Name: Jesse [Rafa(el), and Ronny - I answer to all three] - Age: 25 - Pronouns: he/they
I'm a queer and disabled hobby writer and mostly write (x Reader) FanFictions and Headcanons. But I am also working on my original story whenever I can, so that I’ll hopefully publish it as an actual book someday. My Ao3.
Sometimes, I also make art and post it here and on Instagram.
This is my main blog, where I post all my writing and most of my art. I also use this blog as a journal at times for important life stuff that I feel like sharing and remembering. But I also reblog anything I want on here (fandom-related things, current events, tips and tricks, etc.)
Also, here are my sideblogs if you’re interested:
Cats Musical [@it-was-mungojerrie]
Dead Poets Society [@toddandersonirl]
Horror Media [@addicted-to-the-knife]
Raúl Esparza [@bidesparza]
The Simpsons [@worst-thesimpsons-blog-ever]
I try to tag specifics as much as I can; but if there are things you'd need to blacklist and I haven't tagged, just let me know, and I'll do it, no harm done. All I ask is that you're respectful and kind, please.
As you'll see in my masterlists, I used to take writing requests. Now, those are closed indefinitely, though. Please do not send me any requests.
My asks/inbox is open for anyone at any time for simple conversations, discussing characters, media, headcanons, writing, ideas, etc. but no requests!
Masterlists are linked with fandoms/actors/characters below.
Cooper Abbott (Trap, 2024)
Doctor Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus (Spider-Man 2, 2004)
DAVID DASTMALCHIAN characters
EWAN MCGREGOR characters
Roman Sionis/Black Mask (mostly the 2020 Birds of Prey version; but also the Red Hood and the Outlaws comic version; and the Batwoman season 2 version)
Wishing You Were Mine (Part 2) | Michael Afton x GenderNeutral!Reader | Mild Smut
not the story I expected to write, let alone finish, this weekend, but I'm happy I finally got one done, yay! even better when I realised that I didn't actually have to write an explicit smut scene if I didn't feel like it, so, yeah!
enjoy! and take care! <3
summary; You and Michael are about to have your first-time together when you find the photos he's taken of you.
contents: GenderNeutral!Reader; Morally Grey/Dark!Reader; Bottom!Reader; Virgin!Michael Afton; Obsession; (Past-) Stalking; Non-Consensual Photographs; Cum-Marking; Masturbation; Mentioned/Implied Fantasies of Non-Con (one small paragraph where Michael thinks about "taking you by force"); Implied/Referenced Sex; Missionary Position; Mild Smut; Non-Explicit Sex Scene; Dark Fic. (Please let me know if I should add anything else here!)
Part 1.
For months, Michael has been secretly taking photos of you. After developing them, he always picked out a favourite that he would add to his steadily growing collection of masturbation-material. He regularly jerked off to those photographs of you, imagining that it was you touching him, getting him off, and then he would come all over those pictures, claiming you as his. He hid those photos in his bedside drawer.
Masturbating to photographs and his imagination of you was enough to release tension and deal with the urges he had toward you, at first. Until, at some point, it wasn't enough anymore.
It started slow. His need to get himself off like this became an ever-present thing. In the beginning, he would do it a few times a week. Then, every other day. Then, every day. Then, twice a day. And then, multiple times a day.
It became too much to bear. He wanted you so badly. He needed you more than anything.
You took his breath away when you were nearby. He got so excited that his hands would tremble, causing some photographs to come out blurred. He couldn't think in your presence, only feel. Everything inside of him needed to be near you, to feel you, to have you, to make you his.
Michael spent many nights lying awake, thinking about every possible way to get you into his bed, to feel your skin against his, to— Just the thought of having you aroused him to the point of needing to masturbate. It was slowly, but surely, driving him crazy. He had to do something about that.
Sometimes, he even considered hiring a sex worker that resembled you a little—if he could find one like that. To him, you were so utterly unique there was no way he could find somebody who was even remotely similar to you. Regardless, he was far too nervous to actually hire someone. Otherwise, he'd have already done that a long time ago, in order to lose his virginity. He had yet to reach that point. The thought that it could be with you, though, filled him with excitement. His desire for you only grew exponentially.
In his most desperate moments, usually when he was close to orgasming, he also thought about taking you by force. Every time that thought crossed his mind, though, he dismissed it soon after. He wanted you to enjoy yourself with him. Forcing you only guaranteed trouble and, worst of all, never having a chance with you again. But realistically, he knew he didn't have a chance with you to begin with.
Or, at least, Michael was convinced that he would never even experience what it was like to hear you say his name, or actually direct any of your warmth toward him.
Yet there you were, smiling at him, and agreeing to go on a date with him!
He didn't remember how that happened. He knew that his need for you has become such an overbearing presence that he seemed to lose control over himself completely, until he apparently found the words and courage to actually ask you out, instead of simply staying in the shadows to take photos of you to jerk off to and imagine a life with you later. It felt like one of his dreams, when he wasn't plagued by nightmares, where he dared to speak to you and you reciprocated. But that had always been it. Just a dream, never to be a reality.
The dinner date had gone well, too. Michael had tried his hardest to appear as normal as possible, to not freak you out and scare you away, and you seemed to relax around him, even enjoying yourself. And one date turned into several, until you were standing in his bedroom with him, ready to take the next step.
It would be the biggest lie he ever told if Michael so much as suggested that he wasn't terrified of having sex with you. Fantasising about it was one thing; but actually going through with it, when he's never had any sexual encounters before, was a whole other thing.
Breaths coming out in quick puffs, his chest felt as tight as his pants did. "I, uh, I need a minute," Michael mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up with the pit of shame that dared to swallow him whole, "I'll be right back."
He didn't even wait for an answer from you before he fled into his adjacent bathroom.
"It's okay, take your time!" Michael heard you call after him. He could feel that you meant it, too.
Looking at himself through the mirror, Michael examined his face; those red, slightly swollen, spit-slick lips from the heated kisses he shared with you until just a moment ago. He couldn't focus on much else. His vision was shaky. He barely registered his once neatly-combed hair loosely hanging over his sweaty forehead, some strands sticking to it, while the sides and back stuck up in all directions—the evidence of your roaming hands, which scratched and massaged his scalp, and tugged on his hair.
After taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves a little, Michael went back into the bedroom. He would have to push through his fear. He might never get this chance again, after all.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Michael cleared his throat, "I'm good to… go…" he trailed off once he looked at you, seeing those photographs he kept in his bedside drawer in your hands.
With an unreadable expression, you held the cum-stained photos of yourself up to him, "I was looking for lube and condoms. Figured you'd keep them in a drawer of your bedside table like everyone else and, I mean, you did. But… I also found these."
Michael's entire body started trembling, feeling entirely too hot and tight. The skin on the back of his neck pricked, his cheeks heated up, his stomach turned. He didn't know how he could possibly explain this in a way that wouldn't end up with you running out of his apartment and possibly reporting him to the police.
"You know, it's kinda funny," you continued after a few long beats of uncomfortable silence, "for months, I felt like I was being watched, but my friends told me that I was just imagining it. But when I started dating you, they also told me that something was off about you and that I shouldn't go out with you. Funny, right?"
"I would never hurt you," Michael choked out, then. It was all he could really say.
Humming softly in thought, you put the photos on the bedside table behind you before walking over to Michael. He stopped breathing, anticipating a slap to the face, to be screamed at, something, anything. Instead, you smiled at him. It had a self-deprecating edge to it, he noted.
"I'm not sure I should believe you when you say that you'd never hurt me. But, unfortunately for myself, I like you." Michael raised his eyebrows at your words, feeling his heart skip a beat. "And even worse, it turned me on when I found those photos. It scared me, too. A part of me still wants to run and call the cops on you, but a much louder part of me finds it kind of charming and really hot."
Michael blinked slowly. None of that made any sense, did it? You should run. You should call the police. You should hate him. You should be disgusted. But you were still here, telling him what he never thought you would. Was he actually dreaming? Were all of your dates and this whole evening nothing but a dream he would soon wake up from?
"I don't really understand it either, so maybe don't try to wrap your own pretty head around it," you continued after he, once again, didn't respond verbally, "but instead of just standing there and staring at each other, we could finally have sex as intended."
That finally snapped him out of it.
Michael gawked at you, "Seriously? You still want to have sex with me?" He had yet to get used to your forwardness, which has consistently been surprising him since your first date.
With a soft, dry chuckle, you hooked your fingers into Michael's belt loops and pulled him closer, making him stumble forward a little. Then, you leaned in to resume kissing him like before, heated and filled with desire. His heart skipped several beats, his breath hitched, and he felt hot all over. This was real. It had to be.
As though that realisation flipped a switch inside of him, Michael wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you even closer against him, kissing you back, pushing his tongue into your mouth and moaning into it.
He bundled his strength and pushed you into the direction of his bed. You stumbled backwards and he followed right after, until the back of your knees hit the edge of his mattress. You lay down on it, pulling him to lie on top of you.
For a moment, you both let go of each other to get properly situated on his bed with you lying on your back in the middle, head on his pillow, and Michael towering over you, knees bent, your legs spread, hanging over his thighs, your pelvises pushing against each other, and your upper bodies aligned. You smiled up at him. It was the most breath-taking sight to him. None of his imaginations, not even any of the photos he has taken of you, did it justice.
Michael's head was spinning. He was completely overwhelmed by seeing you like this underneath him, and the overall situation. He squeezed his eyes shut. His breaths came out heavy and strained. He was painfully hard. His erection kept twitching and straining against the tight confines of his jeans. He wasn't going to last, he knew. It was possible he would come before it even really started.
"We've got time," you told him quietly, gently.
Oh, how he loved you. You were everything he's always longed for and more. He didn't deserve you. But then again, you chose to stay; even after finding out that he's been watching you and taking photos of you for months, that he could be dangerous to you, that your friends were right about him. Maybe you deserved each other, then. Maybe you weren't actually any better than Michael.
Listening to what you said, Michael took his time with you. He undressed you slowly, alternating between you and him, until you were both naked. Every now and again, he had to stop for a moment to calm down so he wouldn't come before the real fun began. And when he was finally ready to enter you, he did it slowly, letting you both get used to the sensation. His orgasm overcame him quickly, as expected, but so did yours. You almost came in tandem, and Michael couldn't have imagined a better first-time.
"Next time," you nearly gasped, still catching your breath, "I want you to come all over me and actually claim me as yours, like you did with those photos of me."
Letting out a short, surprised laugh, Michael gave you a huge, toothy grin, "With pleasure!"
While you both continued to bask in the after-glow, Michael smiled to himself. That sealed it for him. You weren't any better than him. You deserved each other. You were meant to be together.
Special shoutout to all the queer, intersex, and trans het folks. Sorry for all the “it’s illegal to be straight this month” jokes you’ll have to endure. Y’all are still very much part of the community.
