phone nicknames! You had Xavier, the sweet tired and aloof silvery blonde haired man, saved as Princess since you thought it would be cute. He'd definitely be embarrassed if you called him that. Zayne, the seemingly cold childhood friend and doctor, was saved under Snow Angel; you honestly didn't know what to have his name as that but it would just be amusing to see his reaction to it. Then there's Rafayel, the purple haired sassy and charming painter, who was saved as Nemo- again, very original. But Nemo works nonetheless. As you smile and send your daily stickers to each man to see their reaction, you get a new notification at the top of your screen.

“A new message?” You murmur, noticing that it's contact is unknown. The message was coming from the game. “It must be some new event. Weird…I wonder why there wasn't an update for it?” You back out of your message with Rafayel and click on the new message from the unknown sender.

:’Will you enter the game?’

“That's it?” Your brows furrow and you sit up in your bed, your phone lying in your lap as you scratch your head. “Wait..” You click on the message to reply and your keyboard pops up. “That's…” Usually, to reply in game, you get a choice between a few predetermined answers but for this…You just get to answer how you want to?

’What do you mean?’ You text back before reaching over to put your glasses on. Maybe you should've gone to bed earlier, it kind of feels like you're hallucinating.

You hear the chime of another message rolling in, and you look back down at your phone.

:’Yes or no? Hurry and pick one.’

This time the keyboard doesn't pop up, you only get three options.

ロ Yes

ロ No

And…

ロ Why?

You don't even think twice before pressing why, and the answer comes back quicker than you expect.

:’Please take care of them for me.’

You let out a scoff before running a hand through your hair. This must be some sort of elaborate prank. There's no way this is a part of the game, and even if it were there'd be no explanation for it. Is this the dev's way of getting back at you for sending so many support requests? Before you can think much about it, suddenly you feel more sleepy than before. Your eyes tiredly blink as you try to grab your phone to at least plug it up and get off of the game before you fall asleep, but instead you're lulled to sleep by the soft, melodic tune of Love and Deepspace.

Then a light so bright that it burns your eyes even though they're closed appears. It's hard to even force your eyes open, but when you do, you notice it's a big, deep crimson eye. Similar to the one you'd see in game. Your blood runs cold as you try to look around this unfamiliar area, but all you see is darkness. A dream? Yeah..this must be a dream. Although you've never been able to actively move in a dream before, there's a first for everything!

Right when you finally calm yourself down, you hear it. A loud explosion, the feeling of embers licking at your skin. Your ears are ringing, and you feel a sharp pain on the right side of your face. The darkness fades, and you're left with the blinding light of the sun against your back and your body lying on a pavement. Just lifting your head up to look at your surroundings feels like an extreme workout, everything about your body feels heavy. Sluggish. Though your left eye widens as you realize you're laying in front of a burning building. Something shining in the sunlight catches your eye, and once you grab the object, you find it harder to breathe. It was a dog tag with a charm on it. An apple charm with a star design in the center, and in the center of that was a ruby gemstone. The words ‘When U come back’ were written in cursive on the dog tag.

“No way..” you manage to croak out, the necklace clutched in your hand as you try to push yourself up, but the pounding in your head and the pain coming from your eye are no match, and you end up laying face down on the pavement in front of the burning home until you pass out from the pain.

Being passed out had its perks. You finally had a chance to think and put together a few puzzle pieces before you woke up. So if memory serves, what just happened was your- no, the main character's childhood home just blew up right after her best friend and basically brother Caleb stepped inside and her grandma, who adopted them both, was inside as well. They both died, and supposedly a mafia-like group called Onychinus was behind it because they were tying up loose ends as Grandma was a former researcher and scientist, experimenting on children and modifying them with aether cores. But the main character wasn't badly injured after the explosion, which never made sense honestly. You're that close to a building exploding, and you only get off with trauma and minor scrapes? That doesn't seem right…and honestly, the pain made it feel all the more real. If you were in a dream, that pain most likely would've woken you up.

So coming to terms that you're inside of the game was a bit easier that way. Though the bigger problem lies with your evol. You wouldn't even know the first step to using it, let alone resonating with another person. And firearm training. You've never shot a gun before, but you did take self defense and fighting lessons a few years back, but you can't exactly punch a wanderer. They're durable monsters that can shoot ice or anything at you and, some even have blades for arms…

“Great, it seems like she's waking up now.” You hear the deep, yet cold voice of a man. Then, you hear the higher pitched voice of a woman, “Finally! It's been three days, I just hope she doesn't insist on going back to work..” “She won't, doctor's orders.” The male voice says before you hear a door close.

Your eye slowly opens before you have to squint to adjust it to the bright white lights. A hospital? You try to sit up and the woman next to you rushes to help you. You have to turn your head to look at her since she's on your right side. Your right eye was also bandaged since all you can see is darkness out of it. The first thing you notice is her short bob cut. “Tara?” You say, your voice sounding a bit raspy and you tilt your head to the side. “Thank goodness, Y/n! We thought you'd never wake up.” She seems excited, bubbly and sweet…just like her character in game.

“That's..” Before you can finish your sentence, you start coughing. “Here, let me get you some water!” She hands you a plastic cup and you take a sip before continuing, “I…can't remember much.” You squeeze your hand in a fist, the sound of metal clinking together has you looking down at your hand. “You never let go of that. You've been holding it since..” Tara trails off and you're caught off guard by a sudden surge of emotions. You take a shaky breath as to not start crying, since that would definitely hurt your right eye before you look up at the ceiling. “I don't recall how to use my evol, how to shoot a gun…Can I still even call myself a hunter?”

“Y/n…” Tara sighs before taking your free hand, “Things can always be retaught, we're all just glad you survived. You should be glad to still have both eyes being that close to the explosion!” She smiled at you before handing you your phone. “I can't stay here long, but your phone has been blowing up for the past three days so make sure you check it out.” She pats your hand and stands up. “I'll visit later with a coffee or something for you.”

“The patient is advised to not have anything caffeinated until after being discharged.” A voice comes from the door before he steps inside.

Black hair, glasses, hazel green eyes, tall…

“Doctor Zayne,” I greet him with a small smile, suddenly more nervous and I turn to look at Tara. “I'll see you tomorrow, Tara?”

“Sure! That is, if I don't get a call about a wanderer..Metaflux readings have been crazy as of late, so we've all been pretty busy- but that's not to push you into coming in or anything! Your health matters more to us at UNICORNS so only come back when you're ready.” She says before leaving the room.

“How are you feeling?” Zayne asks as he comes closer, taking a seat where Tara once was. His eyes scan your whole body to make sure you're okay before landing on your face. He leans forward to take the bandage off of your right eye and you wince at how bright the light is for your non-adjusted eye. “It'll probably scar..” he murmurs, presumably to himself.

“I'm..” You trail off, sighing before you decide it's best to tell the doctor the truth. “I'm fine, but I can't remember-”

“Can't remember what?” He cuts you off, almost seeming more worried about just what you can't remember, which makes you laugh a bit. “Calm down, I was getting to that. I can't remember how to use my evol, use my gun, or anything to do with wanderers.” “Hmm..are you sure it won't come back with time?” Zayne seems to have calmed back down as he's now writing everything down on a clipboard. “I'm sure of that.” You clear your throat, looking back down at the necklace in your hand before running your thumb across it.

“I don't mind relearning everything but I won't be as good as I was before, that's for sure.” You lean your head back and Zayne quickly corrects you, gently tilting your chin back down. “If your wound reopens, we'll have to use stitches so be careful.”

“You'll get better at it in no time. Don't forget that I'll help you out.” Zayne says before standing up. You take a glance at the clipboard and it seems like he added ‘post traumatic stress disorder?’ as a note. You guess he assumes your forgetfulness might be caused by that, but you knew otherwise. “I'll leave you so you can check up on your phone.”

With that, the doctor leaves the room and you can finally let out a sigh of relief. It seems he didn't notice anything was off with you. He was honestly the hardest hurdle since he's known the main character for a long time, but you've noticed you tend to act like her to begin with so maybe it wouldn't be as hard as you thought.

You finally decide to put the necklace down on the table next to you, your hand aching from having held it so tightly and grab your phone. There was no code on it so you easy got into it, might as well put a code on it now..and now you go to check your messages. 45 missed calls from Nemo…Nemo? Your brows furrow and you flinch because, of course, that hurts the wound on your face so you quickly straighten your face out. The nicknames are the same as they were in your game. 11 missed calls from Princess, 55 missed messages from Nemo, and 5 missed messages from Princess. Zayne didn't leave any since he works at the hospital… though on the day of the incident, he did leave two missed calls and a reminder of a doctor's appointment.

You decide to check up with Rafayel first since he's a certified drama queen. You don't scroll too far up but the most recent text messages are just him being pouty that his ‘miss bodyguard’ is ignoring him.

🩷 :’Been in the hospital for three days, sorry!’

You decide that's sufficient of an answer before nearly jumping out of your skin as he immediately calls. You laugh before answering the call, being bombarded with questions the moment you press the green button.

“Which hospital, Miss bodyguard? What happened? Are you okay?”

“One question at a time.” You laugh before you start coughing and have to take another sip of water from the plastic cup. Your throat was a bit achy from not being used for three days.

“Which hospital?” Rafayel sticks with his first question, his voice void of his usual playful banter. “Uhm..” you look around for a moment, not exactly remembering the name of the hospital in game before spotting its name on the whiteboard in front of you. “Akso Hospital, room 205.”

“Got it.” Then silence. “Uh…Rafayel?” You say, taking the phone away from your face to notice he had already hung up. You shrug it off before going to your messages with Xavier. Most of the messages were just asking if you wanted to go hunting with him, sending locations, and the most recent one was from a few hours ago with him asking if you were okay.

🩷 :’At the hospital right now, been out for three days! Sorry about that. I might need some help soon though.’

Xavier doesn't immediately call like Rafayel did, instead just exchanges a few texts with you.

💛 :’what happened? are U alright? is it’

🩷 :’Is it what? I'm fine, a bit sore though. I got caught up in an explosion three days ago and have been out since then.’

💛 :’..nevermind that how can U be okay if u were passed out for 3 days? what's the extent of your injuries?’

🩷 :’Just a few bruises, scrapes, a sprained ankle, and…’

💛 :’and what?’

🩷 :’I might have a cool new scar over my eye!’

💛 :’thats not funny..what hospital, i'm coming now.’

You pause your messages, knowing he definitely can't come now if Rafayel is. None of the love interests have ever interacted in the game before, so you're not sure of the consequences just yet.

🩷 :’I'm probably about to sleep again! You can visit tomorrow, the doc gave me some pain medicine that's making me a bit tired and I wanted to talk to you.’

💛 :’alright as long as ur okay. i can wait as long as you need.’

You pout, trying your best not to gush over how sweet Xavier is, and drop your phone as your room door suddenly opens to reveal an exhausted looking, purple haired man. His shirt was haphazardly buttoned, his hair tousled as if he just got out of bed, and panic written all over his face.

“You didn't think to describe the details of your injuries to me?” Are the first words out of his mouth before he shuts the door behind him, walking deeper in the room to grab your plastic cup to drink some water. “You've been out for three days, you shouldn't even be sitting up right now!” He sits down on the chair next to the bed and you reach toward him to try and fix his shirt buttons. The tips of his ears turn red and he pushes backward on the rolling chair. “What're you doing- you're a patient.”

“Your shirt..” You drop your hands into your lap with a small smile.

“Oh-” Rafayel clears his throat, turning the chair to fix his shirt before he rolls the chair back up next to you. With his hand gently cupping the right side of your face, he murmurs, “How did this happen?”

You assume he's probably in shock since you were never scarred like this in any of the past lives you shared with him.

“An explosion from my..” You trail off, lips pressing together in a thin line as you find it hard to say what happened, even though you know they're not your actual family. “..my childhood home. Two casualties.” You finally finish your sentence, not meeting Rafayel's bluish pink eyes as he still cups your cheek.

The silence is almost deafening before Rafayel sighs and drops his hand. “I'm sorry for your loss.” He finally says. “Do you need a hug?”

You quickly shake your head. “If I hug you, I'll cry and I really don't need to..irritate my…” You can't seem to get your words out as your eyes water and no matter how hard you try to stop it, your cheek stings as salty tears run down your still healing wound. Rafayel moves to sit on the side of the bed, guiding your forehead to rest against his shoulder as his arms wrap around you. “We can always get your doctor to fix it, huh? It won't do you any good if you keep your feelings all bottled up now, will it?”

You can't seem to stop crying, even as your breath stutters in your chest and you find it harder to breathe. Sure, you cried when they died while playing but for it to affect you like this? Maybe it's because someone offered to be a shoulder you could lean on.

“Focus on my breathing. Don't hyperventilate on me now, miss bodyguard.” Rafayel murmurs, hand still patting your back as your tears eventually fade and you fall asleep.

Rafayel pulls you back from his shoulder, moving you so you're laid flat on the bed before he grabs a soft tissue to wipe your face, wiping the trail of blood coming from your wound since the salt from your tears irritated it. He then leans forward to kiss your forehead. “I'll see you soon.”

The next time you wake up, your eyes are puffy and your nose is stopped up.

“I see you cried yourself to sleep.” Zayne comments, tilting your head by your chin so he can examine your wound. “You irritated it.” He sighs. “If you don't cry anymore, it'll probably be healed up in two weeks..then you can cry all you want.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I had to cry.” You say with a pout, knowing it's not his fault. “When can I be discharged?”

“After today, your ankle should be better to walk on so tomorrow? But if you want to start work again, I'd say another few weeks.” Zayne finishes writing something down before standing up. “I also did a routine checkup on your heart in case that was the reason you can't use your evol and I don't think that's the case. I believe your evol revolves around your emotions so if you're not confident in it, it won't work.”

“Thank you, Zayne.” You say before taking a sip of the iced coffee that Tara left for you thirty minutes ago. Then you finally shoot Xavier a text to say he's free to come to the hospital whenever he wants, that you'll be discharged tomorrow.

Not even a minute after you sent your message, there was a knock on your door. You look toward the noise before smiling behind your hand. “Come in.”

A silvery blond head pops in from the now opened door before he comes in and shuts the door behind him. “How are you feeling today?” He asks, his soft tired voice sounding a bit more emotional than usual. “Mmh, pretty good. I'd probably feel better if you came a bit closer.” You say, leaning over to pat the chair next to your bed. He quickly comes to sit down, almost as if waiting for the invitation.

“Your eyes are swollen. Did you have a rough sleep last night?”

“No, I..” it's probably best to keep telling the truth for now. “I just cried myself to sleep.” You shrug, trying to play it off as nothing but Xavier isn't falling for it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“If I cry myself to sleep again, will you hold me?” You ask, raising your left brow before laughing to yourself. “Just thinking about what happened, not being able to save anyone, getting hurt like this…” You feel a hand on top of your own and turn to look at Xavier. “It's not your fault.” He finally says after a moment of silence. A small smile tugging at his lips before he changes the subject, “What is it you wanted to ask me?”

“Oh right!” You sit up before turning your body to face him. “I need you to teach me how to use my gun…and how to fight….aannnd how to use my evol.” You name off each one and tap on your fingers to count them off.

“You..forgot all of that?” His head tilts to the side before he nods his head. “Alright, I can do that. Is there anything else you need?”

“Uh…can you pick me up tomorrow? I don't know where our apartments are…or how to drive my bike either.” You rub the back of your neck and smile sheepishly.

“What else did you forget?” He lets out a small laugh.

“All of Linkon?” You say before adding, “I mean, I remember names but I don't remember where anything is..like Azure Square, UNICORNS HQ, Twinkle Toys, Meow's Café..”

“Don't worry, I'll help with anything I can.” Xavier smiles, his thumb rubbing across the back of your hand.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me.” You smile before looking down at your phone as it buzzes. Rafayel. He's- on his way?

“Actually, could you get me a friend for tomorrow?” You ask, a smile tugging at your lips. “A..friend?” His head tilts to the side until you say, “Can you get me a fox plushie and bring it to me when I'm discharged tomorrow?”

“I-” Xavier laughs before nodding, “Of course I will.” He stands up, looking toward the door. “I'll leave now though, since you seem a bit restless, but I'll make sure you get all the plushies you want.”

Not even five minutes after Xavier leaves, Rafayel is in the room. Almost as if he felt a disturbance in the force that someone was with his lady right now. “Was someone just here?” He asks, trying to act nonchalant as he sits down in the chair.

“No?” You phrase it as a question before you nod your head. “Yeah, the doctor just left. He was upset that I irritated my wound but, at least, I'll be discharged tomorrow! I can't go back to work for another two weeks though.”

“So does that mean my bodyguard is still out of commission?” Rafayel pouts, a hand on his hip. “Well, that's a shame. I had an art expo to go to in a few days and I was wondering if you'd join me.” “Ah…about that,” you clear your throat before telling him all about the troubles with your evol and even not recalling how to use a gun. “Why don't you try resonating now?” He asks, placing his hand on top of yours. “But what do I even do?” You murmur, closing your eyes.

“Do you feel all of that energy coursing through your chest? Try to direct that through your body to your fingers.” Rafayel whispers. “Think of it like paint. If you pour paint on a flat canvas, it spreads all out like crazy. You have to take a paintbrush and direct the paint to where you want it to go. So your evol is the paint and you are the paintbrush.”

That…helps but doesn't help at the same time.

You take a deep breath, trying to silence your mind to be able to focus but it's difficult to have dead silent thoughts. Instead you try to imagine the energy moving from your chest all the way to your hands, which were clasped between Rafayel's much bigger ones. Then, you finally felt it. You were resonati-

You flinch as you’re bombarded with a few blurry memories of your past life with Rafayel; Well, if you didn't know, you would've just been confused but since you played the game, you knew they were of your past lives with him. Though they were blurry, so you didn't catch anything besides a soft ‘my bride’ at the end.

My eyes blink open and you take one hand away from Rafayel to rub your temples. “I think it worked but..” you look at Rafayel, who was uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he saw the same images too?

“Hey, did you see it too?” You ask, which finally gets his attention. “Huh, see what?” He tries to brush it off but you don't let him. “It was kind of blurry but I remember seeing you…in a purple outfit? Oh and you said something at the end.” You tap your bottom lip with your index finger, pretending to try and recall what you saw when, in reality, you only saw a blurry Rafayel. You never saw specific details like that. “You said my bri-”

Rafayel covers your mouth with a hand. “That's enough of that.” His ears were red and he wasn't looking you in the eyes. Then he clears his throat. “Anyway, I'll contact you soon about the expo since you seem to resonate just fine and then maybe I can show you around Linkon City to try and jog your memory.”

He leaves as quickly as he showed up, clearly embarrassed by what you were going to say.

“Cute..” you say to yourself, laughing into your hand before wincing and touching the right side of your face.

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

That's it for the first chapter! Since I wrote this on goggle docs, I wasn't sure just how short the chapters were but they'll get longer as we go on! I have a few chapters piled up so even if I don't write for a few weeks, I'll still be able to post. I'd love any feedback or even any explanations of the features on here to make the reading experience a bit better. I've never posted to Tumblr before so I've been just copying what I see from the tags and word count so I think I've done pretty well for my first time. I would love to learn how to do a masterlist though and also a next button, I guess I just have to link the next chapter on it? I'll have to test it out so please bear with me and I hope you enjoyed- and stick around for the chapters to come! 🩷

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1-800-local-slut · 3 months ago

Note

are you able to do black!vampire reader with powers similar to morrigan from darkstalkers? Luv your work btw!!!!

🩷

Hi pretty, of course I can! I did some research on Morrigan and Darkstalkers to try to do the best I could for this. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to play the games or watch the show. I couldn't really get a grasp on Morrigan and how her powers work so I did the best I could here. I hope you like it and thank you for the request! Because the reader is a vampire, I also had to bend the rules a bit for Morrigan's powers, so I hope that doesn't ruin this for you <3

Warnings: a lot of smut mentions, typical violence, nothing else fr

Mark Grayson x Black! Succubus! Vampire! Reader

Notes: Morrigan Aensland in addition to being the baddest to ever do it, is a succubus! So you, as the reader can; teleport, fly, heal fast, create identical images of yourself, and steal peoples energy through kisses! Morrigan is a special succubus, so she her body creates a special liquid that sustains her when she's stimulated (?) instead of hunching but the catch is she (and therefore you) can only go two days without this liquid before dying. You also have the stereotypical vampire powers! That's all y'all!

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

You were being weird. Weirder than usual, actually. Mark picked up on it the moment he heard the door shut. He heard you taking your boots off downstairs, but instead of your usual sprint up the stairs and into his arms...nothing. It was quiet as your padded feet slowly crept up the stairs. Which was strange because you were always excited to see him but maybe you were just tired?

For one you were completely covered. You wore long sleeves with sweatpants, a scarf, a ski mask hid all your hair underneath- leaving only your eyes visible. You even wore your snow socks that went all the way over your shins. A closer look revealed...mittens?

Weird thing number two: you weren't using Mark as a chair. Usually, you'd come in and say some sort of greeting before using Mark as furniture. His lap tingled from your absence. The warmth of your soft skin under his hands was missing- and he did not like it. He never thought he would miss being used as furniture.

Instead, you were sitting all the way on the edge of his bed. Strange, usually you'd be halfway out of your panties by now. It wasn't the sex he missed. It was you. You were sitting right there but he still felt like you weren't there.

"Babe?"

A muffled 'yes' came from the bundle of fabric.

"Is everything okay?" He extended a hand to touch you only for you to quickly swat it away. Mark stared at his own hand in shock. You've playfully bitten him, you two playfight all the time but you've never not wanted his touch. He felt like a puppy who had gotten scolded at by its owner.

The bundle of clothing that was you nodded its head, and it was almost hilarious. No matter what, you always made him laugh. Mark does know you. If it was serious, you would've told him by now, but he was still concerned.

"Okay. And nothing's wrong?" Mark scooted over and the pile leaned away.

The sound of all the clothes shuffling around as you moved was almost torture against his sensitive hearing, but he couldn't be upset. Not when your antics made him smile.

You were his silly girlfriend. And whatever this was, as funny as it may be, you two would figure it out by sunset.

The mass of colorful winter clothes shook as if to say 'yes', and Mark nodded in mock acceptance.

"Oookay. And you're not hot under there?"

A heavy sigh before you shook your head 'no'.

"So if I turn the heat on right now, you won't melt?"

Not only was it almost 100 degrees out, but he knows you didn't teleport over because he heard you walk into the house. If you did want to teleport, you'd just pop into his bedroom and lay on top of him. No doubt you were hot already.

The pile went completely stiff before you let out a long sigh. The air in the room shifted. Mark was an alien, you were a demonic magical entity but after a while he developed a sensitivity to when you were about to use your powers.

The tingling under his fingers. The hairs standing on his legs. All a sign you were about to do something special. There was a flash of light, and you were back.

Back to his beautiful girlfriend. Dark hair straightened down to your hips and the tiny bat wings that sprout from your head protruded out from your scalp like little horns. You had a mini pencil skirt and a strapless top. The skin between your skirt and shirt revealed the womb symbol that glowed during sex.

Leaning back on your now free arms, you sighed and gave your hair a dramatic toss.

"Well, you ruined the plan! You don't love me." You huffed, storming off the bed.

"Okay... and how did you figure that out?" He prodded gently, elbows coming to rest on his knees. His eye stayed trained on your face while the chill of his AC being up too high raised goosebumps on his skin. Or the goosebumps were from you saying something so completely untrue.

How could Mark not love you? You were his girlfriend! You were his fun, smart, dramatic, magical girlfriend. What could he have done to bring you to that conclusion?

"You didn't like my jacket." You pouted slightly while the muscles under your dark skin flexed, reminding Mark of the underlying strength you possessed.

"No, I loved the jacket. You liked like you were about to scale Mount Everest, it was cool. But I just had some questions, like why you were wearing so many layers of clothes in almost 100 degrees to come over and watch TV?'"

Mark's arms opened to pull you into a hug. Your face blank, as you looked at the space between his arms. Conflict wrestled your features while you tried to decide if you should give in or not.

Apparently, you decided to go with 'not'. You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head at him.

"I was testing you."

"Me?" He echoed, eyebrow raising in confusion.

"Or myself? I was testing us!"

"And what were you testing us on?"

"What if we don't love each other?!" You cried out, turning around and Mark thought he saw tears reflected in your eyes. What type of nonsense were you on about?

Mark loves you. Mark loves you and it's not because of the insane amounts of sex you have. Not the five blowjobs a day, not the amount of rounds you can go in one night, not the big smile you give him when he finishes down your throat. He loves you for who you are.

Your entire relationship has been...sexually charged but it's been filled with affection too! The days you spend spooning together, the expert back rubs you give him, the little day trips you take together that show Mark not to take life so seriously all the time, the hours you spend listening to each other ramble about literally anything. Even all those times you gave Mark a full face of gorgeous makeup and even worked around his monolid with copious amounts of eyeliner.

This just wouldn't do. His girlfriend was sad. She needed reassurance and Mark would be damned if she didn't feel secure in their relationship.

"Okay, come here." Mark motioned for you to come sit on his lap only for you to reject it with a sad stare.

"Stop pouting at me please. Just come here, I wanna talk to you."

You didn't budge, and Mark stood up before leading you into him. His butt hit the sheets, and the familiar weight of your body pressed against his.

"You love me. I know that. I love you, I know you know that. What brought this on?"

He pressed his head against the soft skin of your chest, nuzzling his cheek against the familiar smoothness. His brown eyes met yours, and he hated the sadness and doubt reflected in them.

You let out a heavy sigh and leaned down, forehead touching his while he melted into your affection.

"Well...I was talking to Kate."

"Fucking Kate." Mark kissed his teeth, head snapping to the side as he cursed the other hero. Always in someone's business because her relationship was soooo perfect.

'My boyfriend freed the slaves!' Yeah, well, her boyfriend is so old he probably thinks wiping his ass is gay. She needed to stay out of 21st century relationship discussions if she wanted to be with a guy old enough to die from a gust of wind.

"No, no baby stop! Kate's my friend, remember? We were on Facetime, and she saw my outfit when I was picking it. So, she was like 'why do you always dress like that to go see Mark?' and I was like 'I don't know, I always dress like this.' and she was like 'okay but like why don't you wear something more comfortable when you go spend time with him, doesn't he like you in regular clothes?' but then I remembered when you told me! So I was like 'why would you say something like that to me?' and she was all like 'I'm just saying, I know my man still loves me no matter what I wear. I just feel like if you guys can't go a day without sex maybe it's not the healthiest relationship.' and I was like 'you know I have sex instead of biting people so I don't have to feed. I feel biting anyone that isn't Mark is cheating." and she was like-"

"Okay, okay stop." He cut off your anxious rambles, noticing your dark hands combing through your dark hair. A tell-tale sign you were spiraling into your thoughts.

"I'm just...I feel like you love me but not because you want too. We aren't normal, I understand that. I don't want us to be normal, that means we're basic. But I do love you. I mean I roam the streets craving blood, but I'm disgusted by anyone who isn't you. I love you. Not the blood. Not just the sex. I love you. But what if you only love me because you're attracted to me? What if Kate's right, would our relationship crumble without sex? I mean you have to admit- we go at it a lot. If our relationship can't stand a day without it then what does that say about us?

It's how I function. It's how I survive, you know I need one or the other. We tried feeding more but you didn't like it and that's totally fine. And trust me, I have no issues with our arrangement. But my appetite is higher than most succubi, I have a bad rep even in my own community.

I'm scared. If we ever stopped, you'd see I'm not worth it. So, I wanted to see if you'd still want me if I wasn't trying to get you out of your pants." As you spoke, Mark felt his heart breaking. He knew you had these struggles. He was well aware how the new feeling of falling in love was complicated and scary for you. How having to trust that someone loved you for longer than one night was scary. You had a hard enough time already; you didn't need a bunch of bums in your ear confusing you. Not when your heart knew the truth.

His thumb rubbed over your hand, while tears escaped your eyes and your wings were now folded in on themselves. It was as if you said the one thing you were truly afraid to admit. You were scared. You were scared that you just weren't worth it when that was the furthest thing from true.

Since you and Mark developed a relationship that was more than sex Mark learned more about you than sex could ever tell him. Like you were soft on the inside. You were worried that Mark would never see you as a person. And while he did (and still does), you still got a little nervous as times. Afterall you'd been with enough men to know to never trust one.

He let out a sigh, hands coming to your shoulders as he looked down at his lap. His head was racing. His heart too. Fucking Kate.

"Okay. I'm going to say this, and you're not gonna like it."

Your sad, puppylike eyes looked at him. Your wings dropped in sadness and the folded slightly at the corners.

"Fuck Kate. Okay? Fuck Kate, and anyone who has anything to say about us. First of all, you know why we have sex all the time. Because you need human substance to live. You are lucky enough where you don't have to drink blood, but you can have sex instead. And I know you like it, but you know I don't like the feeling. So, we compromised."

Your mouth opened, before Mark put a hand up. He needed to get it out. He needed to finish this because he hated seeing you so sad. Your mouth close and you glanced at him through your lashes.

"And no, I don't only have sex with you to keep you alive. It's our fucking business how much sex we have. She needs to mind the business that pays her. I appreciate you agreeing to stop drinking from anyone that isn't me. But you know I also just love having sex with you and that is fine.

Kate doesn't look good enough for her to sit up there and talk about your sexuality or your clothes. You look good, you get to show that off. We love each other. I love you. Do you know that I love you?"

A soft smile spread across your cheeks at Mark's declaration of love. A smile that warmed Mark's heart. He invaded your personal space, rubbing his entire body against yours. His hands even went to play with your hair. One hand snuck up your head and tickled the sensitive base of your wings causing you to squeal in laughter.

"I know."

"Okay! And I know you love me. You're sexy. I'm sexy. We fuck a lot. But we still love each other and we both know that. So that's all that matters. Okay?"

You scrunched up your nose playfully. Mark shook you playfully, nipping playfully at you as you tried to escape his teasing.

"Okay! Okay!" You wheezed while he held you tight. As the laughter quieted down, you wrapped your arms around Mark. You two hugged, peace finally coming over the room. He smiled, hearing your wings flutter on your head before you hummed in satisfaction.

"So...you liked the jacket huh?" You chuckled and Mark laughed. He leaned backwards onto the bed, taking you with him.

"Loved it."

#black reader #x black reader #x reader #fem reader #multifandom account #requests open #invincible x reader #invincible fluff #invincible x black reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x black reader #dark stalkers x invincible

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melodic-haze · 1 year ago

Note

Hmm i just had a thought about the recent fic w Arlecchino

What if she had a muzzle on w bunny suit🧐

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Breeding, size kink, reader has a cock/strap referred to as such

☆ — NOTES: I'm ngl it's been several Arle fics now that idk which one you were on ab but it's okay gwenchana. Anyway you lot really want to breed her huh (same though)

Good luck convincing Arlecchino to wear a bunny suit actually HAHAHA

She'd do anything for you, really she will!!!! She's so dedicated to you—worshipping you in the same way a diety was meant to be worshipped—that it's actually scary for the both of you, how much of a hold you have on her. But she has some reservations about such a risqué bit of clothing 💀

Not like you blame her though, considering how it wasn't usually her style. Lucky for you, however, YOU get special treatment :3 all it takes is one look at the outfit, one look at her and some time and voila!!! She'll concede—hell, she might even surprise you :3

"You're.. you're sure, right? I know you were kinda against it at first—I feel bad if I ended up forcing you into something you-- mm."

A finger was on your lips, the gesture's message quite clear as your beloved spoke amidst your commanded silence, "I'm sure, yes. I admit I am.. apprehensive, but your longing gaze is more than enough to convince me to, ah.. experiment."

"Really..?"

"Yes. You do not take me for my word?"

"No, I do! It's just..." You huffed out a sigh as you gently took the hand on your lip and took it in your own, "I just don't want you to feel as if you were obligated to entertain my every whim."

You see her eyes soften at your concern and she squeezes your hand as a form of reassurance from your often-so-stoic lover, "You should know better than to believe I would ever compromise my own comfort for something like this."

"And besides," she continues, "surprisingly, I've come to enjoy being.. well, your prey of sorts. Perhaps the outfit may elevate the interest to another level, hm?"

You couldn't help but stare at her, boldness practically radiating off of your lover despite the position you both know she truly holds within the privacy of your bedroom walls. Such boldness prompted an imagined flash of images in your mind—blackened hands all tied up, drool escaping her lips within confining barriers, tears escaping as sinful noises of wet skin-to-skin impact echo along with her moans—and you feel something akin to a hot flash within your core.

Ever so observant, her eyes go half-lidded as she looks up at you, her grin a touch sharper than before, "I see that I have awakened your imagination."

"Maybe."

"You need not imagine it, my beloved." Her voice reduces itself to something of a low purr, "All you need to do is command me, and I will do whatever you wish."

"That's a dangerous promise to make."

"Coming from a dangerous woman such as I, I dare say it balances the scales."

I love dialogue lol anyway tell her to do so and she will do it ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️ and next thing you know you're facing a woman much shorter than you've always known her to be, clad in such a revealing outfit and a muzzle to prevent her from biting so much. She had 'protested' against the latter at first, but you both know from the way that she so very easily accepted such a thing that she was all for the extra torture, not being able to make a mark on you (she forgets that her nails'll probably do the job for her anyway LMAO)

When she's laid out 'helplessly' on the bed as you tower over her, when you put your hand on the flat of her stomach and the both of you see the clear size difference, when you look at her and see so much anticipation and carnal lust practically glazing her eyes? Oh god the both of you KNOW you're not going out this room for a WHILE

She is COMPLETELY at your mercy—you can toy with her all you want, alternating between overstimulation and edging her with whatever is at your disposal until she can't take it anymore so she has to actually beg you to fuck her dumb and reduce all trains of thought into mush. She considers begging as below her, and yet she can't help but let out these reluctant pleas that only seem to gain a more.......willing quality with them in due time. Just make sure to torture her until her composure snaps, giving her her own sort of medicine and having her experience her very own mindbreak through overwhelming pleasure

To see this woman, who is so utterly feared to the point where crowds would part for her in fear that she would plunge her blackened hands into their chest and staining them red, cling to you and hump your cock like a bitch in heat is such a harrowing contrast.......but there is certainly that feeling of something more

Perhaps it's the fact that there was the urge to pin her down into a mating press and stuff her silly until she gets kids on her own ☺️ seeing her take all these children in at the Hearth and not having any herself.....why, for some reason you found yourself feeling like you just had to give her some children of her own. She seems to adore them, so whyever not ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️

Even as dazed-out as she is, she can see something change inside you as your objective goes from fucking her silly to something a lot more feral. Doesn't necessarily help that, yk, you have her in a bunny suit. And yk how bunnies just love to breed

As much as Arlecchino had tried to tell you to slow down for a brief moment, it's as if all noise has been blocked out from your senses, save for the sounds your lover makes and the sinfully wet noises that are produced as you piston into her again and again and again and again.

You roughly pushed her down into the matress, now damp and messy from a mixture of your bodily fluids, as you made sure to bottom out inside her as quickly as you drew back—the harsh assault on her hole had hit spots within her she didn't even realise you could hit, not to mention the force of your movements being more than enough to easily stretch her out and mold her insides to fit you and only you.

It was obvious that there was no way any mercy was going to be given to her. The Harbinger could only lay there and take everything you give her like some kind of fleshlight, the 'fight' within her long gone (if she even had some left in her to begin with).

God I need to separate these bc I can't just choose one thank yew bc both are very very very VERY good

If you had a dick:

You were so utterly determined to fill her and making sure your seed takes by the end of your session. If it meant basting her insides with white-hot cum and having it all stuffed inside her to the point where it has no where to go but out by force, then you'll cum inside her over and over again until you can't anymore.

And when your hand goes to press down on her abdomen, you can see the mixture of cum inside her practically spray out at the edges. She can't take it anymore, even she says so, and yet you can't help but wonder just why is her pussy still milking you as if her life depended on it?

Because she's greedy.

Because right now, no longer was she Arlecchino—she was your very own rabbit, hungry for your potent seed.

If you're using a strap:

You know of your limitations—without anything extra such as magical means, you cannot actually have her bare your children. But whyever would you let that stop you, especially when you had benefits that more than makes up for your lack of organic appendages?

If you had the real thing then you could stuff her silly until it takes (and even beyond that), but one can easily make up for it in other qualities such as size and shape.

And really, whatever's stopping you from filling her to the brim with artificial cum instead?

The world is your oyster, and Peruere was nothing but your very own porcelain fuckdoll at this point.

I need to breed her every which way idc if I don't have a dick, if there's a will there's a way

When she realises what you're trying to do, she can't help that sudden jolt that completely overtakes her—her hips practically shoot from the bed, pushing your cock in even deeper, before you push her back down while she lets out a silent scream. By GOD the fact you want to breed her, fill her, make sure a child of YOURS growing inside her, making a mark beyond just her skin.........oh it gets her going in ways she never would've fathomed before

By the end of your VERY long and productive session, it's VERY clear you've both fucked like rabbits from the mess all over the place and the liquid practically gushing from her abused hole. After everything, you finally take off her muzzle, only for you to lead her drool-coated mouth all the way down to the base of your cock to clean it up. She doesn't even protest either, easily taking it like a good girl and making sure that she does a good job in cleaning you up and finishing you off. All you need to do is plug her up properly, feeling all the cum stuffed inside her through the small pauch of her abdomen, where her womb is 🫶

"..I had known this was a possible outcome, and yet I cannot help but be surprised by your control, or lack thereof."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you rolled on your side, "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me! You just looked so irresistible and before I knew it I just--"

"Don't take my words as a form of reprimand, darling." You feel her hands take your own from your face, her lips finally kissing them—you—after a long time of having it muzzled, "I enjoyed it. You are already aware of my.. likes and dislikes, especially when it comes to the rougher parts of the activity. I gave you control, and you willingly seized it."

"I guess..."

"And besides," she muses with a small smile on her face, "I am.. not necessarily opposed to the thought of it."

"Of what?"

"Getting bred."

A warm flush spreads through your cheeks as you gave her a light swat, "You! You are so shameless! What happened to being polite and cryptic?!"

"Do we really need such pleasantries by this point? Seeing that you were rather determined to take me all for yourself, after all..."

"Oh my god."

A deep laugh rumbles within her, the sound so rare and precious that you'd want to keep it all to yourself, and you can't help but laugh along with her as you bask in the afterglow. When your laughter settles down, the two of you end up with your legs tangled up together as you lay there in companionable silence.

Though eventually she decides to break it, "Shall I go and run us a bath?"

"You can stand after all that? Geez, seems like I did a bad job," you joked.

Arlecchino huffed out lightly with a smile, "No, you've rendered me utterly near-useless—a feeling that I don't usually enjoy. Yet the fact that I don't seem to mind it all that much should show that you are special to me."

You feel that heat in your cheeks again at the proclamation, "Archons, and when I aim to have you all sappy like that in public you don't even dare move a muscle."

"Time and place, dear. Time and place. Now," she questions again, "shall I run us a bath? We can take care of the mess later."

You nodded, "Mm, if you don't mind then. But can we take it together?"

You see her eyes crinkle, the glow that the red crosses within them softening like a tender flame, "Of course. I shall be back in a few moments, then."

She gets up, and you pride yourself for being the reason why your lover temporarily goes off balance from a sudden tremor in her legs before collecting yourself.. and you can't help but stare at the remaining cum staining the sides of the plug and the apex of her thighs as she walks off.

She doesn't take the plug off when you go and take the bath together. Wonder why 😋

#hazy demos!#hazy explicits!#i love starting shit ☺️ sub arlecchino believers RISE UP (me and my nonexistent dick both rose up)#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #sub arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #sub genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin smut #sub genshin #genshin women x reader #genshin women imagines #genshin women smut #sub genshin women

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brooklynisher · 11 months ago

Text

Hey all, you ever hear of Jaunty?

[x]

Do you WANT to learn more about Jaunty?

Well I dug deep, and found some things I never thought I could find. I'm really excited to share what I've found with y'all. This post is sort of a little journey of how I found Jaunty.

There's a few sections to this.

Skip to But where does Jaunty come from? If you just want answers

Is Jaunty even a real character?

Jaunty, from what I originally found, is SUPPOSEDLY a Steam Powered Giraffe character. But where have we seen this character before? Was it the comic? Was it the timeline? Maybe in a song cover? Does the band ever talk about Jaunty?

And to answer all of your questions, no! At least not that I knew of. The only source of Jaunty’s existence is here.

The Steam Powered Giraffe Wiki

So that makes this whole thing pretty complicated right? The wiki has info, and it’s not too inaccurate most of the time, but some of the lesser known/more nuanced information tends to get scuffed.

It really doesn’t help knowing that David has mentioned before that the information on the wiki wasn't that accurate.

What I’m saying is, the only proof we have for the existence of this character is on what might be one of the more unreliable sources of SPG information.

But despite that, this page is special in the fact that SUPPOSEDLY it was uploaded by Steam Powered Giraffe themselves!

[x]

However, there isn’t really much of any information on this user at all. All we know is that they founded this wiki, added a few characters and a bit of information, and then became inactive. Really our biggest reasoning for believing that this was an actual SPG member is the fact that they are the founder and have been around for a very long time.

Okay, suspicions aside, let’s see what I found about this thing.

What the wiki tells us

One, this image was touched by the founder of this wiki twice, it was uploaded in 2011, and in 2014 they protected the page, which means only the administrators can edit the page.

[x]

Both are pretty major years for SPG being the year Upgrade left the band and the year Rabbit transitioned, but there’s not many connections you can make with that.

This user was first active in 2010 and last seen in 2015 [x]

Cool dates to have, but not a lot to work with. It mainly gives us a clear vision of what SPG was looking like at the time of the creation of this page. I can see this thing being used for a special, slightly themed show.

Of course, the information the wiki alone offers is very limited, but we know two things for sure. One, this character is a robot being under the category of robots, and two, these photos were taken by Cineria.

[x]

So, here's the problem, you'd think that by having the name of the photographer, we could get far with that, but unfortunately, it is such a vague name, that there is just no way we could figure out who Cineria actually is. It really doesn't help that they don't seem to be a professional photographer. The only page I could find that connects both the name Cineria and Steam Powered Giraffe is this one.

Useless information

I started searching for stuff by reverse searching it. It wasn't really successful, as I was expecting, but I did find one thing.

A different source.

This source doesn't go anywhere must you know. The ORIGINAL site, florist.buketbunga.com is still up an active serving as an Indonesian site for selling flowers, but this very specific link is broken, and the Wayback Machine doesn't know a thing about it.

The good news is, the link title alone gives us a ton of stuff to work with! Appropriately, the last part of this link translates to "Flower Bouquet Florist Shop Address Nearest 24 Hours Online", which makes sense.

What DOESN'T make sense is everything else coming before it. Specifically the Team Fortress 2 Wiki. This made me believe that someone used these sites to create a scam link, but it's weird because somehow, it's relevant?

Yandex was able to match these images of Jaunty to this site, and what's crazier, Jaunty is in the title of the link! But it's not just Jaunty, it's the Jaunty Explorer.

I did some searching, and discovered that the Jaunty Explorer originates from a TF2 livestream charity event called Tip of the Hats! Donations can earn you medals known as the Jaunty Explorer ($10 Donations), the Jaunty Ranger ($30 Donations), and the Jaunty Mountaineer ($100 Donations). They can come in many different color variations, but here are the main ones.

[x] [x] [x]

There are TWO connections between this and SPG. One, the shared name of Jaunty, and two, hats. Steam Powered Giraffe is pretty big on hats. But, bad news, these are completely unrelated. Main reasoning? The image of Jaunty was posted to the wiki back in 2011, while Tip of the Hats as an event started back in 2013. Can't even take the "SPG was inspired by TF2" route with that.

Okay, but what even IS it?

Now we get into the visual aspect of this!

I tried to see if there was at least any way to identify what this is, but that solely relies on observational skills. There are two images of this thing, but the image with the blue background is much easier to make out.

[x]

There's a lot that's going on with the design of Jaunty. Unfortunately, I'm not smart enough to identify what half of the doodads are. This machine, whether it's an actual machine or just a prop, is definitely a one of a kind as I couldn't find anything like this.

I talked with @boneinator about this, and he was able to read the text: "STAND CLEAR!" on the top of the doors of this machine which lead him to believe that it might be a time machine of sorts.

What we both managed to agree on when it came to the design of this thing however, was that it looks like a cabinet.

Now, like I said, this thing has a one of a kind design, so it's not going to look exactly like one thing or another, but it has similar features to other things such as to this cabinet

[x]

Two longer doors on the upper half, and two smaller doors/drawers on the bottom. Is that actually what it is? I didn't know, but there is a resemblance.

One thing that's REALLY interesting about this machine is the intense amount of steam it lets out.

[x]

So it's definitely a very active machine.

But where does Jaunty come from?

Something I've been wondering is how much of this is actually connected to SPG.

Is it theirs? Is this a part of a bigger thing? Is it just associated with them?

A bigger thing. There is one example of a big SPG show that comes to mind, and it was not just them.

During their 15 Year Anniversary Livestream, the band was asked about their favorite memories. Bunny mentions that one of her favorite memories was at a show called Clockwork Vaudeville. This was one of the band's first time having a massive audience. According to her, this was a time traveling show, and they performed alongside others.

I looked into it and found that the full name of this performance is called Clockwork Vaudeville Circus Cabaret. And there, I found a little advertisement for it as well!

youtube

The Kickstarter for this show started in late 2010

I did some more searching and realized there is a bunch of video from this show out there though all these clips are recorded at random intervals. Assuming that the uploader posted these clips close to the date of the actual show, we can see that this show took place in February of 2011!

About one month after this show, this page was added to the wiki.

I checked the clips, and guess what.

[x]

Right there in the corner, there was Jaunty.

But that's not all

Not only have a found a video that contained Jaunty, I found a video that contained Jaunty in action!

[x]

Unbelievably enough, it was a video of the band performing Honeybee alongside a pole dancer. And thanks to the title, we now know that this show took place February 19, 2011

Which all this confirms 100% that Jaunty IS a time machine.

Now with all things considered, Jaunty is not necessarily an "SPG character" as in they didn't create it. It's hard to say if Jaunty is even a character at all at this point! But it does exist in their world and they actively interact with it!

Who cheered? I cracked the code!

#so hyped about this you guys don't even know #steam powered giraffe #spg #my stuff #spg info #vintage!rabbit #tw michael reed #jaunty spg #big post yall

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possesseddesiress · 2 months ago

Text

The Great Shift: Streaming

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.

The Great Shift: Streaming

My name is Phil, I just got into college and I feel pretty lost about my life. I got into a career that I don't even like (but my parents said that money and opportunities matter more), I don't have many friends, much less a partner.

The few friends I have say it's weird that I'm so unsuccessful in love, I'm not bad looking, though maybe... yeah too skinny.

I don't have a hint of muscle, I'm small and scrawny. Also very shy, I do my best with regards to relating to others, but it's like I fail epically every time I try.

It was like my life was destined for unhappiness... and I was settling for that.

That afternoon was pretty quiet, I had a few chores (that I didn't understand), just me in my room at school because my roomie was out, and all my friends were busy. A pathetic afternoon, really.

I lay back on my bed, let out a sigh, pulling out my phone. Something I was quite a fan of, was video games, I liked the mechanics, the designs, and partly because I could pretend to be someone else: to know other worlds, other stories, although no doubt, it was also boring to play without other people.

So in part I also liked to watch some video game streamers. How they narrated the games, their charisma or their jokes, many times I just watched them while I was eating or doing something else.

There was one in particular, his name was Corey. Corey or better known as Noobro, was quite famous on Twitch, and had a certain charisma that I found quite attractive.

I looked up his profile, noticing that he was live.

- How are you today? - he said with a smile, he was playing something like Fornite. He said a couple of things but I didn't even pay attention thanks to a strange buzzing sound that started to play quite loudly. I couldn't quite identify the source, it almost seemed to be coming from my own brain.

I let go of the phone, clenching my head. I heard Corey moaning in the same way on the live feed, I swear even the lights flickered as if they were going to explode. And all at once, everything went black.

A second or two later, I felt some sort of tug, and I saw light again. I looked around confused, besides having a bad headache, I couldn't make out the noises very well either, they were like low murmurs of what seemed to be... music?

I wasn't listening to music before this, what the heck? I opened my eyes without being able to focus at all. Until I ended up glimpsing a computer in front of me.

A computer?

I blinked several times thinking that maybe it was a hallucination, but the computer with a loading screen was still in front of me every time I closed and opened my eyes. It seemed to be from a... game.

I noticed that he was also wearing headphones. I moved my face closer to the screen to notice that there was a camera above, and on the screen. A series of messages, and a thumbnail of someone's camera, seemed strange to me until I saw that it responded to my movements.

Wait... that wasn't someone's camera. That was my camera. But... Where am I?

I looked down at my hands, noticing thick fingers where small ones used to be, followed by a huge hand. I swallowed nervously, but mostly confused. I looked around, it was then that I noticed that the room looked strangely familiar.

I refocused my gaze on the screen, reading the comments, my heart pounding as I read some of them:

《 Hey, noob 》《 What will you play today, noob? 》

I picked up a phone that was on the table, opened the camera and almost fainted at the sight of my reflection.

The man I watched almost day and night for his videos and live feeds was now in front of me... copying every move I made.

For a moment surprise was the only thing inside me, until I smelled his scent.

I noticed my new stench... strong, masculine, quite stinky, I almost let out a gasp. I wanted more, that was for sure, I tried to pull down a little more the sleeve of the t-shirt that was a little tight to expose my hairy armpits, but because of my new strength, I ended up tearing it.

Out of concern, I ended up cracking a smile, raised my arm and placed it behind the backrest, flexing it and enjoying the sensation; as my bicep swelled up and showed off my new huge muscles.

I almost didn't remember that Corey was originally on a live feed, until I heard the messages start coming out one after another.

Some confused, talking about how they woke up in other bodies and didn't know who they were now, but others were more... interesting.

《You're not him, are you? 》《 I was watching this video in my previous body, I ended up in someone else's who was also watching it, Noob, is it still you? 》

My shyness was about to cut off the transmission, but I felt a strange tingling, I had never felt it before, it was... courage?

- Nah, I'm not him - I said with unfamiliar confidence. It was strange for me to act like this but at the same time it felt so right, like something was finally finding its place in me.

《 And who are you? 》《 How does it feel to be inside him? 》

- Well, I won't say who I was before. That's not important - I smiled, flexing my arms - It feels amazing, I look good, don't I?

I flexed my arms more and more towards the camera again, I also grabbed my pecs to start massaging them.

《 Let us see more then 》

- You sure are dirty, aren't you? - I teased, although I wasn't at all uncomfortable with what they were asking - I guess they're my fans now, so I must please you.

I spread my legs, feeling his thick build, wide and fat... I moved a little closer to the screen, starting to make slight provocative gestures: sticking out my tongue, biting my lip.

I looked like a fool at first though.... I felt good, and watching the messages explode with excitement did nothing but cheer me up more.

I continued to smell my new stinky, hairy armpits.

- You guys would love to be smelling this, seriously - I pressed my nose against my skin, ecstatic. Continuing that exploration for what seemed like hours, several of them even sent me some pretty juicy tips for getting.... more creative.

That day was somewhat chaotic in the streets, there was panic and no one knew what to do. It took the world at least a week to get used to the “Big Shift”, or at least that's what the scientists called it.

They explained that 80% of the world's population changed bodies without any control or pattern. Some changed between families, others with people from other countries, between genders... it was definitely chaos. Although it is quite lucky if we are honest, the exploration in private was undoubtedly... wonderful.

However, I did have a hard time adjusting to my new body, specifically because of the... work part.

Apparently, Corey's job wasn't just being a streamer, he was also an accountant. The career that I was about to study and that I didn't understand at all. So clearly, I ended up losing the job in a few weeks.

They gave me compensation for the whole body swap thing and at least to keep me afloat for about two months. I felt like it was all coming down but then I thought of something. Corey was famous on Twitch and other social media because he was charismatic, right?

Plus... He had a really good body.

Why wasn't I capitalizing on that?

The first bold move I took on his body was to wax my entire chest, I liked how he looked with hair, I must admit. Although seeing him hairless made it more... eye-catching. Two fat bulges that would catch anyone's attention.

I started uploading more racy stuff, pictures working out, in the gym, sweaty, with clothes that barely covered.

It was a risky move, but it sure paid off, in no time, I also opened a slightly more... explicit account, and suddenly I didn't have to worry about money anymore. I could have this glorious body in all its glory, play video games most of the day, make enough money to support myself and even have more for my personal tastes. I even bought a new car!

My life as Corey was going great, I finally had confidence with other guys (and none of them would miss the opportunity to get all body worshipping), I had money, I was doing what I loved. I finally had a purpose in life.

I'm sure you wonder what happened to the original Corey, don't you? Well, he ended up in my body.

Some people suffered a "direct" exchange, which was that two consciousnesses moved between their bodies, closing only between them.

I talked to him for a while, I thought he would be upset or going crazy, but no, he was actually happy to relive his youth again, study again the career he liked (and take advantage of his knowledge), even try to do streaming again. I think he's doing well even though he's more successful as an influencer or something.

I just know that I improve my appearance quite a bit.

And I know he also watches a lot of my new content (I checked the subscriber list so I know he's definitely there), I guess he likes to see his body still. Maybe he even fondles himself watching my videos.

Anyway, I feel pretty good about being Corey now, the big "Noobro", and not just "big" in video games, if you know what I'm talking about.

- Hey guys, welcome to a new video. I just got back from the gym all sweaty - I smiled before dipping my nose into my armpit, leaving it on display for the camera's delight - How about we play something new today?

----

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.

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?

---

#body swap #malebodyswap #body switch #bodyswapping #mental change #nerd to hunk #the great shift

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