The last thing Marcus wanted was to be bothered by anybody. He had what was probably the worst day in his short college career since he came onto this campus. It went beyond the annoyances of the morning, unable to sleep until 3AM, waking up late for class, rushing out and forgetting his laptop and so on. It seemed that whatever malaise of bad luck that infected his first hour of the day went on to ruin the rest of his day.
When he went to check his phone camera, trying to comb out his hair, he got a couple of weird looks, some judgemental, others like some were almost amused by him. That was when he finally panned the camera down to actually look closer at himself and he looked just as terrible as he felt.
Eyebags scarred his skin, his lips were chapped and dry, skin breaking out and his hair was still unkempt, some curls tighter than others and obviously not as combed out as the rest. He must have forgot any chapstick and barely put on enough moisturiser to help his drying skin in the early afternoon sun of high noon. He kept his head down, quickly just trying to get to class which didnât go much better. From tripping in front of a lecture hall to flunking another paper, it was safe to say that things werenât going his way.
âFucking hell this day is gonna kill me,â he remembered muttering to a friend who asked what was wrong. As if on cue, thunder clapped from the unnoticed greying skies from outside and Marucs knew that he was going to have to walk through the heavy rain on the long walk back to his student dorm that was for some reason so far from campus.
His walk home was bittersweet, glad to be done with his classes for the day but hating to have to walk through the cold and wild rain of the windy day, practically dripping and sniffling as he managed to get back inside the âhomeâ that was his student dorm. At the very least he had the privilege of not having a roommate which was better than nothing.Â
He had a choice now, unbeknownst to him, it was a choice that would change everything. Would he actually study and try to finish a paper that was due or go ahead and give into the urge to just play some video games? After the day he had, there was no way he wouldnât be too tempted by the latter. But the lack of luck seemed to still seep in even at home because the moment he turned his computer on and let all his stuff load up, he barely saw anyone online on his Friends list.Â
âGuess some Overwatch,â he muttered to himself as he lazily double clicked on the icon and let the game load. The game wasnât exactly his favourite or even all that enjoyable, but it was a fun time waster especially when his friends werenât around since not a lot of them liked it. He watched the usual loading screen, pressed escape to skip the new season cinematic and just loaded straight into a game. Perhaps it was the tiredness of the day, the fatigue that had set in or maybe his mind wandering about when heâd finish paper but he was surprised at not only how quickly he found a game but how quickly he loaded in. He must have joined one that was about to start or something and he barely looked at the screen before he heard a familiar soundâŠ
That wasnât the voice his character should have had when he loaded in. He usually played Lucio. In fact he should have been playing support so the only way he could hear the deep drawl of Matthew Mercer is if he wasâŠ
âCassidy? I didnât pick Cassidy?â Marcus muttered as he looked at the character. Perhaps if he had been paying more attention, he would have noticed something else too. He had played so much of the game that knowing what boxes to click for the role he wanted and the character just came by automatic. But that would beâŠif he still had his hands.Â
âNo partner, but I picked youâŠâ The voice seemed to respond back. Marcus blinked. Was his mic on and someone on his team replying with a good impression or something? But thatâs when his hands twitched and Marcus looked down to see his tawny skin deepen slightly with more of a tan like he had been out in the sun forâŠpractically his entire life. His fingers continued to twitch like there was a trigger to pull, wriggling like they would in a cowboy duel. Wait why was he thinking of that? âCus Iâm making ya.â
The voice spoke again and this time it soundedâŠmore authentic, deeper, closer and almost made Marcus want to look over his shoulder before he realisedâŠhis lips were moving, his inflating lips that were growing wider and forcing himself to smirk even as his eyes widened in shock and distress. He was the one speaking, talking to himself and he was already moving in the game.Â
Marcusâs hands trembled as he looked down, the tan on his skin growing deeper with each passing second. He flexed his fingers, watching in stunned silence as they began to lengthen, each knuckle broadening, joints cracking softly as if heâd been gripping the handles of heavy pistols for years. The skin toughened, growing rough and calloused, his fingertips feeling coarse, almost as if theyâd rubbed against countless rough surfaces and held leather reins through countless long rides under a blazing sun.
It felt surreal, yet the sensation was inescapable. He wanted to pull his hands back from the keyboard, but his fingers wouldn't release their grip. They moved with a mind of their own, tapping keys as though they'd done this a hundred times. A pulse of warmth spread through his palms, and Marcus could feel his hands continuing to change, his palms growing broader, stronger, as though each digit were filled with a strength foreign to him but strangely familiar all the same.
As he watched, his fingers took on a powerful thickness, the kind that seemed better suited for wielding something heavy like a revolver. He glanced down, feeling the strange urge to âdraw,â his fingers curling and uncurling instinctively, responding to some unseen threat in the room. His thumb brushed against his forefinger, and the skin there felt even more weathered, like it had fired countless rounds from a gun.
âW-What the hell?â he muttered, his own voice now sounding less and less like its natural New England accent and now starting to sound deeper, like a poor imitation of Cole Cassidyâs voice. Fuck, were their voices merging?
âDamn right they are merginâ, youâre gonna be me and oh look ya gameâs startinâ,â Cassidy teased as Marcus watched on in horror as his own body was seized from his control. He started playing the game and suddenly playing well, for every shot that hit, every grenade he stuck on the enemy, every kill he got, he felt a twinge of pleasure as his cock throbbed. It may had been so hard only a couple minutes into the match that he couldnât tell if he was just rock hard or his own cock was growing more tanned in his underwear. As his character in the game, Cassidy, dashed across the map, rolling and shooting with effortless precision, Marcus couldnât help but feel himself changing with him, like his body was syncing with the character on the screen. Every movement Cassidy made, every cocky quip that echoed through his headphones, resonated deep within Marcus. He felt his own voice, low and rough, beginning to echo the same words, and not by choice.
âLetâs get a move on,â he muttered, barely recognizing his voice as the twang deepened, more gravelly, a husky drawl slipping through his lips. âF-Fuck fuck fuck this ainât right, is that what you were about to say? Come on Marcus live a little.â
Another kill down and his feet suddenly began to feel strange.
âN-No Iâll fuck up the game Iâll-â But then he got the ult and suddenly mirrored the wordsâŠâItâsâŠItâsâŠhigh noon.â The moment he shot from his advantageous position knocking three of the enemies down the fabric of his socks felt tighter, squeezing around his toes, which started to feel cramped and uncomfortable. With each kill, his toes stretched, pressing harder against the fabric until he could feel the seams starting to strain.
The pressure intensified, spreading from his toes up through the arches of his feet, each pulse making him moan and writhe in his seat in a heated pleasure. He could feel his feet pushing outwards, stretching the fabric until his socks were barely holding together. The sensation was bizarre but strangely satisfying, like a deep ache was finally being released with each inch of sudden growth.
As another enemy fell, his feet surged again, toes expanding and pressing against the tips of his shoes with undeniable force. His socks were tight, unbearably so, the fabric digging into the tops of his feet. It felt like every kill was forcing his feet into the boots Cassidy wore, stretching, thickening, each toe broadening to fit an imaginary pair of weathered leather cowboy boots.
âOh god oh fuck I-â Then he finally managed to kill its tank.Â
TEAM KILL, the game announced and with that, he felt it, the threads of his socks snapping, one by one, so suddenly that they may as well had all burst at once as his feet broke free, each toe flexing as they shot out. He could feel his soles hardening, skin toughening, thickening like they had walked through rugged terrain and scorching heat.
Thankfully a Widow managed to shoot his character as he was too distracted moaning and hearing Cassidy moan with him that he let his guard down. He was gonna respawn, he needed time to think but he didnât know what he could do.
âU-Uh hey siri!â Marcus called out, thankful that even with his poor imitation of a southern accent the phone could still recognise him. âC-Call- MMMMFF!â Marcus felt a hand go over his mouth, a cold metallic hand that looked like the one his new hand but now stripped of skin and left as bare metal.
Fuck when did that� But it was strong enough to grip his mouth and make him stop calling.
âIâm sorry I didnât quite hear that-â Marcusâ other arm went to throw the phone across the room.Â
âYa wonât be needing all that partner,â Cassidy chuckled, Marcusâ lips still moving of their own accord, he swear that he could even see a glimpse of Cassidy in the reflection of his monitor at times. âP-Please,â Marcus begged before his hands went back to the keyboard.Â
As he racked up more kills, Marcus felt the tan on his hands creeping up one of his wrists, inching higher as though he were being touched by invisible rays of desert sun. His still-human forearm bulged, muscles defined, thickening with each round fired. He could feel the change, as his bicep grew larger, pressing against his shirt sleeves, the fabric stretching uncomfortably as though Cassidy himself was reshaping him from the inside out.
With it, he could feel more memories starting to come in, memories of being with the Deadlock Gang, dealing with Omnics, of Overwatch not as a game but a real team. All the while, his shoulders still cracked as they broadened, and the more he played, the more Cassidy teased him, and the changes continued, and his cock throbbed in pleasure. Marcusâs breaths grew ragged as the changes consumed him as Cassidyâs presence deepened its hold.
Faint images flickered now with more memories not his own: the dusty backroads, the smell of old leather, the thrill of an outlawâs life. He could feel Cassidyâs experiences blending with his own, and for a terrifying second, he couldn't tell where his thoughts ended and Cassidyâs began.
With a kill streak under his belt, Marcus felt the gameâs tension morphing into something raw and electric, Cassidyâs teasing laughter echoing inside him, both alluring and mocking.
âThatâs it, partner,â Cassidyâs voice drawled through him, the deep tone almost hypnotic. âAin't it good to be in control?â
Marcus could only writhe in his chair in the ecstasy of pleasure and moan, biting his lip in response. He managed to just barely clench his jaw, trying to summon the last dregs of resistance, but the thrill coursing through him was too intoxicating. His voice trembled, now a low rasp with a southern twang.Â
âS-Stop,â he begged, though his tone betrayed a reluctant satisfaction.
"Ya got no say here," Cassidy laughed, his presence in Marcusâs mind growing stronger with each passing moment. As if right on cue to âpunishâ Marcus, a sudden hot wave of sensation rushed down his legs, surging through his thighs and calves. He shifted in his chair, antsy from the growing tension, feeling his legs start to press uncomfortably against the fabric of his jeans. Muscles that had never been there before were taking shape beneath his skin, thickening and hardening with a strength that felt wholly foreign. His thighs filled out, powerful and firm, pressing outward as the seams of his jeans began to strain, creaking under the pressure of his rapidly changing form.
He could feel his legs lengthening, the bones stretching and widening in strange increments, bringing with them a raw, primal ache that only intensified the strange pleasure flooding his senses. Cassidy/Marcusâ cock was practically begging for attention and Marcus was torn between wanting to touch himself but not letting Cassidy get the pleasure. His calves became strong, defined, each sinew and muscle carving out as if theyâd spent years walking on rugged terrain and pushing through dust and grit.
Marcus glanced down in growing horror and fascination as his jeans began to darken in patches, the denim gradually taking on a faded, worn look. Before his eyes, patches on his jeans subtly changed, shaping into the reinforced leather panels Cassidy wore, wrapping his thighs and knees like armour.Â
âOh no... no, noâŠâ he muttered, but his voice came out in Cassidy's deep, steady drawl, laced with an undeniable note of satisfaction. âOh- fuck yea-â The transformation continued, and his belt shifted beneath him, thickening, the leather darkening to a rugged, well-worn brown with a weighty silver buckle stamped with an old insignia heâd never seen before but felt inexplicably familiar. His shirt began to stretch too, fabric slowly shifting in colour and texture, taking on the faded red and brown hues of Cassidyâs signature attire. Even the skin in the game, once some different skin from some event or another he must have won it in and changed Cassidyâs too was now the default Cassidy look, matching what he was gonna turn into.
âWeâre looking good ainât we?â Cassidy made Marcus smirk, still speaking out of his mouth as the faint smell of leather, gunpowder, and sun-baked earth filled his senses, grounding him in a reality that felt like Cassidyâs but was somehow now his as well or perhaps just both of theirs together. The warm pleasurable surge began in his body too, chest barreling and abs forming, tightening as the ten pounds he had gained since he moved to college and relied on ready made noodles and takeout were beginning to recede. Instead scars adorned his new tanned and weathered skin, each one that formed was another memory that was pushing Marcus out as the game was nearly going to be over, the objective complete. âThatâs itâŠThatâs itâŠâÂ
âOh god no please-â Marcus moaned as he could see his ultimate ready and he was about to get in the perfect position, flanking the enemy who were already low on health and dealing with the rest of his team. âItâsâŠnot too lateâŠitâsâŠitâsâŠhigh noonâŠâ Time seemed to slow down much like Cassidy did as Marcus could feel the changes drawn out in a pleasurably torturous tempo. His jaw started to broaden, becoming more angular, more rugged, as if it had been sculpted by years in a harsh landscape.
Marcus felt a shadow of dark facial hair dusting over his cheeks, thicker and rougher than he was used to, quickly shaping into a scruffy beard that added an unmistakable edge to his face. He could feel his dark curly hair beginning to loosen, turning straighter and lighter into a deep brown, threatening to almost cover his eyes it lengthened.
He could feel Cassidyâs smirk taking over his lips, now fuller and shadowed by a short, well-worn moustache that connected with the rest of his facial hair along his sharper jawline. His lips curved with a self-assured confidence, a cocky edge that Cassidy wore effortlessly and now, so did he.
But the heat didnât stop there. It settled low in his belly, spreading in warm, pulsing waves that brought a new kind of tension. His cock, already hard from the changes cascading through his body, throbbed even more intensely, straining against the fabric of his jeans.
The pleasure building up from it was overwhelming, almost too much to bear, as he felt himself thickening and lengthening with every breath he took.
He bit down on his lip, feeling Cassidyâs rugged smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as if revelling in the newfound strength and presence radiating from his body. Each pulsing change in his cock was mirrored by the masculinity surging through his form, his old self fading as thenâŠas thenâŠ
Cassidy clicked and shot and one by one the whole team went down in quick succession, right as the team pushed the objective.Â
âOh fuck Iâm gonna-â
And Marcusâ resistance was no more as like the team it was downed by Cassidy as he felt himself cum. The climax was godly, going as long as the game took to show his entire play of the game as he throbbed and came over and over again, pure unadulterated pleasure ricocheting through his entire system as he stained the insides of his new jeans, moaning as he almost fell out of his chair with how far back he stretched and leaned.Â
When he came back to, Cassidy blinked like he was waking up. There was no computer in front of him, no game of his life, just him in a sleazy saloon for another town in the middle of nowhere. Back in the great west as he finished his drink and tipped the hat that had suddenly appeared on his head. He must have somehow fallen asleep, dreaming of being some college kid and all. But for now, he knew he had plenty of stuff to get busy with as he sauntered out, lighting a cigar with his metal hand before he took a deep drag, ready for whatever the day brings.
Thanks for reading! You can check out more stories like this on my Patreon!
titsay
discoholicmusic
germansingergirl
stormborns
2087
gracieabrams
snowghoul
