The last thing Alex Thorne remembered was the screech of tires on wet asphalt, the blinding flash of headlights too close, and then—nothing. A clean, merciful blackout. No heroic last words, no tearful goodbyes. Just the pathetic realization that he was about to die alone in a rented studio apartment that still smelled like yesterday's instant ramen and unwashed gym socks.
He'd been twenty-eight going on forty, five-foot-nine on a good day (mostly bad), with the kind of face that made people politely look past him in crowds. Acne scars that never quite faded, a patchy beard he grew to hide the weak chin, greasy black hair he never bothered styling because who the fuck was looking? Glasses thick enough to double as safety goggles. Body soft around the middle from too many midnight DoorDash runs and zero motivation to fix it. The mirror had been his enemy for years; he avoided full-length ones like they were cursed.
Popularity with girls? Zero. Zilch. Negative charisma. In high school they called him "Creepy Alex" behind his back because he once stared too long at a cheerleader's legs during gym class—pure accident, he swore, but the rumor stuck like cum on a bedsheet. College was worse. He'd tried Tinder exactly twice. First match ghosted after he sent "hey :)". Second one unmatched when he asked if she liked anime (she did not). After that he gave up and just jerked it to hentai folders labeled with increasingly desperate timestamps: "2AM Relief 47", "Thursday Despair Special", "Weekend Marathon – No Shame Edition".
His days blurred into one long, sad wank-fest. Work (data entry drone), home (crappy one-room), porn (endless tabs), sleep (fitful), repeat. Friends? A couple Discord buddies who also never showed their faces. Family? Distant parents who'd stopped asking why he wasn't married yet. Sex? The closest he'd come was fingering his own asshole once while drunk and immediately regretting every life choice that led to that moment.
So yeah. When the truck finally pancaked him outside the convenience store (he'd been buying more lube and energy drinks—priorities), part of him thought: *At least I died doing what I loved. Being a useless sack of shit.*
Until it wasn't over.
A soft, warm light pressed against his eyelids like morning sun filtered through silk panties. His body felt… wrong. Lighter. Stronger. No more lower-back ache from hunching over spreadsheets. No more beer gut pressing against his belt. Instead, corded muscle under smooth skin, broad shoulders, long steady fingers that actually looked capable of gripping something other than his own dick.
He opened his eyes.
Stone ceiling. Mossy cracks. Single ray of sunlight slicing through a narrow arrow-slit window. Straw pallet. Smell of earth, woodsmoke, wildflowers—and underneath it all, the faint, musky promise of pussy that made his new cock twitch like it had been rewired for sin.
A voice purred straight into his brain, feminine, dripping honey and sin.
"Welcome back, my pathetic little gooner. Did you miss me while you were balls-deep in 2D waifus?"
Alex's new, unfairly handsome jaw dropped.
"Who the actual fuck—"
Laughter rolled through his skull like warm whiskey poured over bare skin.
"I am Lirael, goddess of fertility, desire, and apparently fixing chronic virgins. You, Alexander 'Creepy Alex' Thorne, are mine now. Reincarnated. Buffed. Hung. All for one glorious, cum-soaked purpose."
A glowing blue panel flickered into existence like cheat codes in real life.
[Fertility Aura System – Activated]
Host: Alex Thorne (Former Loser / Current Chosen Breeder)
Divine Mandate: Reproduce. Flood Eldoria with your superior seed. Fix this barren shithole.
Current Level: 1
Abilities Unlocked:
- Passive Allure (Rank F): Bitches get wet just standing near you. Resistance melts faster than your old self-respect.
- Vitality Surge: Fuck for hours without going soft. Stamina cheat code engaged.
- Seed of Life: 95%+ conception chance. Your cum is basically holy water now.
Alex stared, mouth hanging open. "You've gotta be shitting me."
"Nope. And trust me, darling, I've seen your browser history. I know exactly how much you love being shat on in fantasy. But this time? You're the one doing the conquering."* Her voice dropped lower, filthy. *"Feel that? That thick, heavy cock between your legs? That's not the sad five-incher you used to cry into your pillow about. That's premium goddess-grade meat. Go ahead. Give it a squeeze. I dare you."
He didn't. But he could feel it—fat, veiny, already half-hard just from her voice. The kind of dick that pornstars would pay to film. Traitorous bastard.
"This world's dying," she continued, all business now laced with mockery. *"Infertility curse. Barren fields. Empty cradles. Nobles jerking off to portraits because their wives can't conceive. Only your freakishly fertile spunk can break it. In return? Pleasure. Power. A harem of dripping, desperate cunts begging for your load. Sound familiar? Except this time they'll actually want you."*
He rubbed his temples—stronger temples, no more tension headaches from blue-balling himself for six hours straight.
"I was a fucking loser," he muttered aloud. "Ugly. Lonely. Jerked it so much I had calluses on my right hand. Why me?"
"Exactly why, dipshit. No ego to bruise. No delusions of being 'alpha'. Just a man who knows what it's like to be invisible. Now you'll never be invisible again. Every woman who looks at you will feel that same aching, dripping need you used to feel staring at a screen. Poetic, isn't it?"
The wooden door creaked open.
Alex whipped around.
A girl—maybe twenty—stood there with a tray. Chestnut hair in loose waves, freckles across a cute button nose, green eyes wide with shock. Simple dress hugging soft curves, bodice laced just tight enough to push her tits up like an offering. Mira, she'd said her name was in the fever-dream fragments the goddess had planted.
"M-m'lord?" Her voice quivered, sweet and shaky. "Ye… ye woke up. The healer swore ye'd be dead by dawn after the bandits…"
The second she stepped fully inside, her breath caught. Cheeks flushed crimson. Pupils blew wide. She bit her plump lower lip hard enough to leave a mark. Thighs squeezed together—subtle, but Alex's new senses caught the tiny wet sound of slick skin sliding.
The aura. Already working overtime.
She set the tray down with trembling hands. Leaned forward to adjust his blanket. Bodice dipped. Creamy cleavage spilled into view, nipples stiff and poking through thin linen like they were begging to be sucked. Her scent hit him—lavender, warm girl-sweat, and the unmistakable sweet-tang of sudden arousal.
A soft whimper slipped from her throat.
"F-forgive me, m'lord… I feel… so hot all of a sudden…"
Alex's new cock surged to full, obscene hardness, tenting the blanket like a fucking flagpole. He could smell her getting wetter by the second.
Lirael's voice purred, delighted. *"Look at her squirm. One look and she's already creaming her smallclothes. Remember how you used to beg pixels for attention? Now they're real. And they're dripping for you, gooner."*
Mira's gaze dropped to the bulge. Her lips parted on a needy little gasp. One hand drifted unconsciously to cup her own breast, thumb brushing the hard peak before she jerked it away, horrified and horny in equal measure.
"I… I should fetch water," she whispered, voice thick.
She didn't move.
Alex forced his eyes to the wall. "I'm good. Thanks, Mira."
She fled a second later, door slamming, leaving behind the faint scent of her slick and the echo of her tiny, frustrated whimper.
Silence.
Alex exhaled hard, cock throbbing angrily against his thigh.
Lirael laughed low and dirty. *"Run all you want, former king of the one-handed shuffle. The hunger's only starting. And so are they—every lonely, aching cunt in this kingdom is about to learn what it feels like to want what you never had the balls to take. Welcome to your redemption arc, bitch. Now go breed something."*
He stared at the ceiling, new body humming with power he never deserved.
Reincarnated to reproduce.
And for the first time in his miserable fucking life… he actually believed he might get laid.