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oracle-of-dream · 2 days ago

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Just Listen

Minors DNI & Not Proofread

Summary: Sunghoon's been having a tough time at work. And now with you... If only he could get you to listen to him.

Warnings: Male Reader, Dom! Sunghoon, Creampie, No-prep, Obedience Kink

Sunghoon sighed as he looked at the sign on the elevator.

Out of Order in old red letters. He turned to start walking up the stairs. It was a long day at the law firm–especially training some new prosecutors. They were just so rebellious... If they'd listened to Sunghoon's instructions the first time, life wouldn't be nearly as difficult.

Finally, he reached the top of the stairs. He could see the door to his apartment slightly ajar down the hall. "I swear to god... I ask for the simplest things," he groaned as he pulled it open. As he stepped inside, trying but failing to suppress an icy demeanor. He saw you sprawled on the couch.

His tone was flat, and his eyebrows laid straight. "Y/n, you left the door unlocked and open. Again." Sunghoon pulled the door behind him, removed his suit jacket, and placed it neatly in the closet.

"Oh, well, I knew you'd be home soon..." You said, mumbling as you tried not to hold his glare.

"Did you?" His eyes drifted over your form, taking in the way your shirt rode up slightly, exposing a strip of smooth skin. "And me being near home convinced you to leave the door open, inviting strangers in?"

"I didn't invite anyone–"

"You know what I mean."

You looked over to the kitchen. "I-I just finished making dinner."

Sunghoon's head didn't turn away, but his eyes glanced over to the dish on the stove. "Oh, you cooked... So did you smoke up the place and need to air it out?"

"N-No!"

Sunghoon looked around, noticing the smoke alarm had its battery removed. "Next time, just open a fucking window."

You stood with a huff. "Hey, no cursing. I just wanted to welcome you home with something nice after a long day..." You walked to him, scooping his hand and playing with his fingers. "I thought we could relax together tonight."

Sunghoon stared at your hand as it laced with his. "So did you throw away your mess in the house or outside?"

"Outside."

"And the dish is from the restaurant down the street?"

"Actually it's two streets over."

Sunghoon couldn't help but crack a smile. "Well, fine. I'll let you off this time since you got us a meal... That I paid for." He knew he'd get a charge for tonight's dinner on this month's statement, but he left a second card to his account with you so he could spoil you even when he wasn't present. "Do you need help cleaning?"

You shook your head. "Don't worry about it! I'll take care of it, just relax."

Sunghoon nodded. "I'll let you handle it then. Let's watch a movie while we eat. I know there's a new sci-fi one you mentioned."

"I don't know... Last time we watched a movie I wanted, you couldn't even wait 5 minutes."

"I accidentally sat on the remote a few times."

"And then proceeded to make out with me?"

Your boyfriend's eyebrows wiggled slightly. "It's just to give you those special attention-grabbing moments. But don't worry. tonight, I promise–no interruptions, no distractions. Just us, the movie, and food." He flashed a smirk. "Unless, of course, you get a little bored during the movie."

"I won't get bored. I wanna watch it, so keep your hands to yourself."

"We can't cuddle?" Sunghoon's eyes peeked past his glasses, with a slight beg.

You ignored his request, sitting on the couch. He joined you, adjusting some pillows and piling some food onto a plate.

The movie started, and Sunghoon behaved as promised. You were a little sad he wasn't getting a little touchy... You leaned against him, and he shifted a bit.

"Come on," He patted his chest. "Lay here, I'll hold you. Just holding." You laid on his chest, his warmth pressing against yours. Your back against his chest as his hands wrapped around your waist in a gentle embrace. Sunghoon started watching you more than the movie. He loved your face when you focused. It was so fucking cute...

The movie reached the end. Sunghoon waited as he could see your brain digesting it.

"I can't believe she lived at the end... I thought she'd die."

Sunghoon nodded, encouraging you to share your theories. As you ran through the whole film, one part of your rant caught Sunghoon's attention.

"...And the male lead? The romantic interest, he was so handsome! How could they kill him? I was hoping he'd end up surviving with the woman."

Your boyfriend frowned at you calling another man handsome.

"B-But not as handsome as you!"

You tried to recover, but it was already done. Sunghoon always got dramatic when you complimented other men.

"Oh, I didn't realize that kind of guy was your type."

"Hoon, don't start–"

"Don't start? I'm not starting anything. I just thought I should try and look up that guy's phone number so I can connect you guys."

You squirmed out of his arms. "You're being so..."

"So, what?" Your boyfriend raised his eyebrows, taunting you.

Smirking, you stopped yourself from speaking. You stood and drifted away from the couch, making Sunghoon follow you.

"So, what!?" Sunghoon's voice raised a bit, his ears got warm, and could feel his heartbeat spike.

Your smirk faded and your head cocked to the side. "Sunghoon... Why are you so angry suddenly?"

He folded his arms. "I'm not angry."

"You're shouting."

"I'm just speaking loudly."

"That's shouting!"

"Well, don't talk about other guys in front of me!"

You blinked absent-mindedly. "It's a movie! He's an actor, I was just making a fucking comment."

Sunghoon surged toward you, with his index finger out. "Do not curse at me."

"I wasn't cursing AT you."

"Don't get technical with me either, y/n!" Sunghoon's hand rushed through his hair, pushing it back. "Why can't you just listen to me?"

"How am I not listening?"

Your partner held you by your shoulders. You felt small under his grasp as he loomed over you. He took a breath. "I–just mean... I want to be the only guy you think is handsome. Even if you have to let me be delusional a bit." He held you to his chest. "I can't stand the thought of you liking someone more than me."

"I never said I liked him more than you..."

"I know... I just get a bit... jealous."

You press yourself against his chest, listening to his racing heart. "You know you're the only one for me, Hoonie."

Sunghoon lifted your chin. "Just listen to me on this, okay?"

You nodded, earning a smile from him as he leaned in to pair your lips with his. Your hands cupped his face, pulling him deeper. Sunghoon's hands found your waist, and he pulled you together as the kiss got more intense. You pulled away for a breath. "I promise I'll listen a bit more... I'll follow whatever directions you give me."

You giggled as you let your hand slide down his body. When you find what you were looking for, you give it a soft squeeze. Sunghoon groaned in response, and his head threw back as he bucked his hips.

"Mmm, fuck yes... just like that," He groans again, his voice scratchy and desperate. "I need your hands around it."

You could feel his cock getting harder. Sunghoon's cock was big, which shocked you when you saw it the first time. Your favorite thing to do was to feel it get hard. Starting small and growing to almost ten inches... Just thinking about it would make your eyes roll.

Sunghoon guided your hand to palm the zipper, letting you feel the outline of it.

His head fell down to your shoulder as he whispered in your ear, "Y/n, I need it."

The way Sunghoon's voice peaked when he begged for your touch. It made a rush run up your spine. He made quick work of his clothes, shrugging out of his shirt and shoving his pants down enough to free his aching erection.

"Remember, our walls aren't too thick. Don't wake the neighbors."

Sunghoon didn't bother trying to take you to the bedroom. He dragged you to the couch and threw you on your back.

"Fuck, stay here," Sunghoon commanded as he rushed off, leaving you alone. "Get those pants off!" He shouts from the bedroom. You giggled as you started sliding your pants off. It wasn't often that Sunghoon was more dominant with you, he was usually more patient.

You could hear the sound of Sunghoon returning to the room, the wet sound of slicking himself up getting louder as he approached. He entered into the room, some lube dripping off his dick.

"Now, let's get you ready." Sunghoon lifted your legs onto his shoulders as he spread your cheeks gently. A finger teased your hole, pressing slightly. "Beg, baby. Let me hear you."

You held in a groan as he smiled at you. "Sunghoon, please. I need it, so bad. Just skip the fingers..."

"Skip the fingers? Are you sure?" Sunghoon's voice teased.

You nodded furiously. "Please, just the tip. Anything!"

"Jeez, you are cock hungry." He listened to the strangled gasp that slipped from your lips as the head of his cock breached your tight entrance. His hands held your hips, pressing into you. You could tell it was going to bruise, and Sunghoon was resisting the urge to split you open and thrust in. "F-Fuck, y/n!" He hissed, voice strained with effort. "You're tighter than I thought."

You struggled to reply as your eyes bulged from the rush. Your eyes bulged and rolled back as your mouth hung open. "If you want to stop, then pull out–"

Your sentence was cut off as Sunghoon pushed deeper. "Don't test me. I'm trying to be nice."

Sunghoon waited to feel you relax before moving in, inch by inch. He made it halfway before you flinched, making him stop.

"Sung, wait– It's too much. I can't..."

Sunghoon opened his eyes to look at you. Your back was arched and your body twitched, which only made you more sensitive. Your eyes were wet and looking into his.

"Can't?" He cocked his head to the side. "Too bad, you'll manage."

"I can't! It won't fit..."

"I'll make it fit." Sunghoon leaned over you, pressing your mouth to his collarbone. "Bite me if it's too tough." Even when he was being dominant, Sunghoon was taking care of you...

His eyes closed with focus. Took a deep breath. And slammed his hips into you as he hilts himself fully inside you, stretching you wide around him, he releases a low groan as he leans over you. Your teeth sank into Sunghoon's collarbone.

He stroked your head. "That's it... Take it all. Such a good slut," he growled. "You feel incredible... tight, hot, and wet. I can feel you twitching around me, begging me to fuck you."

You moaned into his neck as Sunghon started a deep, steady rhythm. Slowly pulling out and snapping back into you. Before long, your boyfriend was losing himself in it as he drove his cock into you. The sound of the couch creaked louder with each powerful thrust, slightly pounding the wall.

"Shhh, you can do it," he pants against your ear, and his hot breath sends shivers down your spine. "I don't want to let anyone else hear you being needy for me."

Sunghoon angled his hips, and he found your spot. A scream ripped out of your chest as you detach from his collar.

"Oh, fuck! Sunghoon, I can't breathe! You're so big, so deep!"

Sunghoon hits your prostate exactly with strength.

"I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" You almost shout at him.

He smirked. "Untouched? You're so perfect. I'm close too, I swear, it'll be over soon."

Your body tensed and convulsed around him. Sunghoon felt your walls clamp down on his cock like a vice. The sensation was too insane to ignore. With a loud, guttural moan, he buried himself within you as he finished.

"Take it, every drop! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!" He grunted, hips jerking as he emptied himself within you. Thick, hot streams of cum filled you. Some even leaked out as Sunghoon pumped in you through his orgasm.

Sunghoon lets out a weak sigh as he collapses against you, his weight pressing you into the couch.

You twitched and shook as your boyfriend's weight pressed on you. "Holy fuck..."

"You took it so well, baby. I'm so proud." He kissed your nose. "Such a good boy. You took it so good." Sunghoon cooed praises as you drifted into unconsciousness.

When you woke up from your fucked-out nap, Sunghoon had put you in a warm bath. He called in from work to care for you. Servicing you as much as you want...

He kissed your neck as he washed you. "By the way... Today's Friday. The office is closed on the weekend. So we'll have plenty of time to test how obedient you are."

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lucysarah-c · 15 hours ago

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Mounting Spring Ch. 8

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“I’m taking a shower,” he had said. “If you want to use the bathroom, now’s the time.”

He didn’t wait for a response, stepping into the bathroom. The sticky feeling of his clothes clinging to his body was driving him insane, and he needed relief. The day was unexpectedly warm—not scorching, but the first strong days of spring always seemed to carry an extra weight.

“Baby, you want breakfast too?” her voice floated through the door just as he bent down to roll off the black trousers of his new uniform. He paused for a moment, the words catching him off guard.

Something about it felt... off. The strange limbo they were in. It was the whole situation. He wasn’t usually one to get prudish or shy about his body—expeditions and common showers had long since stripped away any modesty. But as he tossed his clothes into the laundry basket and stood naked in the bathroom, her voice came again, faint but clear.

“No, baby, get down from there!”

He turned his head toward the door instinctively, a strange sense of restraint settling over him. Maybe it was because all the previous times he’d showered over the past three weeks, she’d been asleep. Even the night she arrived, she’d gone to bed before he’d had the chance to clean up.

‘This is so fucking awkward,’ he thought, turning on the water and stepping under the spray. He’d been naked in far less private settings —hell, he’d stripped down and washed off in front of squads of men during expeditions without a second thought.

‘Yeah, but nobody there was supposed to get knocked up by me.’

He sighed, running his hands through his hair as the water cascaded down his body. That was the real difference, wasn’t it? On expeditions, privacy was a luxury, but the situation had always been purely practical. Now, the person in the next room wasn’t just some comrade. She was supposed to be intimate enough to make moments like this normal—but they weren’t. Not yet, at least.

As he lathered soap across his skin, his thoughts spiraled further. ‘It’s weird middle ground, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be close enough for her to be fine with me taking a shower while she’s awake, but not close enough to share those—what do you call it—quiet, personal moments.

The thought didn’t stop him from moving through his routine. By now, the soap was rinsed off, and he stood over the sink, ready to shave. The sharp blade of his razor rested in his hand as he straightened up, catching his reflection in the slightly fogged mirror. His gaze drifted across the room as if searching for memories outside his body.

His thoughts shifted, unbidden. ‘Did I ever go raw before this?’ he wondered, the thought creeping in before he could stop it. The memory of Kenny’s crude “lessons” in life played in his mind, and he frowned. ‘Only thing that bastard ever taught me besides killing—wrap it up.’ He snorted faintly at the absurdity of it.

He cleaned the razor, his brow furrowed. ‘How many loads does it take to secure a pregnancy, anyway? That’s gotta mess with a guy’s head, constantly thinking about that. And if you’re in heat—’

His hand froze mid-motion. ‘And when you’re in heat… is it all doggy style all the time because it’s the “biologically optimal” thing to do? Can you switch it up?’

He let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly as he finished shaving. “I should not be thinking about this on a Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. before a meeting,” he muttered to himself, rinsing the blade one last time.

His mind, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. ‘But seriously, though... does it always have to be on fours? I mean, I like on all fours, but… a whole week of that? Her knees, dude.’

Finally, he dried off, pulled on a clean shirt, and opened the door.

“What took you so long?” she asked, her head tilting slightly as she looked up at him.

“Nothing,” he replied curtly.

“It’s very warm today,” she commented, seemingly trying to maintain some level of conversation with the man who was, supposedly, her husband. “Is it always this warm in the south?”

“Mhm.” Levi only hummed in response, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders before sitting on the couch to pull his boots back on.

“Breakfast?” she asked again, a cat cradled in her arms as she looked at him.

“No,” he replied curtly. His head was killing him, and just the thought of food made his stomach churn. He wasn’t paying much attention—just going through his usual morning routine—until he tried brushing off the white cat hairs stubbornly clinging to his black trousers.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Did you brush the cat today?” he asked, finally glancing back at her.

But the complaint died in the back of his throat when he saw her reflection in the fogged-up bathroom mirror, struggling to put on a pair of earrings.

A pretty sundress, hair braided half-up, half-down, long lashes accentuated by mascara.

“Where are you going all dolled up?”

She stilled for a moment, meeting his eyes in the mirror before turning to face him fully. “You just said I could go out.”

‘And everything I said after that must have gone in one ear and out the other.’

“I want to make a good impression on your squad,” she added before turning back to her reflection, resuming her struggle with the earrings.

Levi pressed his lips into a thin line, giving it a second thought. He wasn’t the type to regret his decisions, but suddenly, this one didn’t seem like the best idea.

“My squad barely owns soap bars,” he muttered under his breath. A good first impression felt like overkill considering the social standards of his cadets—not that he held any grudge against them.

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers laced together as he pondered it.

“Maybe you should wait until I come back this evening.”

That snapped her out of it instantly.

“What?!” She rushed over to him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You just said I could go out!”

The deep frown, the clenched teeth, the frustration practically radiating off her—it was all clearly meant to intimidate him. It didn’t.

“I’m just saying, wait a couple more hours. Then I’ll walk you around myself.”

She took a step back, voice lowering into something much colder.

“You just said it,” she whispered, anger laced with unmistakable hurt.

‘Oh... alright, she’s actually upset for real.’

Levi sighed through his nose, watching how quickly her disappointment turned into something sharp, something like resentment.

“Fine,” he relented, exhaling as he sat back. “Just… be careful.”

—

“I mean... what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Levi said, recounting his morning as if it were some kind of story.

“Shhh, talk quieter. My head is killing me,” Hange groaned, sprawled limply in his desk chair, their eyes shielded by a cold, wet towel. “I’m getting old… Remember how we used to laugh at Erwin coming back from those meetings completely wasted? Now look at us—we’re no better.”

“Excuse me, I’ve never stolen anyone’s underwear while drunk… or high, or both,” Levi shot back, defending his honor as if that cleared him of all other debauchery. He leaned back in his chair, voice deadpan. “I don’t remember half of what I did last night, and the other half’s just a blur. But it wasn’t that bad.”

Hange snorted, shifting the towel slightly to make room for their smirk. “You used to be this famous thug, and now you can’t handle one night of alcohol and… whatever the hell it was they brought for us to smoke. You’ve lost your edge, Captain.”

Levi rested his head against the cool surface of the table, reaching for his tea cup without lifting his gaze. “I’m a married man now. That life of bad habits is long behind me.”

That earned a sharp laugh from Hange, who had to readjust the towel when it slid halfway down their face. “You got married three weeks ago, asshole.”

Finally deciding to take a sip from his cup, Levi straightened just enough to lift it to his lips—only to immediately grimace in disgust. “This is green tea.”

“Yeah... my liver wouldn’t survive black tea today,” Hange muttered, not bothering to move the towel from their face. Then, as if the thought had just struck them, they added, “If you have a problem with it, win the elections and become Commander.”

Levi scoffed. “Only an idiot would want to be Commander.”

“Gee, thanks,” Hange deadpanned. “What are you? One of those people whose whole personality revolves around their partner?”

“No,” Levi replied curly, “But it’s my only excuse,”

—

Double-checking in the mirror, she whispered to herself, “Good first impressions.” A small nod of encouragement. “Scouts are heads of state now, so good first impressions.”

She pinched her cheeks lightly, giving them a subtle rosy flush, and hummed in approval. But just as she was about to turn away, her nose wrinkled at something in the air. Slowly pivoting on her heels, her eyes landed on the laundry basket.

‘It tickles,’ she thought, scrunching her nose as if to shake off the feeling. ‘Silly.’ She gave her head the smallest shake.

Decisive steps carried her to the office door, excitement bubbling in her chest. Her hand reached for the knob—the same one she had reached for on her first morning here. A firm pull, and it clicked open with ease. The door shifted just a few centimeters, separating from the frame, but she didn’t step through.

She stood still.

Her eyes remained locked on her reflection in the gilded surface.

"Be careful." Levi’s voice echoed in her head.

The freedom she had wanted so badly was now hers for the taking, yet it filled her with hesitation.

She rocked her weight from one foot to the other, lips pressed together before glancing to her right—toward the open bathroom door.

‘I mean… better safe than sorry, right?’

Back inside the tiled room, she lifted the wicker lid of the laundry basket.

‘My friends did this when we were teens. Their parents got so mad…’

Her fingers grasped the light grey shirt Levi had worn the entire previous day—and slept in.

‘I just have to rub my neck against it a little…’

A memory surfaced. Her friends sneaking around at parties, brushing up against alphas, pressing their necks together. It wasn’t claiming, but it was something back then. And maybe now, it could be something that helped her, too.

‘I remember Die was working as a cadet… we shared a kiss through the staircase fence.’

The thought brought the ghost of a smile to her lips, brief and bittersweet.

‘He smelled nice… I remember that.’

With more doubts than certainties, she slowly lifted the shirt to her face, pressing the collar against her nose as she took a deep, slow breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, trying to gauge her body’s reaction to it.

First impression? The same as when she first smelled his jacket.

Strong. ‘Musky, even’

But then—almost instinctively—her body craved more. Another breath. Then another. And before she realized what she was doing, she was rubbing the fabric against her skin, pressing it to her neck in slow, deliberate motions, as if massaging the scent into her skin, soothing in a way she hadn’t expected.

A low, involuntary purr rumbled in her throat.

Her eyes shot open in horror.

She let go of the shirt like it had burned her, watching as it dropped back into the basket.

Her breath hitched, blood rushing to her cheeks as she stood there, frozen in place.

‘Oh god… why did I do that?!’

Moving robotically, she walked to the couch and sat down, staring in silent mortification. The cat kneading a pillow in the corner was swiftly scooped up as she muttered to it in despair,

“I just did that… to his shirt?! What is wrong with me?!”

The cat bumped its head against her chin in response.

She pushed the animal down with a huff. “…Though, I guess… he’s the only man I’m allowed to react like that for, so… it’s not that bad. Right?”

“Meow.”

Newfound conviction in her step, she strode toward the door, this time with more confidence.

The moment she opened it, she inhaled deeply—ready to embrace the fresh air.

Only to immediately recoil.

“Ugh…” she groaned, grimacing.

Levi’s scent—his natural musk mixed with aftershave, deodorant, and cologne—had been intoxicating. But this? The thick, cloying stench of a hundred alphas all packed together, their scents mingling like scrambled eggs?

Absolutely disgusting.

“Never mind.” She shook her head violently, as if trying to physically rid herself of the sensory assault. “Let’s go for a walk!”

She barely got two steps before the soft patter of tiny paws followed her.

She turned, spotting her cat trotting after her with eager strides.

“Aww, sweetie! You wanna come too?”

Door locked, cat in arms—she was ready for her stroll.

With the window open, she took in a slow, deep breath, savoring the fresh forest air. The scent of pine and linden soothed her nose, washing away the lingering stench from earlier. The sky stretched bright and blue, the warmth of the sun kissing her skin.

Looking down from the window frame, she spotted two cadets staring up at her, confusion written all over their faces.

“Morning!” she chirped, all too pleased to be out, to stretch her legs, to breathe. “Beautiful day, innit?”

The two teens exchanged glances before nodding—slowly.

“Uh-huh…”

Unbothered, she continued her stroll. “Let’s get stuff for a picnic!”

Following the directions given by another cadet, she eventually reached a set of doors—what she assumed was the mess hall.

To her surprise, it was mostly empty, save for a few scattered cadets who lifted their heads at the sound of her entrance. Their brows furrowed, confusion evident.

“Hi,” she greeted, waving. “Morning! The kitchen?”

One of them pointed toward the far end of the room.

“Thank you~” she chimed before heading off.

But before she could get far—

“Excuse me, girl?”

She turned on her heel, blinking as a cadet stood from one of the benches.

“Civilians aren’t allowed to wander around,” he said, eyeing her warily. “If you’re looking for someone, please wait here.”

“Oh! No, no,” she insisted, waving her hands. “I’m Captain Levi’s wife. I live here.”

Silence.

The loudest silence she had ever heard.

“…See ya!” she added before walking off.

—

“We should be training,” Eren muttered, biting into an apple. “Not doing kitchen duties.”

“Come on, Captain Levi hardly ever cancels morning drills. Yesterday’s after-hours meeting must’ve been intense,” Armin reasoned. “They probably discussed something incredibly serious if they were up so late.”

“Yeah, like that train they want us to build, and—”

“A kitty!”

Jean paused mid-peel, turning to Mikasa’s rare display of enthusiasm. “Yes, a kitty… Wait, a kitty?”

Mikasa had already abandoned the conversation, beelining toward Y/N with bright, wide eyes locked onto the oversized cat in her arms.

“Oh, hi,” Y/N greeted, a bit caught off guard as the raven-haired girl approached. “He’s friendly.”

“Can I pick him up?”

“Sure.”

Mikasa carefully took the enormous feline, cradling him against her chest with unexpected gentleness.

Meanwhile, Sasha and Jean locked eyes across the kitchen, communicating through sheer willpower alone: It’s her! The only two in the squad who had actually seen Y/N before, now confirmed.

“I always wanted a cat,” Mikasa murmured, stroking the soft fur with genuine delight. “It was my childhood dream…” She lifted Claws slightly, marveling. “He’s so big.”

Y/N smiled at the sight but soon noticed something odd—everyone else in the room was staring at her.

She turned slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of their collective gaze.

“Uh… hi?” she offered with a hesitant grimace.

Jean straightened up, puffing his chest out slightly. “We’re Captain Levi’s Special Operations Squad,” he announced, the title rolling off his tongue with pride, as if it should impress her.

Sasha muttered, “Are you flexing?”

But before Jean could retort, Y/N cut in, “Oh, you’re Levi’s kids.”

Silence.

Jean and Connie visibly deflated, their supposed prestigious position reduced to children in an instant.

“Yes, hi—I’m Armin,” the blond quickly stepped forward, almost extending a hand before deciding against it.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N,” she replied.

“Yes. We know.”

The awkwardness thickened as she realized they all knew who she was, but she had no idea about them.

“I know you,” Y/N suddenly blurted. “You’re the hallway girl!”

“Yeah! Sasha!” The brunette grinned. “They didn’t believe me when I said I saw you—you vanished into thin air!”

Y/N chuckled. “Levi was in a hurry.”

Armin smirked but quickly winced when Mikasa subtly nudged him, as if to keep him from saying anything else.

“And you,” Y/N continued, shifting her gaze, “you’re the training ground boy. You dropped the equipment.”

Laughter erupted from Connie and Sasha as Jean clenched his jaw, looking deeply unamused.

“…Yeah. Jean.”

Y/N’s attention drifted, taking in the massive industrial kitchen. “I was actually wondering—who do I ask for a tea?”

The room fell silent. The squad exchanged glances before, hesitantly, Jean raised his hand like a student answering a question.

“I… could make one?”

Y/N beamed. “Aw, thank you!”

Jean blinked. “…Just, uh… give me a sec.”

“So… do I have to make the damn tea or not?” Jean whispered, his voice barely audible as the group huddled together in a loose circle of conspiracy, all while Y/N inspected the kitchen behind them.

Armin, glancing over his shoulder at her with furrowed brows, was the first to break the silence. “I’ve heard that in the MPs, cadets are assigned mundane tasks for their superiors, like picking up their dry cleaning. Maybe she thinks that’s how the Scouts operate too.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time talking about the MPs lately, huh, Armin?” Connie teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Armin flushed crimson, his brows knitting together in defense. “What? What do you mean?”

“You know what we mean,” Sasha chimed in, barely stifling a laugh.

Jean rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You’re all missing the point. Do I make the damn tea or not?”

“No,” Eren said flatly, as if the answer were obvious. “Maybe the MPs do this babysitting crap, but we don’t. We’re not the Military Police, and we’re definitely not her personal servants. Just tell her to make her own damn tea.”

“Maybe she just isn’t used to our kitchen,” Mikasa offered, her tone more considerate as she glanced at Y/N.

“Let’s just tell her—very subtly—”

Armin’s attempt at diplomacy was cut off by Jean, who groaned loudly. “That’s not what I mean! I’m asking what the chain of command is when a wife shows up!”

The Shiganshina trio collectively raised an eyebrow, their faces a mixture of disbelief and judgment.

“What chain of command?” Eren asked, crossing his arms. “She’s not a soldier. She doesn’t give us orders.”

Jean snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t remember how households work, but my dad never had the last word in our house—ever.”

Armin placed a calming hand on Eren, who looked ready to take offense. “Jean, come on,” Armin said gently, though his expression clearly showed he thought the question was absurd.

“No, no, Horse Face is right,”

Jean’s brief moment of smug satisfaction was immediately shattered. “OI! Watch it, potato brain!”

Ignoring him, Connie continued, “Yeah, my dad couldn’t do anything without asking my mom first. It was always, ‘Did you ask your mother?’ or ‘What does your mother say?’ And nine times out of ten, my mom said no.”

Sasha chimed in, nodding vigorously. “Yeah, my dad would act like he was in charge, but if my mom caught wind of something she didn’t like, he was dead meat.”

Mikasa, listening quietly, finally murmured, “I remember... my mom was the one who made the decisions too.”

Jean gestured wildly toward Sasha and Connie. “Exactly what I’m saying! If Captain Levi got married and now she’s the one giving him the dead-eye stare when she doesn’t like his decisions, where does that put her in the chain of command? Who’s higher in the chain of command: him or her?”

“Her.”

“Him.”

“Captain Levi isn’t our dad, though,” Eren muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the logic. “Men are still the head of the house, so he’s still in charge. She’s not our boss.”

“But if she gets mad and complains to Captain Levi, and he takes it out on us, then what?” Sasha pointed out. “We’re screwed either way.”

“Exactly,” Armin said, nodding gravely. “If we don’t do what she wants, she’ll complain, and Captain Levi will get pissed. If we don’t follow his orders, he’ll punish us directly. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

The group fell silent, clearly no closer to an agreement. Mikasa broke the tension with a hesitant question. “So… would that mean if Commander Erwin got married, his wife would have outrank all of us?”

Connie snickered. “Why not Commander Hange’s imaginary wife instead?”

“Be realistic,” Eren muttered.

As their bickering continued, Y/N stood by, watching them with growing confusion. ‘Maybe they’re busy working,’ she thought, eyeing the kettle that no one had touched. ‘Levi said not to interrupt them while they’re working.’

“Don’t worry about it, guys,” she finally announced. “I’ll just go for a walk instead.”

The group froze. Six pairs of eyes turned toward her in unison, panic flashing across their faces. Armin forced a sympathetic smile. “W-Where are you going?”

Y/N blinked, startled by their sudden interest. “I thought I’d take a stroll in the forest…”

Back in their circle, the squad exchanged panicked glances. One by one, they shifted closer to the kitchen door, as if preparing to block her path. Jean, quick on his feet, plastered on a bright smile and stepped in front of her.

“Eh?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Haha, look at the time!” Jean said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you stay here for a little while longer?”

“I want to go out,” she insisted, her brow furrowing as she tried to move past him. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“Uh, maybe… maybe stay here while we, um…” Sasha stammered, desperately searching for the right words.

Y/N’s eyes widened as her unease turned into alarm. “Are you... are you kidnapping me?”

“No, no, no!” they all shouted in unison, waving their hands in frantic denial.

“You’re not kidnapped,” Armin assured her, his sweet smile doing little to ease her nerves. “You’re just... um... confined for now.”

Her face twisted into horror. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, NOT AGAIN!”

—

When Hange walked back into the office, Levi was already up, slamming a stack of papers together.

“Leaving so early?”

“Yeah. I should really go train the brats after lunch.”

The only brown eye not covered lingered on him, their lips twitching as they held back a remark. Hange, leaning back in their chair with an all-too-knowing smirk, tilted their head. “Oh sure, I bet the fresh air will help with the headache.”

Levi exhaled sharply, unconvinced. Tucking the papers under his arm, he turned to leave—only to freeze at the door. Slowly, he turned back, narrowing his eyes as Hange spun lazily in their chair, still smirking.

“…What?”

“I said absolutely nothing.”

His squinted in suspicion. “You’re so fucking weird.”

The moment he stepped outside, something felt… off.

The usual background noise of cadets moving between tasks was there, but underneath it, hushed murmurs—giggling.

Giggling.

Levi’s pace slowed as he glanced around. Small groups of soldiers spoke among themselves, some pressing hands to their mouths, others grinning. But what truly set his nerves on edge was what happened when they noticed him.

Suddenly, as if on cue, they snapped to attention and beamed.

“Good morning, Captain!”

A perfectly polite, perfectly innocent greeting.

Too innocent.

“Morning,” he replied curtly. Levi narrowed his eyes but kept walking, his boots clicking sharply against the stone path.

The tension in his gut twisted tighter when he passed another group and, again, the moment they saw him—bright smiles, too chipper, too eager.

Something was going on.

His grip flexed at his sides, his headache worsening as he rounded the corner toward the mess hall. And then—

“Good morning, sir!”

He barely glanced at the cadet who greeted him, about to walk past when—

“Your wife is very cute, sir.”

Levi stopped.

The air suddenly felt much heavier.

His eyes flickered to the girl, who gave him an innocent, approving nod before carrying on, completely unaware that she had just turned his entire morning into a waking nightmare.

A slow, sinking realization crept up his spine.

The whispers. The giggles. The weird smiling.

"For fuck’s sake..." Levi whispered, raising a hand to his face, already feeling the embarrassment creeping in.

Her trail wasn’t hard to follow—he just had to go wherever the biggest crowd had gathered. Sure enough, he found them in the kitchen, the one place most cadets usually avoided to escape extra duties. Yet, now, everyone was hanging around like it was the goddamn market square.

"Don’t you all have something better to do?" Levi spat, and like cockroaches when the light comes on, they scrambled, trying to make themselves scarce before they got dragged into something. "Or do I need to start handing out tasks?"

A few murmured "No, sir," their heads ducking, backs curving as if making themselves smaller would save them from his wrath.

Then, from the other side of the door—

"HE SAID I COULD GO OUT!"

A piercing scream from Y/N.

Levi’s brows twitched as he marched over, shoving the door open. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Levi!" "Captain!"

The second he stepped in, everyone started talking at once, loudly, voices overlapping and stabbing at his already-pounding head.

Levi clenched his jaw. "Enough." His voice came out sharp, cold.

Silence fell instantly.

"They’re forcing me to stay here!" Y/N snapped, pointing at his squad. "They kidnapped me!"

Slowly, Levi turned his attention to his subordinates and muttered under his breath, "What part of 'act normal and behave' did you not understand?"

"She wants to go into the forest alone," Jean cut in, standing his ground.

That successfully shifted Levi’s attention.

"Get to the training grounds," he ordered, not bothering to look back at them. "I’ll be there in a minute."

The squad practically bolted, shutting the door behind them.

Now alone with her, Levi exhaled through his nose. Levi’s arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze locked onto her as she stood defiantly before him.

“I did absolutely nothing wrong,” she huffed.

“Oh yeah?” Levi drawled, his expression unreadable “Then why the hell is the entire regiment gathered outside?”

She scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe they’ve got nothing better to do? I just greeted people in the hallways, that’s not illegal. What, saying hello is a crime now?”

Levi exhaled sharply, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to be overly friendly.”

“Well, excuse my good manners!”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “You already went out. You can go back to the office.”

“I’m not doing that,” she folded her arms stubbornly. “I want to go for a walk.”

His frown deepened. “You’re not going into the forest.” He sighed, his patience nearing its breaking point.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, maybe wolves?” he deadpanned. “Perhaps people, thieves? You’re going to get lost.”

“Well, I’ll stay close by.”

Levi let out a scoff. “We use the forest for training with the 3DMG. We don’t live in the middle of it for pleasure. If someone drops a weapon or knocks off and you get hurt, it’s on me. I told you—this is a place where people are working.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t want to be closed up in that room anymore.”

He gave her a look, calm but firm. "Open a window."

“Open a—?! Levi, I’m not a prisoner!” she snapped, frustration boiling over.

“Never said you were,” he shot back. “But this ain’t a damn vacation spot either.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. Then, as if on cue, Claws meowed from her arms, reminding Levi of another problem.

“And don’t take the cat out without a leash,” he added. “It’s gonna get lost, and guess what? The idiot who’ll have to go looking for it in the forest will be me.”

“He’s not gonna run off,” she insisted.

Levi ignored that. “Go back to the office and—I don’t know, paint something.”

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh, eyes burning with indignation. “I’m not a little girl you can just set back to colouring books, Levi!”

He was already opening his mouth for another snarky retort when something made him pause. His nose twitched slightly. It caught him so off guard to catch a whiff of her scent that all the arguments disappeared.

How had it ended up with him standing there, watching the cadets train with the 3DMG while she sat on a bench outside, having lunch? He had no idea.

"You’re not hungry?"

"I grabbed something at work," he replied, his eyes still glued to the training.

She passed him her meal, her hand covering her mouth a little before asking, "What are you doing?"

"Watching them train."

Her eyes shifted to the trees, watching the cadets swing through them with ease. "That’s all?" she asked, confused.

Levi crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I watch their patterns and correct them."

"Ah," she sighed in understanding. "So, you’re good at that?"

"At 3DMG?" Levi raised an eyebrow as if it wasn’t obvious. She hummed a response. "Yeah, a little."

Y/N accepted this without giving it much thought, continuing with her art, cleaning her hands every so often to avoid staining the sketch. "Which one is Eren?"

He wasn’t used to the chitchat during work, so it threw him off each time she spoke. "The brunette. Why?"

"I read about him in the newspapers," Y/N replied, raising her attention from her work to compare her pencil strokes. She squinted at it for a moment. "I also read about you torturing someone. It didn’t do you any favours."

"Your newspapers didn’t mention the MPs covering up the real monarchy?"

"No, my parents didn’t buy that kind of newspaper."

Her answer made him scoff, entertained, realizing she probably meant it without any opposition to the new head of power.

He tried following her gaze, wondering what she was working on so intently. But he couldn’t make sense of it. "What are you drawing?" Levi tilted back to catch a glimpse of the paper.

Without a hint of hesitation, she turned her sketchbook around to show him. "You."

Levi froze in horror, a cringe creeping up his spine.

"Don’t fucking draw me."

"Why not? You have a good side profile."

"Draw something else. You’ve got the whole fucking forest." Levi insisted, but when he saw her uninterested continuation, he grabbed the pencil from her hand.

"Hey!" she pouted. "Give it back."

"Maybe you should go back to the office. Plenty of pencils there," Levi shot, hoping to put an end to this nonsense of her hanging around outside.

There was a brief silence before she stood up. "Fine… but only because I’m getting sunburned." She reached down, picking up the cat that had been wandering around on a leash. "I’m taking the baby." Her tone made it sound like they were in the middle of a divorce settlement, negotiating custody.

"Better for me."

As the sun dipped lower and training came to an end, Levi took the opportunity to address the cadets. "When I tell you to do something, just do it. If she tries anything, I’ll handle it. Don’t get involved."

They all nodded slowly, though Connie hesitantly raised a hand.

Levi exhaled sharply. "What?"

Armin shook his head, silently warning Connie to drop it, but the he didn’t take the hint. "We were just… a bit confused."

Levi’s patience was wearing dangerously thin. "Confused about what?"

"Just drop it, dude," Jean whispered.

But under the captain’s intense stare, there was no backing out now. Connie swallowed hard. "About… who has the final say."

Levi processed the words, taking a slow moment to let the implication sink in. Then, his voice carried loud and clear: "Raise your hand if you think she’s in charge."

Shakily, Sasha and Connie obeyed. After a sharp kick from Eren, Jean reluctantly raised his hand too, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

They all avoided Levi’s dead-eyed stare, suddenly finding the gravel beneath their boots fascinating.

Levi let the silence drag before finally speaking, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why don’t the three of you give me twenty push-ups to help jog your memory on who’s actually in charge?"

Groans of protest echoed through the training grounds, the evening sky now tinged with warm tangerine light.

Eren smirked proudly at Armin, as if they had somehow passed some kind of test. Levi glanced at them. "And the three of you who didn’t stop this bullshit? Another twenty."

"Oh, fuck me," they all muttered under their breath.

—

That night, Levi was washing his face at the sink when he caught movement in the doorway. He looked up, eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "What?"

"I want to go to Trost the day after tomorrow."

Levi frowned, still bent over the sink, before slowly straightening up. "And who told you I was going to Trost?"

"The cadets."

Grabbing a towel, he patted his face dry. "No."

"Why not?" she asked, following him as he moved to the bedroom after his post-training shower.

Levi hated being chased around, but clearly, she wasn’t letting this one go. "Because I said so," Levi muttered, pulling a shirt from the drawer. His damp hair pushed backwards and still dripping a little bit. "I’m just going for a quick business deal with the Reiss company. In and out."

"But since you’re already going, I want to go and walk around," she insisted. "The cadets want to go too."

Slamming the drawer shut, he sighed. "What they want is none of my damn problem."

Under normal circumstances, she would have minded seeing him shirtless, but right now, she was too annoyed by his attitude to care. Each pause he took in the argument to get dressed only added to her frustration.

"First today, now Trost," Levi continued, slipping on the shirt. " I can’t be walking around with you glued to my side,"

He braced himself for protests, whining, maybe even some outright complaining— But when he finally looked up, her eyes were glassy.

Levi blinked. "What now?"

‘Oh no.

Not the fucking puppy eyes again.’

She hesitated, then whispered, "Are you… ashamed to be seen with me?"

"No," he snapped instantly, raising a finger in the air. "That’s not what I fucking said."

But she just shook her head and walked off toward the office, her head down.

"Come on. You know that’s not what I meant," Levi called after her.

No answer.

"Y/N—"

No answer.

—

The next morning at breakfast, Levi dropped into his seat with a scowl. "We’re going to Trost tomorrow."

His squad erupted into cheers, high-fiving each other.

"Tch. Fuck me," he muttered under his breath.

Armin, ever the strategist, tilted his head. "May I ask why, sir?"

Levi stabbed his fork into his food. "Because she wants to go."

Across the table, Sasha leaned toward Connie and Jean, whispering, "I’m confused... so, in the end, who is actually in charge?"

(I know much didn't happen in this chapter but I promise you I'm cooking T-T)

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atzloverr · 2 days ago

Text

Our unsaid truths - chapter 4

previous chapter - next chapter

series masterlist

cw: cheating (Y/n didn’t), past relationship (trauma? if u can call it that), food mentioned, Yunho flirts a littleeeee

pairings: poly!atz x reader, Hongjoong x reader, Yunho x reader

You had to admit that it hurt, seeing him after all these years. Seeing him was a harsh reminder. All those memories you had prayed for your mind to forget all came rushing back to you in a second.

”You okay there?” Hongjoong waved in front of your distracted eyes. ”Oh, yeah sure!” you smiled brightly, trying your best to make it look natural.

You told Hongjoong a white lie about having to go get some makeup-remover, just so you could be by yourself for a bit, and also flee from the situation that you feared would occur.

You hadn’t seen Minjun ever since that night. That night when you finally confronted him about the cheating.

You could still envision it so vividly, his collection of lies and threats when you told him what you had seen, read, heard. Seeing him now, seeing that his life seemed so unaffected by it, that was what made it so hard.

You looked at the time - you didn’t want to make Hongjoong suspicious by being away for too long - and you figured you had to go back now.

For every step you took, you looked around, making sure you wouldn’t bump into him. You didn’t care about that asshole, so why did you feel such a strong need to prove yourself to him? Prove that you were fine? That what had happened hadn’t affected you either?

No sane person would be unaffected by a year-long relationship ending like that, so why did you crave him to have that idea of you?

”Do we have everything?” you asked Hongjoong after the longer-than-usual walk back to him. You prayed he didn’t notice when you still looked over your shoulder every now and then.

”Yeah, I think that’s it!” Hongjoong smiled before the two of you started making your way to the cashiers.

These little trips to the grocery store that you sometimes accompanied Hongjoong on were some of the few times you actually spend one-on-one time with him.

You knew how much he meant to Seonghwa, so therefore he meant a lot to you too, before you had even met him.

You helped Hongjoong load the groceries, hearing him mutter something about how expensive everything was nowadays. You laughed at his frown, finding his little annoyed face adorable.

Everything felt fine, until you suddenly felt a big hand meet your shoulder. Your eyes widened, and your smile dropped before you could even turn around, because you knew that touch.

You had seen him approach in the corner of your eye, but you just kept your back turned, praying that he wouldn’t see you.

”Y/n? Is that really you?” you heard his voice say. You took a deep breath before turning around.

”Minjun? Wow, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” you said with that smile that you often used at work, that customer-service smile that everyone seemed to fall for. Minjun wasn’t exactly smart, so you doubted that he’d notice.

”Wow, it really has!” he said before doing what made you instantly stiffen. You hated the familiarity in his grip as he wrapped his arms around you.

”And you are?” Hongjoong asked from behind you, having just loaded the last of the things.

Minjun finally backed off, raising his eyebrows at Hongjoong with a smile. ”Haven’t told your new boyfriend about me? Wow I’m hurt,” he said, grabbing his chest and frowning. You were about to try and laugh it off before making some excuse about being in a hurry or something, but Hongjoong beat you to it.

”Sorry, but would you mind leaving? There’s a line behind you, and I don’t think they appreciate you standing in their way.”

You could hear that Hongjoong was pissed off, but he - like you - also had a big, fake smile on his face. You endured the last seconds of Minjun’s company in discomfort as he unfortunately felt the need to hug you again, and make some snarky remark about your new boyfriend being ’cute and tiny’.

You and Hongjoong stayed silent as you walked to the car, and the second you heard the rumble of the engine, you took a deep breath. You knew you had to say something, give him an explanation, maybe just an excuse.

”Who’s he?” Hongjoong asked, tone stiff. He was clearly annoyed. ”He’s my ex.”

You looked down into your lap, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your knitted sweater. ”How are you feeling?” he asked, and you looked at him in confusion. You had expected him to interrogate you, ask you when you dated, for how long, how and why things ended, why you would ever date such a guy, and so on. But no. He just asked you how you felt.

”Well, honestly…” you started after a pause. ”Seeing him really hurt.”

Hongjoong hummed, encouraging you to continue. ”I thought I’d be over it, but honestly, it was worse than ever today.”

You watched the road as Hongjoong took a different route, the one that took 20 minutes, instead of just 10. ”Go on,” Hongjoong said as you paused.

You sighed. ”Please, I don’t want to burden you with my past relationships. I don’t even talk to Seonghwa about this—” you tried, but Hongjoong shook his head with determination. ”You won’t burden me one bit, Y/n. All I want is for you to feel safe, feel comfortable.”

You smiled at those words before thinking of where to start.

”…I first met Minjun when we were just eighteen.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You exhaled deeply when Hongjoong pulled up to the driveway. The little detour you took turned out to be an even longer one than expected, but you couldn’t complain one bit. You had told Hongjoong about your past relationship, how worried you felt that the same thing would happen again, how you doubted yourself, how you wondered if it had all been your fault.

Hongjoong listened as you rambled on, and you were so thankful that he didn’t judge you, that he didn’t call your worries immature or irrational.

When you were about to get home, Hongjoong said something that seemed to be exactly what you wanted to hear.

”You really are amazing, Y/n,” he said softly. You blinked in confusion at the unexpected comment. ”I don’t think you understand how admirable you are, and how much you really mean to all of us,” Hongjoong continued.

You were at a loss for words. ”And hearing that you’ve managed to handle all of this - all of us - even when you’ve been through these things, it shows how strong you are.”

”Hongjoong, you don’t have to say this just because—”, ”No, listen. I mean every single word I say. We all trust you, and you need to credit yourself for how well you’ve responded to our relationship.”

His words echoed in your brain as you entered the house, the only thing being able to break you out of the trance-like state you were in being San who rushed into the hallway as you entered.

He immediately took the two bags from your hands, rushing to put them away, before he returned to wrap you in his strong arms.

You giggled as he lifted you up and spun you around in his arms. ”Welcome home,” he smiled into your neck. Hongjoong eyed the two of you with a smile. Aside from your dating history, you had told Hongjoong about the previous night as well.  Although you sometimes wondered if the others would be uncomfortable with such information, Hongjoong managed to assure you that that wasn’t the case. He made sure to express how happy he was about it, and how you didn’t have to feel ashamed over anything.

He gave you a knowing glance when San was hugging him, making you blush. You hadn’t intended to tell him the details, but he seemed to be able to draw it out of you.

It was one of those sundays that were meant for doing absolutely nothing, that or grocery shopping with Hongjoong, or helping Seonghwa clean, like you were right now.

In the morning, Seonghwa had left to go shopping for something (you couldn’t remember what it was) so he left you a little note, saying that he didn’t want to wake you up and that he would be home by three.

Hence the reason you hadn’t been able to update him about the previous night’s events yet.

You shyly brought it up while folding some laundry, and his eyes widened dramatically when you finally told him that you had managed to kiss both Yunho and San.

”Really? They didn’t pressure you to do it though, right?” he asked worriedly. You laughed, shaking your head. ”Of course not,” you reassured, making him breathe out in relief.

”But, I really don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way, so…” you rambled on, looking down at the floor. ”Are you sure this is okay? I thought that- maybe I should’ve asked you—” you got quieter for each word, feeling self conscious all of a sudden.

”Hey, listen to me,” Seonghwa said, hands meeting the sides of your cheeks to make you look at him. ”I meant what I said when I said that I’m completely comfortable with it, hell, I’d even say that I’ll encourage it, but of course, I don’t want you to do something that you don’t want to,” he explained.

You looked into his dark eyes, and you felt how genuine they were. You felt reassured, and you realized that these worries hadn’t been so present yesterday night, or even this morning. Maybe seeing Minjun again planted this seed, this seed of uncertainty and insecurity. You knew deep down that Seonghwa would tell you if he wasn’t okay with it, you knew that you wouldn’t be held in the dark, but the fear still stayed there, constantly existing in the back of your head.

”I saw Minjun today,” you suddenly blurted out. You needed to say it, just to get it off of your chest. Seonghwa’s face dropped.

Sure, he didn’t know all of the details of your relationship, but he knew enough to know that it was a sensitive subject to you.

”Oh my god,” he said, caressing your face. You took a deep breath. ”It felt horrible to see him. It felt like everything came crashing back down on me again.”

Seonghwa listened, sitting down on the bed next to the large piles of laundry (you didn’t know why Seonghwa insisted that you two always do everyone’s laundry).

”But then, I talked to Hongjoong about it. I told him exactly what was on my mind when I saw him, exactly how the whole situation affected me, and now—” you smiled. ”Now I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You sat back in your chair, putting your hands on your stomach. ”I’m stuffed,” you said, looking at the plate that you had somehow managed to empty of food.

Wooyoung looked at you with a proud smile, him being the one who cooked the meal.

Yunho sat at his usual spot, in between you and Jongho. Seeing him after last night, you almost expected him to be shy or embarrassed, judging from how shy he seemed when you kissed him. But as you met him in the dining room, you saw a big smirk on his face. The hug he gave you was longer than usual, and you couldn’t help but squeak when you felt his big hands tighten around your waist, fingers digging into your flesh ever so slightly.

It seemed you were the shy one, feeling flushed when he whispered in your ear. ”I’ll get you back for catching me off guard like that.”

”Alright,” Hongjoong caught everyones attention. ”We need to discuss the trip next weekend.”

Oh right, you thought. You had almost forgotten about their seasonal trip to their cabin in the woods.

You straightened your posture, listening to Yunho who spoke up. ”Everyone’s coming, right?” he asked, looking around. His gaze stopped on you, making you look away.

”We don’t know that,” Hongjoong said, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. ”Y/n hasn’t said if she’s coming yet.”

You suddenly felt everyone’s eyes on you, anticipating your answer. ”Oh, me?” you said, voice a little higher than normal.

”Of course you’re coming! It’s a tradition!” Wooyoung said, making you bite your lip in thought. ”Hmm… I don’t know,” you said, looking down. ”I don’t want to impose or anything. I know this is your thing…”

”You’re not imposing,” Seonghwa said. ”You’re a part of us now, and I’d really like you to come,” Seonghwa looked at you with his soft eyes, his hand finding yours and rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

”Yeah! It wouldn’t be the same without you!” Mingi said, his smile wide, already making you feel better.

You heard hums of agreement around the table. ”Well,” you started, taking a deep breath. ”I mean… If you’re all sure it’s okay.”

”It’s more than okay,” Yunho said, catching your attention. ”We’ll have so much fun! And trust me, you won’t want to miss seeing Mingi attempt to fish,” he said in a very audible whisper, glancing at Mingi with a playful smile.

”Hey! I’m a great fisherman!” Mingi protested, making you giggle.

”Alright,” you finally said, but felt the need to check one more time. ”But are you guys sure it’s okay? It’s fine if it’s not—” you tried, not wanting to risk being a burden.

”Oh hush now,” Hongjoong said. ”We all really want you to come with us,” he said. It always felt good to hear it from him.

”Alright, I’ll come.”  San and Wooyoung cheered loudly. ”This is going to be the best trip ever!” Wooyoung said.

As the others continued talking about the trip, you felt your sense of belonging only grew.

Thank you all for the positive feedback on this story!!!! It means soooo much and thank you to everyone who supports this by reblogging/liking/commenting!!! Don’t be shy to send requests!!

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inkyquillstories · 3 days ago

Text

A Body Swap Study

Author’s Note:

This is a long one but I hope you enjoy it. Had this story in mind for a while but I was looking for the perfect pair of men to use. The pics here are the SFW version. If you wanna see the full NSFW version, you can see them on my discord: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

There’s considerably less photos in the tumblr post than the one on discord

A Body Swap Study: Posters had begun appearing throughout the city, each one promising an opportunity too good to be true. The details were vague yet enticing: a groundbreaking psychological and neurological study seeking male participants between the ages of 18 and 60. The commitment was significant—a full year in a secured facility—but so were the incentives. Housing, meals, and an eye-watering sum of money were offered in exchange for participation. A non-disclosure agreement was mandatory, hinting at the study’s highly confidential nature. Some dismissed it as a scam, but for those desperate enough, it was an irresistible lifeline.

Silas was one of those people. A twenty-year-old aspiring actor in Los Angeles, he had once been confident that success was just around the corner. Yet, after countless auditions and endless rejections, he found himself unable to pay rent, with no prospects in sight. Handsome, fit, and brimming with charisma, he carried himself with the bravado of someone who had the world at his feet. But behind that confidence lay a man aware of how precarious his situation had become. When he saw the poster, he barely hesitated before signing up. It was money, stability—just for a year. How bad could it be?

Rob, on the other hand, had just lost his job. It wasn’t the first time. Overweight since childhood, he had grown accustomed to the silent judgments and casual dismissals of others. He was highly intelligent, kind-hearted, but plagued with insecurities that made it difficult to navigate social situations. His appetite was insatiable, his body unaccustomed to exercise, and he often sweated excessively, making him self-conscious about his appearance. When he stumbled upon the poster, it felt like a godsend. He needed money, and if spending a year in a research facility was the price, so be it.

The research team was flooded with applications, but two names stood out: Silas and Rob. Their physical and psychological differences made them ideal candidates. When they arrived at the state-of-the-art facility, they were greeted by Dr. Hank, a middle-aged man with an air of quiet authority. He welcomed them into a sleek, modern space filled with cutting-edge technology and a team of eager scientists. As Silas and Rob exchanged glances, their immediate impressions of each other were hard to ignore.

Silas couldn't tear his eyes away from Rob, his gaze flickering between disgust and disbelief. The sight of him—slouched and bloated—made something twist deep in Silas’ gut. How could someone let themselves reach this point? Rob's clothes hung loosely on his frame, but it was clear the fabric couldn’t fully conceal the rolls of flesh beneath. His face, once vaguely youthful, now sagged with an unflattering weight, his skin stretched tight around the folds like it was struggling to keep up with the overwhelming bulk.

The size difference between them was so stark it almost seemed like a cruel joke. Silas stood tall, lean, a picture of discipline and control. And then there was Rob, who looked as though he'd long given up on any semblance of self-respect. His greasy hair hung limply, a stark contrast to the neatly combed strands Silas took so much pride in. The small beads of sweat on Rob’s forehead seemed to reflect a deeper, unspoken struggle—one that Silas couldn’t quite place but that filled him with an uncomfortable mixture of superiority and contempt.

A huff of disbelief escaped Silas before he could stop it. How does someone let themselves go like that?

Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he scolded himself. He knew nothing of Rob’s life, his struggles, or how he had ended up this way. It wasn’t fair to judge him for his body alone. Still, it was difficult not to feel a sense of superiority.

Rob’s gaze lingered on Silas, and for a moment, he felt a sharp pang of envy twist in his chest. Silas exuded a kind of effortless confidence that Rob had always longed for, something he could never seem to grasp. His eyes traced Silas’ lean, sculpted form, the way his clothes fit him perfectly, as if every inch of him had been meticulously designed for maximum impact. There was a magnetic energy around him, a self-assuredness that Rob could never seem to summon, no matter how hard he tried.

It was frustrating—almost maddening—watching Silas move with that kind of ease, as if nothing in the world could faze him. Rob had dreamed of that confidence, had imagined walking into a room and commanding attention without even trying. He’d fantasized about being in shape, about going to the gym and chiseling his body into something that might make him proud, but the reality of his lazy habits, his poor diet, and his inability to break free from his patterns always held him back.

But standing next to Silas now, the gap between them felt painfully insurmountable. He couldn’t ignore the stark contrast: where Silas was sharp, defined, and disciplined, Rob felt sluggish, soft, and weak. A bitter jealousy simmered under his skin, but there was something else too—a strange, almost involuntary thrill at the sheer difference between them.

As his eyes briefly scanned Silas’ body, he felt a jolt, a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just envy. There was a certain pull to Silas—something more than just admiration. Rob didn’t quite know how to label it, but there was a raw, magnetic attraction in the way Silas stood, in the way his presence seemed to fill the room. It stirred something deep inside Rob, a hunger he’d never fully understood, an aching desire to somehow be that person, to embody that power, that control.

But, even as these thoughts circled in his mind, he pushed them down, focusing instead on the fleeting hope that this experiment, whatever it was, might be his chance to finally change. To escape his stagnant life and step into something new. The envy was still there, but now it was tinged with a desperate yearning, an almost primal desire to shed his old self and embrace whatever might be possible with Silas’ image, if only for a moment.

Dr. Hank soon gathered them for an explanation. The study, he revealed, was not just about the brain—it was about identity itself. The goal was to explore what happened when the mind was gradually reshaped to fit a new body. This wouldn’t be an instant switch. Instead, over the course of months, every aspect of their lives would be systematically exchanged. By the end of the experiment, their minds would fully adapt to their new identities.

Both men were horrified. The idea of losing themselves, even temporarily, was unnerving. But Dr. Hank calmly reminded them of the immense compensation they would receive. He assured them that the process would be entirely reversible and that Silas and Rob would return to the outside world when the study concluded. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. With some hesitation, they signed the NDA and the consent forms, sealing their fate.

After signing, they were introduced to the rest of the research team and given a tour of the facility. It was more luxurious than either of them had expected—a strange fusion of laboratory and resort. There was a buffet, a gym, an arcade, and even outdoor spaces like a pool and lush green parks. Each man was given a private room, equipped with all the comforts of home. For a moment, it almost felt like a vacation. Almost.

The first phase of the experiment was simple: a swap of personal objects. They were instructed to exchange clothes in front of each other, a task that made Silas uneasy from the start. As he pulled off his fitted designer t-shirt, he couldn’t help but glance over at Rob’s exposed body standing before him. The difference between them was almost jarring. Rob’s stomach protruded noticeably, his belly soft and rounded, the fabric of his shirt clinging tightly to the folds of flesh beneath. His arms were thick, but the weight wasn’t muscle; his skin, slick with residual sweat, reflected a life of neglect.

Silas’ gaze lingered briefly on the stretch marks crisscrossing Rob’s torso, a stark contrast to his own firm, meticulously cared-for body. It wasn’t a feeling of disgust, not exactly, but a deep sense of disbelief at the reality of the man in front of him—someone who lived in a completely different world, a world Silas had never been forced to acknowledge until now.

As Rob peeled off his jeans, Silas’ eyes flickered downward despite himself, taking in the full extent of the contrast between them. Rob’s thighs were thick, heavy, pressing against each other with every movement, the skin slightly chafed where they rubbed together. His calves, though large, lacked the definition Silas was used to seeing on his own body, and his knees seemed almost swallowed by the surrounding flesh. Silas couldn’t help but notice the way Rob’s stomach sagged slightly over the waistband of his underwear, the elastic digging into his skin, leaving faint red marks. His hips were wide, his lower body carrying the bulk of his weight, and even the way he stood—feet planted firmly apart for balance—was so different from Silas’ own natural stance.

As he slid Rob’s oversized, sweat-dampened shirt over his head, Silas was hit with an immediate discomfort. The fabric, heavy and loose, hung off his own frame like a sack, draping over his well-defined muscles in an unfamiliar way. The scent of Rob’s body—a mixture of stale deodorant and the lingering musk of someone who didn’t care much for hygiene—clung to the fabric, making Silas wrinkle his nose. The jeans were even worse—baggy and stretched out in places that seemed unnatural. They hung off him awkwardly, as if he were a child playing dress-up in his father’s old clothes. His discomfort deepened, the weight of Rob’s existence—his habits, his choices—pressing down on him in a way that felt almost suffocating. Silas swallowed hard, fighting the unease rising in his chest. This wasn’t just an exchange of clothes; it was a glimpse into a life he had never truly understood, and the reality was far more unsettling than he had imagined.

Meanwhile, Rob’s hands trembled slightly as he peeled off his old, sweat-stained t-shirt and handed it to Silas. He had seen fit men before—on television, at the gym he had always been too intimidated to enter—but never had he stood so close to someone like Silas, let alone stripped down before them. His eyes traveled over Silas’ body, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Silas was everything he had ever wanted to be—lean, toned, effortlessly powerful. His chest was firm, each muscle subtly defined without being overly bulky, his stomach tight and sculpted, as if he had never known the struggle of excess weight. His shoulders were broad, his arms chiseled, his entire frame carrying a natural confidence that came from discipline, from a life of control.

As Silas removed his last layer, Rob felt a pang of something deeper than envy—an aching realization that they were built for entirely different worlds. When he stepped into Silas’ crisp, perfectly fitted clothes, the waistband snug against his stomach, he felt like an imposter. This wasn’t just an exchange of fabric—it was a fleeting, painful glimpse into the life he had always wished for but had never been able to reach.

Rob’s eyes traced Silas’ form with an almost analytical intensity, absorbing every detail of the body he had always longed for. His chest was firm and smooth, his pectoral muscles subtly defined, rising and falling with steady breaths. His collarbones jutted out ever so slightly, accentuating the lean, angular structure of his upper body. Silas’ arms, even at rest, carried an effortless strength—biceps and triceps taut beneath his skin, veins faintly visible along his forearms, a sign of low body fat and rigorous training. His stomach was a masterpiece of discipline, each muscle carved into a set of defined abs that tensed slightly with every shift of his posture. Lower down, his hips were narrow, his waist trim, leading to long, toned legs with thighs firm and proportionate, the muscles apparent even in stillness. His calves were sharply contoured, the kind Rob had always envied in runners or athletes, shaped by years of movement and effort. Even his stance was different—relaxed but assured, as though he had never once worried about how much space he took up. Rob swallowed hard, not out of embarrassment, but from the sheer weight of the comparison. Silas’ body wasn’t just different—it was proof of everything Rob wasn’t, everything he had always wished he could be.

Rob couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy mixed with awe. Was it really possible for a person to look this… perfect? He had always admired fit men from afar, but seeing Silas up close like this made his own body feel even heavier in comparison.

Sliding into Silas’s clothes was an entirely different experience—one that filled Rob with a strange, exhilarating thrill. The shirt was snug, hugging his body in ways he wasn’t used to. It was strange, almost suffocating, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, he reveled in it. The fabric was soft, clean, and carried a faint scent of expensive cologne—nothing like the lingering musk that clung to his usual clothes. When he lifted his arms again, the motion brought a fresh wave of Silas' scent—an intoxicating mix of soap, skin, and something subtly masculine that Rob couldn't quite place. He inhaled before he could stop himself, a flicker of something heady and unfamiliar stirring inside him.

The jeans were impossibly tight, and he struggled to button them over his stomach, but he relished the sensation of wearing something meant for someone like Silas. He stood up straighter, tilting his chin slightly, imagining what it must feel like to actually *belong* in these clothes. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe—just maybe—this experiment could give him more than just money.

Aside from that, they also exchanged wallets, IDs, and phones. The symbolism was clear—this was the first step in becoming each other. From that moment on, they were required to wear each other's clothes. It felt ridiculous, even surreal, but they reminded themselves that it was all temporary. Just a year, and then they would return to normal. Or so they thought. That afternoon, Silas and Rob sat across from each other in one of the facility’s sleek, minimalist lounge areas. A small recording device sat between them, its red light blinking steadily, a silent witness to the exchange that was about to take place. Dr. Hank had given them clear instructions—share everything. Every detail of their lives had to be known by the other, down to the smallest habits and personal quirks. If they were going to live as each other, they had to be each other.

Rob cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Alright… I guess I’ll go first," he said. "My full name is Robert Daniel Whitmore. I was born in Chicago, Illinois. I’m twenty-six. Only child. My mom raised me on her own after my dad left when I was a baby. We didn’t have much growing up, but she worked hard to give me a good education. I was always the smart kid, the one with his nose in a book. I studied computer science at the University of Illinois, but I never really fit in. I… I always felt like an outsider, you know?" His voice softened, eyes darting away. "And yeah, I’ve always been… big. I tried to lose weight a few times, but food was kind of my escape. It still is."

Silas listened, arms resting on the back of the couch. He forced himself to absorb everything. It wasn’t just words—it was supposed to be his new reality. "Alright," he said, exhaling. "I’m Silas Maddox. Full name Silas James Maddox. Born and raised in Los Angeles. I’m twenty. I have one sibling. It’s just my dad, sister, and I after my mom passed away when I was a kid. He’s a talent agent, got me into acting when I was little. Did a bunch of commercials, tried for bigger roles, but nothing really stuck. I work part-time as a waiter, but acting’s always been my dream. I hit the gym every morning, keep myself in shape—image is everything in my business. And, well…" He gave a dry chuckle. "Let’s just say I’m used to getting attention."

Rob nodded, trying to picture himself in Silas’s world. The glitz, the constant pressure to be seen, to be perfect. It was so far from his own reality that it almost felt like fiction. Meanwhile, Silas tried to imagine Rob’s life—long nights behind a computer, the loneliness of always being the outsider, the struggle of trying to change and never quite succeeding.

For the next few hours, they drilled each other on details. Favorite foods, childhood memories, allergies, daily routines. Silas now had a mother who sent long-winded texts about his health. Rob now had a father who expected him to make it big in Hollywood. The longer they spoke, the more their lives intertwined, and the more unsettling it became. By the end of it, they weren’t just learning—they were becoming.

Afterwards, Dr. Hank paced in front of them with a clipboard in hand. The sterile white walls of the facility seemed to press in on him, making him feel trapped in something far more intense than he had expected. He glanced at Rob, who looked equally uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, his thick fingers fidgeting with the hem of Silas’s former shirt. Dr. Hank finally stopped pacing and turned to them with a sharp, expectant smile.

"Alright, let’s begin," Dr. Hank said, adjusting his glasses. "Silas—" He paused, then corrected himself with a smirk. "No, I should say… Rob. Let’s hear you introduce yourself."

Silas hesitated. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his jaw tightening before he finally spoke. "Uh… My name is Robert Daniel Whitmore, but you can call me Rob." The words felt foreign, wrong, like an ill-fitting costume.

Dr. Hank nodded encouragingly. "Good. And how old are you, Rob?"

Silas clenched his jaw. He wanted to say twenty, but he knew that wasn’t the right answer anymore. "I’m twenty-six," he muttered.

Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"

Silas exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. The words felt like acid on his tongue.

Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. "And you—Silas—let’s hear it."

Rob sat up straighter, as if already stepping into his new role. "I’m Silas James Maddox, but you can call me Silas," he said, his voice steadier than Silas had expected. "I’m twenty years old." He paused, then smirked slightly. "And I’m the fit one."

Silas narrowed his eyes at Rob’s confidence, while Dr. Hank merely chuckled. "Excellent. Now, let’s make sure this sticks."

For the next hour, Dr. Hank continued his relentless questioning, drilling into their heads who they now were. Silas had to repeat again and again that he was Rob, that he was the older, overweight man. Rob, meanwhile, seemed to grow more comfortable each time he stated that he was Silas, that he was the younger, athletic one. By the end of the session, Silas felt mentally exhausted, as if his very identity was being pried from his grip.

Dr. Hank set his clipboard down with a satisfied nod. "Good work, gentlemen. From now on, there are no mistakes. You will refer to each other, and yourselves, by your new identities. The more you embrace it, the easier it will be."

Silas let out a slow breath, glancing at Rob. He had no idea just how deep this experiment was going to go. And worse—he had no idea if he was ready for it.

The weeks that followed the initial introductions were grueling, both mentally and physically. Dr. Hank made it clear that the next phase was about full immersion. But it wasn’t just their identities that were being exchanged. Their diets were next. "If you’re going to live as each other," Dr. Hank had said, "you’ll eat as each other. Starting now."

The new Silas—Rob, still in his own chubbier frame but tasked with assuming Silas’s habits—stared at the plate in front of him: grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and a side of quinoa. Across the table, the new Rob—Silas, with his muscular build but wearing Rob’s baggy clothes —eyed a towering burger, fries glistening with oil, and a milkshake dripping with whipped cream.

“You actually eat this stuff?” Silas muttered, poking at the burger with a mix of disgust and curiosity. Rob smirked, shoveling a forkful of quinoa into his mouth. “Better than rabbit food,” he shot back, though the dryness of the healthy meal made him wince.

What neither of them realized, however, was that the food had been tampered with. The meals, though appearing perfectly ordinary, had been subtly altered by the research team. The healthy dishes prepared for Rob were enhanced with compounds designed to make nutrient-dense foods more palatable, triggering cravings for lighter fare. Meanwhile, the indulgent meals given to Silas had been treated to mimic the addictive flavors of greasy, calorie-laden comfort food. Their bodies wouldn’t gain or lose a pound—Dr. Hank had ensured that—but their preferences were another matter entirely.

At first, the meals were torturous. Rob struggled to finish the modest portions, his stomach growling in defiance as he longed for something heavier. Silas, on the other hand, grimaced with every bite of greasy fries, his usual discipline warring with the newfound compulsion to clean his plate. But as the days turned into weeks, the changes began to take root. Rob found himself enjoying the lightness of a spinach salad, while Silas’s hand reached for a second helping of lasagna without hesitation. They didn’t notice the shift—not consciously, at least. But Dr. Hank did. From behind the mirrored glass of the observation room, he watched with quiet satisfaction as the experiment progressed exactly as planned. The transition wasn’t just about knowledge anymore. It was about instinct. The lines between Silas and Rob were beginning to blur, and neither of them could see it yet.

The gym was pristine, almost clinical in its design, with mirrored surfaces and gleaming equipment that looked barely touched. Silas and Rob stood in their respective rooms, separated only by the large glass wall between them. Everything had been designed to be identical—the machines, the placement of the dumbbells, even the lighting. It was as if they were inside a perfectly symmetrical illusion. The only thing breaking the reflection was the fact that the man staring back at them wasn’t their own.

Silas adjusted the snug, moisture-wicking shirt he had been given, shifting uncomfortably. It clung to his torso, emphasizing his lean, muscular build.

Across from him, Rob wore the same outfit—except on him, it stretched awkwardly over his stomach and arms, highlighting every roll and bulge. Silas tried to keep his expression neutral, but he could already feel the discomfort creeping in.

Dr. Hank’s voice crackled over the intercom, instructing them to begin their workout, ensuring they mirrored each other’s movements perfectly.

Rob exhaled and gripped the dumbbells, his fingers tightening around the cold metal as he pulled them upward in a slow, deliberate bicep curl. His eyes immediately darted to the glass wall, where “his” reflection—Silas—moved in perfect sync. The thick veins running down “his” forearms bulged with each rep, his biceps peaking, flexing, contracting like coiled steel beneath his skin. His shoulders, broad and sculpted, rolled with effortless precision.

Rob felt a thrill surge through him.

The illusion was mesmerizing. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing the soft, pudgy form he had known all his life, he saw strength. Definition. Perfection.

He relished every second of it.

He transitioned into shoulder presses, pushing the dumbbells overhead. His delts flared, the striations in “his” muscles appearing more defined with each movement. He admired how “his” pecs tightened, the sweat glistening over smooth, firm skin. It was intoxicating to see “his” body move with such effortless power. He had never looked so good—never *felt* so good. The glass wall was no longer just a tool for training; it was a portal into the life he had always craved.

His favorite part of the session was squats. As he lowered his body, he savored the way his quads flexed and stretched, the way his hamstrings tightened with tension before he pushed back up with ease. The sheer athleticism reflected back at him made his pulse race. This was his body now. The reflection belonged to him.

Silas, on the other hand, could barely stomach what he was seeing.

Every movement felt wrong.

Each rep, each squat, each contraction of his muscles only reinforced the horrifying illusion. He lifted his arms for a bicep curl, but instead of seeing his strong, defined arms moving in the reflection, he saw Rob—a version of himself that had become thick, heavy, and painfully out of shape. His once-chiseled forearms now looked soft. His chest, which had once been tight and strong, now appeared bloated, lacking any of the sharp contours he had worked so hard to maintain.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing steady as he moved through the motions. The glass wall was unrelenting, forcing him to watch every painful second. The worst was when they moved to planks—he held himself up on his forearms, trembling not from exertion, but from disgust as he saw “his” stomach sag slightly, a clear reminder that Rob’s body was nowhere near as taut or conditioned as his own.

It was unbearable.

Rob, however, was still entranced. He smirked, flexing his arm slightly in between sets, watching “his” bicep bulge and harden. He turned slightly to get a better view of “his” back in the reflection, grinning at the way “his” lats flared out, creating the V-taper he had always dreamed of having.

Silas caught the expression on Rob’s face and felt something bitter rise in his throat.

Rob was enjoying this.

His hands clenched into fists. He had spent years crafting his body into peak condition, years sculpting every muscle, and now, here was Rob—lazy, overweight Rob—basking in the illusion that he had built this physique. That it belonged to him.

Silas wanted to scream.

But there was nothing he could do except continue the workout, moving in perfect sync, locked in this cruel, twisted reflection of reality.

Mid-workout, the gym was filled with the rhythmic sounds of exertion—dumbbells clanking onto the rubber flooring, controlled breaths exhaling between sets, the occasional grunt of effort. Sweat glistened on both men’s bodies, soaking through their clothes as they pushed themselves further.

Then Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.

"Now, switch gym clothes. All of it."

Silas stiffened. Rob’s breath hitched in excitement. That meant everything they were wearing.

With no choice but to obey, Silas peeled off his tight, sweat-drenched compression shirt, grimacing as the cool air hit his damp skin. He looked down at his chiseled torso—his torso—before reluctantly reaching for Rob’s oversized, moisture-soaked tank top. The fabric was thick with sweat, carrying the unmistakable scent of Rob’s exertion. As he pulled it over his head, he shuddered at the way it clung uncomfortably to his body, the foreign musk invading his senses.

Rob, on the other hand, grinned as he grabbed Silas’s sleek, fitted gym shirt. The material was thin, designed to hug every contour of Silas’s sculpted physique. As he slipped it on, he gasped—it fit. It actually fit. The snug compression wrapped perfectly around his man boobs, his flabby arms, emphasizing every ridge and valley of fat. He felt powerful. He also enjoyed smelling Silas’s musk on his own body.

Silas tugged at the loose tank top draped over his frame, feeling utterly disgusted. The fabric sagged at the chest, pooled slightly around his waist—*it didn’t belong on his body*. He tried to ignore the way it smelled, the way it reminded him with every inhale that this wasn’t *his* usual scent anymore.

Then came Dr. Hank’s next command.

"Silas, stand in front of the mirror and flex."

Rob’s pulse quickened.

Silas hesitated, jaw tightening. Slowly, he stepped forward until he was directly in front of the glass. He knew what he would see. It never got easier. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t his own—it was Rob’s. His breath hitched slightly, the weight of the reality sinking in.

Behind him, Rob watched with barely contained excitement.

Silas lifted his arms, forcing his biceps to contract. The thick, rounded muscles peaked, veins pulsing beneath the surface. Rob mirrored the movement behind the glass wall, watching with hungry eyes as “his” body flexed in response.

"Continue flexing through a full routine, Silas—keep mirroring Rob."

Silas moved through each pose reluctantly, muscles rippling as he transitioned from a front double bicep to a side chest flex, his abs tightening with every motion.

Rob, however, relished every second of it. He struck the same poses, mimicking the movements exactly, grinning as he watched his reflection respond. It was intoxicating, seeing himself like this. Strong. Dominant. Perfect.

He hit a side tricep pose, watching the muscles coil and stretch, the lines crisp and well-defined. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto his chest, making his already toned body gleam under the gym lights.

Silas, meanwhile, felt his stomach twist with resentment. He was being objectified—by Rob, of all people. He could feel the way Rob was drinking in the sight of “his” reflection, the way his eyes lingered on every flex, every contraction.

"Now, continue your workout." said Dr. Hank

Silas turned away from the glass wall, thankful to be done, but Rob was still fixated on the illusion. He grabbed the barbell with renewed energy, eager to lift, to feel *his* muscles working.

Silas did the same, but with every movement, he could feel Rob’s oversized tank top shifting awkwardly against his body, could smell the lingering musk of Rob’s sweat. His skin crawled.

And yet, when he glanced up, Rob was staring at his reflection with utter admiration. The realization made his blood boil. Rob loved this. Loved the body that wasn’t even his.

And worst of all—Silas couldn’t do anything about it.

After the grueling workout, their bodies were glistening with sweat, muscles sore yet warm from exertion. Dr. Hank’s voice crackled once again over the speaker.

“Now, head to the showers. Same procedure applies—mirror each other’s actions.”

Silas let out a slow, shaky breath. His body was screaming for relief, but the thought of yet another humiliating exercise made his stomach churn. Rob, however, practically vibrated with anticipation. He followed Silas out of the gym, every step feeling more natural—like he belonged in this role.

When they arrived at the showers, Silas froze in the doorway. Just like the gym, it was designed to reinforce their mirrored roles. A false mirror stretched across the length of the shower stalls, but Silas knew better by now. It wasn’t a mirror at all—it was a transparent glass wall. On the other side, Rob stood in the exact same spot, his eager eyes locked onto Silas like a predator finally cornering its prey.

“Similar in the gym, Silas leads. Rob follows.”

The words rang in Silas’s ears like a death sentence.

Rob moved himself forward, standing in front of the shower controls. Silas’s hands moved on autopilot as he turned the knob, warm water cascading down his body, rinsing away the sweat from the brutal training session. Every movement—every flex of muscle, every lift of his arms to wash his hair—was him copying Rob with unwavering precision.

Rob’s eyes raked over Silas’s reflection—his reflection, in his mind—watching the way the water slid over his toned chest, down his sculpted abs, trailing lower and lower. He swallowed, enthralled by every defined muscle, the way Silas’s shoulders tensed, the sharp angles of his jawline when he tilted his head back into the stream. Even the way Silas ran his fingers through his wet hair looked effortlessly cool, effortlessly right.

Rob mimicked every motion perfectly, but there was a difference. Silas was enduring this. Rob was savoring it.

For Silas, this was another level of hell. Every time he opened his eyes, he wasn’t greeted by his own reflection, but by Rob’s body, doing exactly what he was doing. He scrubbed his arms, his chest, but every movement was mirrored by a body that wasn’t his—one that was softer, rounder, completely alien. His jaw clenched as he reached up to wash his armpits, his biceps flexing involuntarily—only to see Rob’s reflection doing the same. It almost felt hypnotic.

His stomach twisted when he moved downward, washing his torso. The glass left nothing hidden. Every action was performed in sync, and even though he was looking at Rob, his mind hated how natural it felt—how his brain was beginning to accept that the body staring back at him was his own.

Meanwhile, Rob was in heaven. He took his time, watching Silas’s every motion like it was a performance crafted just for him. His favorite part? Seeing the shifting expressions of frustration, anger, and helplessness on Silas’s face. It fueled him. It made him bask in the reality that he was winning—he was Silas now.

When the shower ended, Dr. Hank’s voice returned.

“Now, put on your clothes.”

Silas let out a slow breath, desperate to escape this psychological torture. But the torment wasn’t over yet. Their clothes had already been laid out for them—Rob’s outfit on Silas’s side. Silas’s outfit on Rob’s side.

It was deliberate.

With no choice, Silas grabbed the oversized shirt and loose sweatpants that reeked of Rob’s scent. The fabric felt wrong against his skin, swallowing his frame in a way that disgusted him. He tugged the shirt over his head, feeling like he was drowning in the unfamiliar cloth, the musk clinging to him.

Rob, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He grabbed the fitted t-shirt, sliding it over his shoulders, marveling at how perfectly it contoured his chest, how snug it felt against his arms. He pulled on the athletic joggers, admiring the way they sat on his hips.

When they stepped out of the showers, it was almost laughable how much they looked like each other. The real Silas, dressed in Rob’s oversized clothes, looked tired, burdened, out of place. The real Rob, dressed in Silas’s perfectly fitted outfit, looked energized, confident, as if he had never not been Silas.

Without another word, they walked to their respective bedrooms. Or rather, each other’s bedrooms.

Silas stepped into Rob’s room, the scent of junk food and unwashed clothes filling his nostrils, making him gag. Rob stepped into Silas’s room, inhaling the crisp, clean air with a satisfied smirk.

This was exactly how it should be.

The psychological and the physical phases had started. Now it’s the social phase. At first, managing each other’s social media accounts had felt like a chore—a game of memorization, carefully choosing words and tones to match their new identities. But as weeks turned into months, it became second nature. Silas found himself scrolling through Rob’s old messages, responding to conversations about coding projects and online gaming as if he had always been part of that world. The new Rob was very hooked into gaming to escape his new reality.

Meanwhile, Rob was thriving, slipping effortlessly into the role of Silas Maddox. He flirted with confidence, set up dinner plans with strangers who had no idea they were speaking to someone completely different, and basked in the attention that came with being an attractive, fit young man.

The dating profiles became a particular source of amusement for Rob. He had never experienced so many matches before—his inbox was flooded with eager messages, women (and even a few men) vying for his attention. But photos were crucial. Every potential match wanted proof that the man they were talking to was real, and that’s where Silas came in. Rob would direct him meticulously, instructing him to pose just right, flexing in ways that accentuated his muscles. "A little more light on your abs," Rob would say, adjusting the angle. "Turn your shoulders a bit—yeah, perfect." Sometimes Rob would do a picture for Silas to copy. Silas found the whole thing humiliating. His body had become a product for Rob to use, a tool to maintain the illusion. But the paycheck, the contract, the experiment—he reminded himself it was all temporary.

Rob, however, had never felt more powerful. He scrolled through his matches, feeling giddy at the thought that people saw him—well, saw Silas—as desirable. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t invisible. He was the man others wanted. And with every post, every video, and every flexing picture he had Silas send, he felt himself sinking deeper into his new identity, wishing that maybe—just maybe—it didn’t have to end.

After a few more weeks, the next phase began. They were given necklaces that were simple, unassuming—thin chains with a small metallic pendant, cool to the touch as Dr. Hank placed them around their necks. Silas eyed his warily, rubbing the pendant between his fingers, but it felt ordinary. Rob, however, was eager. He had learned by now that every step of the experiment brought him closer to fully embodying Silas, and he welcomed it.

Dr. Hank cleared his throat, beginning the usual round of questions. “Rob, what’s your name?” asking Silas.

Silas exhaled sharply before answering, “Rob Whitmore.” But as soon as he spoke, his eyes widened. The voice that left his mouth wasn’t his own—it was deeper, heavier, unfamiliar. It was Rob’s voice. He pressed his fingers to his throat in shock.

Dr. Hank smirked. “Good. And how old are you?”

Silas hesitated. He knew the answer. He had rehearsed it for weeks. But now, with the strange weight of the voice coming out of his mouth, it felt disturbingly real. “I’m twenty-six.”

Dr. Hank nodded and turned to Rob. “And you? What’s your name?”

Rob swallowed hard. A shiver of anticipation ran through him. “Silas Maddox,” he said, and his heart nearly stopped. His voice—Silas’s voice—was smooth, confident, effortless. He let the words settle in his mouth, repeating them in his head.

Dr. Hank continued. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”

Rob almost smiled. “Muscular.”

The words sent a thrill through him. He glanced at the glass wall, catching sight of Silas in his reflection, and for a moment, it was as if his mind filled in the gaps. The voice, the posture, the way he had been living—He was Silas.

Silas, however, felt the opposite. Every answer he gave pulled him deeper into a reality he didn’t want to accept. His voice was wrong. His name was wrong. He had been forced to embrace so many parts of Rob’s life already, but this was different. This was intimate. It wasn’t just about acting anymore. It was starting to feel real.

Later that day, Rob stood in front of the glass wall of the gym again, watching "himself" move in sync. He had loved these sessions before, but now, knowing his voice matched the man in the reflection, it felt perfect. He wasn’t just imagining being Silas anymore—his brain was solidifying it as truth. He grinned as he curled the weights, feeling stronger, more alive.

But beneath that thrill, a fear lurked. What if, at the end of all this, they took it away? What if he had to go back to being Rob? The thought unsettled him, gnawed at the edges of his excitement. He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away.

The next contraption was introduced a few weeks later. The contact lenses sat in two small cases, perfectly clear, almost indistinguishable from ordinary prescription lenses. Dr. Hank explained their purpose, though both men already had a feeling of what was coming.

Rob picked up his set first, glancing at Silas one last time before carefully placing the lenses in his eyes.

A quick blink, then another—his breath caught. Silas was gone. In his place stood himself—or rather, how his old body looked like. Chubby and hairy.

Rob looked at the mirror and saw Silas’s toned arms, sharp jawline, and athletic stance. Rob’s eyes widened in astonishment. He turned his head slightly, watching “himself” do the same, but from a different angle. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised a hand, watching his "reflection" move in perfect sync.

He quickly turned his gaze downward to confirm what he feared—and excitement exploded in his chest. His stomach—Silas’s stomach—was flat. No overhang, no soft flesh pressing against his shirt. He reached down and pressed his fingers into his belly and pecs, expecting firmness, expecting definition—

—but all he felt was flab.

The illusion wavered just for a second. He could see abs, but beneath his hands, he could feel the soft rolls of his true form. His breath hitched, but rather than disappointment, an intoxicating thrill ran through him. It was almost perfect. Just one more step.

On the other side of the room, Silas hesitated before slipping in his own lenses. He blinked a few times, forcing himself to look straight at Rob.

Except it wasn’t Rob anymore.

It was him. His own face, his own body. Standing over there. Moving in real time.

A cold wave of nausea hit him.

He swallowed hard and turned his gaze downward. Panic swelled in his chest. The first thing he saw was Rob’s thick arms. His belly bulged under his shirt, round and unfamiliar. His body looked like Rob’s. But—instinctively—he pressed a hand into his gut.

His own firm abs were still there.

For a moment, relief flooded through him. He wasn’t actually trapped. It was all just a trick. His fingers dug in deeper, feeling the muscle underneath. He could feel his real body, even if his eyes told him otherwise. But the sight was suffocating.

“Excellent,” Dr. Hank said, jotting something down. “Now that you both look the part, there's no need for shared workouts. You can train separately and continue your regimen alone.” Rob grinned, unable to stop himself from turning back to the mirror. His hands glided over his "abs" again, despite the deception. His mind was already starting to believe it.

That night, alone in his room, Rob stood before the full-length mirror, peeling off his sweat-dampened shirt. The fabric slid from his skin, revealing the defined lines of his chest and stomach—or rather, Silas’s chest and stomach. He ran his hands over his "chest," brushing over the sculpted pecs he saw. He looked perfect. The only flaw was that he could still feel his real body beneath the surface.

Despite this, his fingers ghosted over his reflection in the mirror, tracing the sharp definition of his jawline, his broad shoulders. He flexed an arm, watching the muscle shift, tightening with strength that—just weeks ago—he could never have imagined.

He tilted his head, drinking in the sight of himself. This was who he was now. The body of a man who belonged in the spotlight, on magazine covers, admired by everyone who laid eyes on him. His fingers dragged slowly down his stomach, stopping just above his waistband. His old body—his real body—had been soft, flabby, weak. But now? Now, he was powerful. Now, he could strut into any room and command attention.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his trance.

Dr. Hank entered, holding a small case of pills. “This should help reinforce the connection between your mind and body,” he explained. “Rob will feel heavier, as he should be, and you, Silas, will finally feel lighter and stronger.”

Rob snatched up the pill eagerly, barely hearing the rest of the explanation before swallowing it down. . Silas, however, hesitated. He looked at the grotesque reflection in the mirror—his reflection, bloated and unfamiliar. A deep pit of unease settled in his gut before he finally shoved the pill in his mouth, swallowing hard.

It didn’t take long for the effects to sink in.

Rob let out a slow breath as warmth spread through his limbs. His fingers pressed into his stomach again—except this time, there was no flab, no resistance. His body felt tight, compact, efficient. He flexed his arms again, his grin widening as he felt the tension in his biceps, the solid weight of strength coursing through him.

He turned back to the mirror, running his hands over his chest, over his stomach, up to his shoulders, reveling in every single inch of his sculpted frame.

“Oh yeah,” he murmured to himself, tilting his head, shifting his stance just slightly to emphasize his best angles. He threw a few casual poses, watching the light dance across the definition of his abs. Every movement felt fluid, natural. He had become Silas in every way that mattered.

Then he turned his gaze across the room.

Silas sat hunched on his bed, staring down at himself with a look of absolute horror.

His fingers gripped the flesh at his waist—except this time, it moved under his touch. It sagged, the weight pulling in ways that felt unbearable. His whole body felt sluggish, heavy, bloated. His stomach sat on his lap, the subtle bounce of soft fat foreign and horrifying. He clenched his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream.

His breath turned shallow.

This wasn’t a trick anymore. The lenses made him see it, but now? Now, he felt it.

His gut clenched as he slowly raised his gaze toward the mirror.

Across from him, Rob smirked, basking in the glory of his—Silas’s—body, flexing without a care in the world. Silas’s stomach twisted as he watched the man move, admire himself, preen like he had earned that body.

Rob turned slightly to the side, taking in his reflection from another angle, running a hand through his hair before meeting Silas’s gaze in the mirror. He caught the flicker of envy in Silas’s expression—raw, unfiltered resentment.

And he loved it.

He let his smirk widen as he stretched his arms above his head, exaggerating the movement, rolling his shoulders just to feel the strength radiating from his muscles.

"Man," he sighed, dragging his hands down his torso again, relishing every inch. "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this."

Silas gritted his teeth, his hands tightening into fists.

Rob turned to him, eyes gleaming. “How’s it feel?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Silas didn’t answer. He refused to give Rob the satisfaction.

But that smirk—that knowing, arrogant smirk—never left Rob’s face.

He stretched again, yawned, then gave one last glance at his reflection, dragging his fingers across his stomach one final time before heading to bed.

Silas, however, had trouble sleeping that night. He sat in front of the mirror, trapped in the body he once mocked, his own physique stolen by the very man who didn’t deserve it. Eventually, he got tired and fell asleep.

The facility was silent in the dead of night, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Silas and Rob lay unconscious in their separate rooms, their breathing steady, their minds deep in drug-induced sleep. The sedation had been precise—calibrated to ensure that neither man would stir as they were carefully transported to the sterile, steel-lined chamber. The walls of the room were lined with machinery that pulsed with an eerie blue glow, their function known only to those who worked under Dr. Hank’s meticulous guidance.

In the center of the room stood two massive pods, each one large enough to contain a full-grown man. Their curved glass surfaces were clouded with condensation, hiding the intricate network of wires, tubes, and electrodes that snaked along the interior.

Dr. Hank observed as his team worked in practiced efficiency, preparing for the final phase of the experiment. He approached the control panel, his fingers dancing over the buttons before gripping the lever.

“This is it,” he murmured, almost to himself.

He pulled the lever.

The hum of the machines deepened into a low, resonant vibration. The pods lit up from within, a blinding white light flooding the room as energy surged through the complex system. Inside, the bodies of Silas and Rob twitched involuntarily, muscles seizing as the technology did its work.

The process took mere minutes.

When the glow finally dimmed, the pods hissed as they depressurized. The lids slowly lifted, revealing the men inside.

Where Silas had been placed, Rob’s body now lay still.

Where Rob had been placed, Silas’ body now remained.

It was seamless—perfect. Every detail, down to the finest fingerprint, had transferred flawlessly. The bodies had been switched completely.

Dr. Hank leaned in, inspecting them closely.

"Turn off the necklace and the lenses," he instructed.

A technician complied, pressing a button on a nearby console. The faint energy signatures that had once manipulated their senses flickered out.

Neither man would notice.

When they woke up, they would feel exactly the same.

And that was the true brilliance of it all.

The morning light filtered through the blinds as the new Silas stirred awake, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. Immediately, something felt different—better. He felt light. He felt strong. Ultimately, it felt right.

He sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, and as he moved, his body responded with a sharpness he had never known before. There was no sluggishness, no resistance, no weight dragging him down. His muscles felt compact, efficient, ready to move. A slow smile spread across his lips as he ran his hands over his stomach, reveling in the tightness of his abs, the firmness of his chest. It felt real now—undeniably real.

Standing up, he took a few steps toward the full-length mirror, his breath hitching as his reflection greeted him. Silas.

He turned slightly, rolling his shoulders, flexing his arms just to feel them move. A rush of warmth spread through his chest. This was his body now. He felt like he was really Silas.

On the other side of the facility, the new Rob groaned as he woke up, the simple act of rolling over suddenly feeling off. His limbs felt heavy, his movements slower, less responsive. He furrowed his brows, shifting onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling. Something wasn't right.

Sitting up took effort—too much effort.

His breath caught as his stomach pooled in his lap, the weight of it unfamiliar, foreign. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at his sides, and a wave of unease rolled through him. The pill must still be working, he told himself. The effects will wear off soon.

Dragging himself out of bed, he made his way to the mirror, bracing himself before glancing at his reflection. His breath hitched. He saw Rob.

No. That’s himself, he told himself.

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was still getting used to seeing himself like this, but now, it felt real. The weight on his body, the sluggishness in his movements—it was all too much.

Before either man could dwell on it further, Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.

Gentlemen, report to the main room. They arrived at the usual session, sitting across from each other as Dr. Hank regarded them with a pleased expression.

“We’ve made some advancements,” Dr. Hank began. “To further reinforce your new realities, we’ve integrated AI into your devices. From now on, when you look into a camera, the camera will see yourselves—as you should.” Though in reality, there was no AI added. The truth is, they just completely swapped bodies.

Silas—the new Silas—felt a rush of excitement as he grabbed his phone and opened the selfie camera.

There he was.

The sharp jawline. The clear skin. The perfect physique.

He turned his head, testing the angles. His reflection followed flawlessly, every movement natural.

He had no reason to doubt it. He didn’t need Silas to take photos and videos for him anymore.

Rob—the new Rob—hesitated before doing the same. His stomach twisted as he raised his phone and stared at the image on the screen.

His lips pressed into a thin line. The AI was too good. The way it moved, the way the light caught his features—it was as if he were really looking at himself in the mirror.

His grip on the phone tightened.

“Everything you see, everything you feel, is a result of our process working exactly as it should,” Dr. Hank said smoothly. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Neither of them questioned it.

The day continued as usual. Their meals were switched—Silas enjoying his healthy protein-heavy diet while Rob choked down the carb-heavy, high-calorie meals he had once despised.

At the gym, Silas—the old Rob—felt the rush of strength surge through him as he lifted the weights effortlessly. His body responded with power, precision. Each curl, each press, each motion was a testament to the reality he had embraced.

Across from him, Rob—the old Silas—was struggling.

The weights that used to feel light now burned in his arms. His breath came heavier, his movements slower. He watched as the new Silas worked out with ease, flexing in front of the mirror, admiring his own reflection.

The new Rob gritted his teeth. He hated how it felt. How natural it was beginning to seem. Not only that, he can smell his own musk. The old musk of Rob which is now his own.

He wanted to believe this was just a trick—just the pills, the lenses, the AI. But with every movement, every step, every moment… The truth settled deeper into his bones. And neither of them knew.

The final phase had arrived.

Dr. Hank stood before them, his expression unreadable as he clasped his hands behind his back. Silas and Rob sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

“For the next six months,” Dr. Hank said smoothly, “you will be living as each other in the real world. No more controlled environments, no more structured drills. You will be immersed completely.”

The old Silas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But… we haven’t actually swapped bodies.” His voice, now permanently sounding like Rob’s, was filled with doubt. “How the hell are we supposed to pull this off?”

The old Rob, in contrast, leaned forward eagerly. “Yeah, I mean… I know we’ve got the AI, the lenses, the pills, and all that, but outside, how do we make sure people don’t see the truth?”

Dr. Hank gave a slow, knowing smile. “That’s already been taken care of. All necessary arrangements have been made.”

Silas frowned. “Arrangements?”

Dr. Hank didn’t elaborate. Instead, he motioned to the assistant standing by the door. “Before you go, we have one last exercise.”

The old Silas’s stomach churned as the familiar process began once again. The final drill.

Dr. Hank turned to the new Rob first. “What’s your name?”

The old Silas clenched his fists but forced himself to answer. “Rob Whitmore.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"

The new Rob exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before.

Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. “And you?”

Rob grinned. “I’m Silas Maddox.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty”

“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”

The new Silas smiled. “Muscular.”

Dr. Hank’s gaze flickered between them, and then he continued, pressing deeper into their identities. Childhood memories. Family histories. Personal quirks. Every answer solidified the transformation, reinforcing who they had become.

Silas relished every moment, answering with enthusiasm, loving the power of fully stepping into Silas’s life. He stole glances at the reflection of his body in the glass, flexing slightly when he thought no one was looking.

Rob, on the other hand, responded reluctantly, hating every second of it. Each answer felt like another nail in the coffin of his old self, trapping him further in this deception.

By the end of the session, Rob felt hollow. Silas, however, felt exhilarated.

“Good,” Dr. Hank finally said, pleased. “You’re ready.”

The men were escorted out of the facility and sent on their way.

Silas stepped into the world, meeting his "friends" and "family." They greeted him warmly, embracing him, laughing with him as if he had always been Silas. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only acceptance.

Rob arrived at his "home." Everything about it felt familiar even though it shouldn't be. Then everyone he met—his coworkers, his neighbors—treated him exactly as they would Rob.

Both men felt a deep, unsettling shock.

How was this possible? The world saw them exactly as they saw themselves. And they had no idea that it wasn’t just perception anymore.

Six months passed.

Silas thrived. He had embraced his new body, his new life, and everything that came with it. Every morning, he woke up feeling strong, powerful, and confident. The gym had become his second home, a place where he sculpted his already perfect physique and basked in the admiration of others. He had even landed a few acting gigs—something the old Silas had always struggled to achieve.

It was as if fate had corrected a mistake.

He wasn’t just living as Silas; he was excelling at it.

Meanwhile, Rob endured each day with growing frustration. He hated the way his body felt—heavy, sluggish, uncooperative. The workouts that had once been second nature were now grueling, humiliating tasks, and soon, he gave up on them entirely. Instead, he found comfort in food and video games, settling into the life he had been given, biding his time until the swap was reversed.

Because it would be reversed.

…Wouldn’t it?

The thought nagged at him more and more as the months passed. He had been counting down the days, waiting for Dr. Hank’s call, waiting for the experiment to end.

Then, one evening, the call finally came.

Both men were summoned back to the facility. Silas arrived in a crisp, well-fitted shirt that accentuated his muscular build, his presence commanding the room effortlessly.

Rob, in contrast, arrived in loose, comfortable clothes that did little to hide his weight gain, his expression filled with equal parts relief and desperation.

Dr. Hank greeted them with his usual composed demeanor. “Gentlemen, congratulations. The study has concluded.”

Rob exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. “Finally. So, we swap back now?”

Dr. Hank smiled, tilting his head. “That was never part of the agreement.”

A silence heavier than anything they had experienced before settled over the room.

Rob’s stomach twisted. “What?”

“The process was designed to be entirely reversible,” Dr. Hank clarified, his voice infuriatingly calm. “But I never promised that it would be reversed.”

Silas said nothing. He simply stared at Dr. Hank, his expression unreadable.

Rob shot Silas a pleading look. “You want to switch back… right?”

Silas met his gaze, and for the first time in six months, Rob saw something in his eyes that made his stomach drop.

“No.”

Silas didn’t want to switch back.

He had won.

Panic surged through Rob. “No. No, no, no. You can’t just—”

Rob removed his contacts and yanked his necklace but everything looked and sounded the same. When he looked at Silas, he still saw a muscular and handsome man there.

“Dr. Hank already told me that the contacts and necklaces were off months ago.” Silas said.

Dr. Hank simply gestured to the door. “You’re free to go.”

Silas left without hesitation, stepping back into his perfect life without a single glance backward.

Rob remained frozen, his world collapsing around him.

And when he finally stumbled out of the facility, no one—not his coworkers, not his friends, not the world—would ever believe that he had once been someone else. Not that he could, given his non-disclosure agreement.

The End.

#male body swap #inkyquill

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coffee-mage-sans-caffeine · 2 days ago

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Antivaxxers are not responsible* for the current pertussis outbreak. In fact, rich countries are! Here's how:

Whooping Cough, also called pertussis is back in a big way in the US right now. Other nations are also seeing outbreaks, particularly 'rich' or 'first world' or 'developed' nations. Wait what? Rich countries are having a bigger increase in whooping cough than countries with limited healthcare infrastructure? You're probably thinking 'ah, it's the antivaxxers, isn't it?' While they're contributing to the problem, but no, they're not in fact THE PROBLEM. In fact, even fully vaccinated people in rich countries are at risk for pertussis. The first thing to understand is that there are two 'generations' of pertussis vaccine available at present. Both are given in combination with tetanus and diphtheria vaccines. As far as I know, tetanus, diphtheria and pertussis are given together in every mainstream formulation of pertussis vaccine globally. The OG (first gen) pertussis vaccine was the DTP vaccine which contains a whole cell inactivated pertussis bacteria so when it is given, the body develops a robust immune response to every antigen (the thing your body can learn to make antibodies to recognise) on the surface of the pertussis bacteria. It is still used in countries where money is tight because it's cheaper to make and the immune response is robust and long-lasting--5-10 years depending on your source. Unfortunately, side effects were higher with the OG. Some children spike high fevers causing febrile seizures (which are terrifying even though they're benign), arm pain is more intense, and people feel worse after getting it. A miniscule number of children given the OG suffer encephalitis and more serious neurological effects, though most cases self-resolve. In rich countries, as the incidence of pertussis (and diphtheria and tetanus) fell with robust vaccination programs, people became more and more afraid of the side effects of the DTP vaccine. Those side effects sound scarier when there's lower risk of pertussis. There were also ever-growing antivaccine movements because since there has been inoculation (a precursor medical practice to vaccination that goes back all the way to ancient China) there have been opponents inoculation and vaccination. Antivaxxers are not new and modern. They have always been there and they were PISSED about the encephalitis. So both antivaxxers and provaxxers who were starting to forget how scary it is to watch a baby with pertussis said 'we need a better option'. This brings us to 2nd gen vaccines, the acellular pertussis vaccines DTaP and Tdap. The little a stands for 'acellular', meaning that there is no longer a whole dead bacteria cell as our antigen. We use specific cut-up antigens instead. Most formulations use 3-5 different antigens. This results in much lower side effects! Immunity without side effects is the goal! The problem is that this vaccine doesn't last as long. In fact, for 0-10 year old children, 98% are immune at 1 year after vaccination while 81% are immune at 5 years after vaccination. For 11-20 year olds, those numbers drop to 72% at one year and 42% at 5 years after vaccination. For people who are older, those numbers drop even faster. And the acellular vaccines aren't as good at preventing infection--they're more like the covid vaccines in that rather than stopping infection, they make the symptoms less bad. And those 3-5 antigens in the acellular vaccine are becoming less common on the surface of the bordatella pertussis bacteria. Yup. It's out-evolving the vaccine. So where does this leave us? 1) Make sure your pertussis vaccine is up to date. This protects you against the effects of a very serious illness. 2) If you have been exposed to pertussis TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT PROPHYLACTIC ANTIBIOTICS. After an hour in a room with someone who has pertussis, if your body doesn't have sufficient immunity there's up to a 90% chance of you getting it and you will be sick for months. This is one of the ONLY CASES EVER where you should be getting prophylactic antibiotics. Usually, I would say do not get prophylactic antibiotics. This is a special case.

3) If a third gen vaccine comes out (many are in development), update your pertussis shot! 4) IF YOU FEEL SICK AND HAVE A COUGH, STAY HOME. If you cannot stay home, then you should wear a well-fitted disposable n95, kn95, or surgical mask (in order of preference) at all times around other people. 5) Mask in crowded public spaces and on airplanes even if you feel well.

#pertussis #bordatella pertussis #tw sick kids #tw death #vaccines #get vaccinated

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rcmclachlan · 1 day ago

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For the wip title game: post-doheny park alt meeting?

I should've mentioned this in the previous one, but I started writing this one before the S8 premiere. Then 8x06 sucked all the fun out of it and I ended up leaving it alone for a while, but since everything's made up and the points don't matter, it's so back baybeeeee!

The call picks up on the third ring and a friendly voice carols over the speaker, "Thank you for calling Kinard Air: We're not happy 'til you're not happy. This is Tommy speaking, how may I help you?"

"You really thought you could just dine and dash on us, Kinard?" Hen asks with the tone of someone who is incredibly offended. It's ruined by how hard she's grinning.

Bobby's turnouts squeak as he twists around in his seat, a startled smile curving his mouth and his eyebrows practically kissing his hairline. It seems like of all the voices in the world that could've come out of Hen's phone, he hadn't been expecting that one.

Buck throws Eddie a glance in askance, but all he gets back is a confused shrug.

The speaker crackles a little under the force of the guy's laugh, which is so infectious that a smile unexpectedly erupts on Buck's face. Some people are just like that. Maddie's one of those people: if she's smiling, so is everyone else around her.

"I think that was more of a deluge and dash," Tommy Kinard says cheerfully. "Did it do the trick? I dumped the whole payload, but there are a bunch of ingrounds below me if you need me to swing back for another go. I don't mind ruining Ashley Baxter's pool party for the greater good."

"Ashley Baxter?"

Hen swats at Buck's face when he crowds in close to hear better. He shrugs at the side-eye she gives him. Her friend just saved their asses and he sounds like a really cool guy, plus his voice is making something ping pleasantly in Buck's brain, the way a radio DJ with a deep register does sometimes. Maybe he's got a podcast.

"My least favorite teammate's kid, who's been whining all week about wanting her 13th birthday to go viral. I think I can help her out."

wip titles game

#bucktommy #wip title game

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f1fansfantasy · 1 day ago

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Sports Car - Oscar Piastri x Reader

Inspired by Sports Car- Tate McRae, the alley part isn’t the same but you get me.

Warnings and not is this particular order: smut, sex, kissing, touching, body fluids, fingering, friends to lovers, sex in a car, p in v, not using a condom (use protection).

Important: this is not my first language, there might be some grammatical errors and you can tell me if you find any.

Please do not read this if you’re minor, this is not for you.

Oscar and I were best friends, we had met at the Australian Gp back in 2023 and became closer since the first moment we saw each other.

I loved everything about him…well…I loved him..he just didn’t know it.

I tried to hide it, I was scared. It made sense, he was a celebrity, a f1 driver, an amazing person to top it all off….I was scared to lose him.

I loved to stare at him secretly when he turned around and changed in front of me, or was looking for his helmet and gloves in the McLaren garage. His big back, that grew a lot and kept growing, his fluffy hair, hazel eyes…koala eyes…and big arms he used to hug me whenever he saw me close to him.

Those addictive freckles that covered his enti- “Y/n?”- said Oscar, while driving fast in his McLaren back to the hotel we were staying at that weekend. I blushed and stared at him…fuck…I had zoned out.

I shook my head and acted like nothing happened. “You zoned out…everything’s ok?” He sounded a bit worried, Oscar had his hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road as he quickly stared at my body language, trying to interpret it the best he could.

I looked at him “yeah..sorry…didn’t notice” I said softly, trying and hoping that he didn’t read my mind at that moment. He realised there was something wrong as my eye contact with him wasn’t strong, it wasn’t normal…something was off.

He decided to turn right into this rich neighbourhood , middle of the night and park his car right in front of the sea. I had to admit the view was amazing, the moon made the sea shine and now I could see his face a bit more.

We were alone, in the darkness, the houses so big and far apart from the other no one cared about what happened there in the sports car.

I blushed as he stopped the car, took off his seatbelt and looked at me with a serious face “you aren’t ok, are you?” His voice was rough, probably from screaming on the radio of his f1 car.

I looked down and got a bit stiff “I’m sorry…I…I have a lot of things in my mind lately” I said softly.

“Are you stressed?” He asked softly “I want to help you Y/n, I know you’re struggling with something” he admitted as he rested his head on the seat and looked at me.

I swallowed and looked at the sea admitting to myself that my Aussie bestie was so hard on himself that he wouldn’t start the car without helping me first.

I felt my mouth go dry as I said the next words “I haven’t been with someone in a long time and I’m getting intrusive thoughts all the time because of that…all the time…it doesn’t stop” I closed my eyes and sighed, thinking that he would find it weird.

Oscar stared at me sweetly even if I couldn’t see him. I pressed my head against the backrest and hoped for the world to swallow me.

“Is that why you zone out that often?” He said softly and I nodded as I stared at my feet. “Is there any way I could help? Do you need help relaxing or..?” He said worriedly, his eyes analysed my body looking for a solution.

“Oscar…I…I’m lacking comfort..well..and more..more than a friend could give if you get me…this is more of a sexual need” I admitted softly.

After a few long seconds I heard a “I could help you if you want it…” he said softly and I stared at him feeling emotional. “Oscar that’s a lot to ask…you pay for my trips to go all over the world to support you, you are an amazing friend..” I said thinking he was offering it because of pity.

“I want to help..” he said sure of himself, worried about my state, his eyes sweet, caring.. “only if you let me…we can forget this happened if it makes you uncomforta-“ I shut him up.

“Nonono…it doesn’t…not me, I just don’t want you to do it out of pity” I said a bit broken..needy even..

He then understood the reason why I hadn’t spoken with him about it… she thought he would feel pity.

“It’s not pity, I’m your friend, I care for you..I want to see you do well, I swear it isn’t pity” he whispered as he tried to move his hand closer to mine, I allowed him as he interlocked our fingers, his skin warm on mine.

I looked into his eyes and realised he wasn’t lying, I sighed and looked at him “really?….” I whispered. “If you let me” he answered and caressed my hand, I looked into his eyes and nodded acknowledging the situation….he wanted this.

“Sure?” He nodded “ok….I will” I replied and then he fixed his seat, to go all the way back and lowered his window a bit, letting the cold air of the night get inside the car. “Y/n… if you want this come here…” he whispered and I looked into his eyes as I moved carefully on top of the center console of the car and sat on his lap, his thighs were comfortable.

I felt his hands on my waist as he adjusted me on top of him. “Is this ok?” He asked softly, I nodded as I looked down at him.

He put his seat back a bit to create more space and looked at me as he felt my waist, I loved his touch even if it was on top of my clothes. He moved closer and kissed my cheek, I smiled softly at him when he split “you’re sweet”, he blushed and smiled.

He touched my jaw and looked at my lips, without saying a word he saw the way my pupils grew and he moved closer to test me, so close that I could feel his breathing, my heart was pumping fast.

He teased his nose against mine and then with a hand on the back of my neck pushing me softly against him he kissed me like no one had ever done it before, it was a mixture of love and appreciation.

I slowly reciprocated the kiss, getting used to the feeling of the soft skin touching me and his arms lazily holding my body on his. I felt my cheeks getting warm and my lungs running out of air, I split to take a breather and I looked into his eyes, that was it. If I wasn’t in love with this man yet, now I was.

There was my Oscar, hair a bit messy, rosy cheeks…long lashes and shiny lips. I knew that was my place…I couldn’t tell hi- “how did that feel?” He asked as he placed his hand under my shirt and felt my waist, his eyes looking into mine for reassurance.

I touched his cheek and felt his body under mine, his thighs were strong under my frame and my core felt a bit too hot under the layer of fabric.

“That was good..I needed that” I admit shyly. He touched my hair and my waist “can I give you more?…I want you to relax…just stop me if you don’t want to keep going, I don’t want to make you feel unsafe” he whispered.

“I need you” I closed my eyes and breathed out…that was it…I was his.

He started kissing my cheek, my neck…he started a path, a circuit.

Like the ones he knew that well and knew how fast to go on a corner and what gear he should use.

His hands traced my torso and he looked into my eyes as he asked for consent as he lifted my shirt and left it on the passenger seat, he admired my chest and left a kiss on top my heart “i want to make you feel safe and loved…you deserve it Y/n” he breathed out and I touched his jaw and pecked his lips as a thank you, in his eyes you could tell he felt the feeling behind it.

Our hands started pulling the clothes off, shirt…bra…my shorts…his shorts… and everything started making a little mountain on the passenger seat.

I could notice his member under his boxers, he was feeling this make out session like I was, my panties had a stain on them and I got shy because I could feel it. His hand stopped on the elastic of them and he looked into my eyes as I was so close to him I could feel his breath, it was like we were in a bubble. “Can I?” He asked carefully, knowing there was no way back.

I nod and i felt how he discarded them as I moved myself a bit to make his job easier, that was it, I was naked in front of him. He kissed my neck for a moment and touched my cheek “you’re beautiful Y/n…I’ll take care of you ok? You just enjoy” I pecked his lips and smiled…fuck..the butterflies in my belly.

His hands got on his boxers and he lowered them down, I helped him to get them all the way off and with the rest of our clothes. “Mm nice” i whispered, a bit nervous, I haven’t done this in some time.

He smiled and slowly placed my hand on his member, I moved it softly and stroked it to stimulate him. I stole a kiss from his lips and went a bit faster, I could hear him begin to whine and softly moan for me, which made me start to become more aroused.

He looked so good, all perfect and horny underneath me in the Mclaren, absolutely made for me.

I spit on my hand and kept going, he asked me for consent and started teasing my core with his hand, I definitely underrated how big his hands would be on me as one of his fingers graced my entrance. “Hmm” The softest sounds started escaping my lips as my eyes closed.

The moans were getting louder and louder, his fingers started going faster as I felt how I drenched them in my juices. My hand stroked him a bit harder and he hid on the crook of my neck “Os…I’m close..” I breathed out “fuck…me too” he replied.

After a few moments he released on my hand as I felt the warm liquid on it and i shook until my eyes closed and I took a couple breaths as I rested against him, my body trembled from the orgasm and he took care of me until I came back to normal.

I felt his hand on my back as he caressed it “mmmh that was good…you did good” he whispered and i nodded as i kissed him softly. “Mm that was amazing” I blushed and he pulled my hips up for a second until he aligned himself under my body.

“Y/n…we don’t have to go all the way if you don’t want to…” he whispered as he touched my hips, hoping I wasn’t overstimulated and the touches weren’t affecting me in that way.

“What if I do?” i whispered and kissed his neck as he tilted his head back, it was intimate, not that sexual. He hummed and touched my waist. “Then I want this too…. Uhm I don’t think I have a condom” he whispered while looking into my eyes.

“Just pull out…” I whispered “I trust you” I touched his cheek as I looked into his eyes. He swallowed and nodded as he lowered me on his length after asking if I was ready and I felt how it slowly entered my body “hmmmm fuck” I took a couple deep breaths as I touched his hair and he caressed my hips “like that…good girl” I opened my mouth and closed it immediately.

“Oh you liked that?” He teased me, I blushed and I looked down….I couldn’t believe we were doing this.

“I maybe did” I answered snarky, he took my hips as he heard it and started a fast but nice pace considering I haven’t done it in a while…I immediately got dumb on him “fuck…God…ahh mmm fuck” I moaned as I could barely open my eyes, my chest jumped and I got so drunk on the image of him sitting legs open on that seat thrusting into me.

He smiled and went a bit faster as the moans in the car were getting stronger and the sweat was increasing, I held onto him as i had a smile on my face and my legs were as I open as they could be on that seat around his hips, his hips drilling into me.

“Oscar…Oscar…clo-close” I was drunk on the feeling as he nodded and allowed me to collapse on his chest as he felt me finish, he cared for me first and then I felt him pull out and do on his belly, not in me…he kept his promise.

After a couple seconds he took some breaths as he held me and touched my hair, he stared at me with adoration. “So good…you did perfect…how do you feel?” He whispered as he kissed my forehead.

I pecked his lips and hugged his torso “thank you….that was amazing…i love you” I was so tired it escaped my lips and I didn’t notice, he looked at me and his heart started beating faster…she loved me? I had a chance?….

“Y/n please look at me” he begged in a whisper, his eyes deep as the sea in front of us. I did, his eyes looked dark, his pupils consuming all of them. “Yes?” I yawned mid answer.

He touched my cheek “do you really love me or did you love what we did?” He asked…hoping it was the first answer, our bodies still stuck against the other, warm and sticky.

“I wont lie because you know me” I whispered, my voice soft as i touched his cheek, he nuzzled it “I love you…I can’t hide it…not anymore after this…I also loved what we did if I’m honest” I admitted and turned red as a Ferrari “how can I not fall for someone like you?” i wondered out loud.

He smiled and touched my hair “I love you too…I want to take care of you, like tonight but for everyday…in every way I can y/n” he said softly and i felt a tear on my eye “don’t cry for me” he kissed my forehead, I felt home.

“Do you want us to be more or is this too soon?” He asked and i looked up at him and i pecked his lips with a smile and teary eyes “not too soon for me”.

He chuckled and wrapped me tightly in his arms “I love you Y/n” and I nuzzled on his shoulder and answered the same “love you Os”.

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sandwitchstories · 2 days ago

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A Big Uh-Oh

Hey hey everyone! Its been far too long since I shared some new Daddy Duty content regularly, so here you go! I give to you all this silly little story about Dad!Sukuna and Mouse

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

WC: 800+

Summary: Mouse gets injured when trying to hide. But just what was she hiding from?

AN: To anyone new to my Daddy Duty series- Mouse is Sukuna's two year old daughter. Welcome to Mouse's Mini-verse!

CW: Non-descript injury, mention of reader being pregnant, reader called Mama but not described, family fluff, toddler hijinks

A shrill screech pierced the otherwise calm of your home causing you and Sukuna to both race towards the sound. He moved far faster than you, getting there first. His little thief had closed her hand in the cabinet door.

“Mouse! You know better!” Sukuna scolded as he took her hand to see the injury.

“I sorry Papa!” Mouse wailed, sticking out her bottom lip as tears streaked down her chubby face. She sniffled while he examined her hand and looked at you, her other hand tangled in the fabric of her father’s black haori. “Papa kiss it?”

“Yes, Papa will kiss it,” you said, stroking hair back from her face.

He sighed at what he felt was theatrics but one look into those giant eyes and he was putting her little hand to his lips. He used his RCT and healed her hand. “There. Now cease the crying.”

“Kissed it fixed it,” Mouse said, calming herself a little. She turned in his arms, cupping his face with her hands and kissed his nose. Still sniffling, she snuggled into him, head under his chin like she had done since birth. Her safe place. “Please and thank you, Papa.”

“You only need to say one or the other,” Sukuna told her. He sighed and looked at you, “Wasn’t that exciting?”

You looked at him, blinking back tears. “I thought she was right behind me. I swore Mouse was with me.”

He looked at you with confusion, unsure why you were upset. Realization dawned on him. He tsked before standing up, pulling you to his other side as he scooped Mouse up in his arms. “It’s not your fault that our daughter cannot be contained. Accidents and injuries are going to occur. And when Mouse gets hurt she knows to find us and–”

“And Papa will kiss it fix it,” she said with a smile, reaching out a hand towards you.

With one arm wrapped around Sukuna’s back and the other holding your daughter's hand. You took a deep breath and let out the tension that had stiffened your entire form. Mouse was okay. Mouse was okay. Mouse was-

“WHO DID THIS?!” Uraume’s voice said in absolute fury from behind Sukuna.

Sukuna turned with Mouse while you peaked around his side. Your jaw dropped at the scene you had somehow missed. Ingredients were strewn about the kitchen and flour dumped on the floor.

Sukuna looked down at Mouse. “Mouse… what were you trying to get out of the cupboard?”

“I not trying to take anything, Papa,” she answered quickly.

“Were you trying to put something inside?” Sukuna asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, Papa! I trying to put me inside!” She nodded.

“Why were you trying to get inside the cupboard?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She sat up in Sukuna’s arms and pointed to the mess before bringing her hands up to her cheeks, as if in shock, and dramatically gasped, “Uh oh!”

“Yeah, Uh-oh. BIG uh oh!” Sukuna said as he took in the scene of the crime while Uraume glowered across the room. If looks could kill…

“Mouse… do you have something to say to Uraume?” you asked her, giving her a stern look.

She tucked her head back under Sukuna’s chin. “I sorry, Urau-rau.”

“Just go,” Uraume sighed as they grabbed the broom.

“Come, let's head to the gardens so you can burn off some energy, brat,” Sukuna said as the three of you left the kitchen to the sounds of Uraume plotting murder under their breath. Sukuna set Mouse down and she ran ahead.

You glanced up at him, “You don't think Uraume will poison our food, do you?

Sukuna laughed, throwing an arm around you and pulling you closer while you followed your little pink haired criminal down the hall.

“I doubt it. But then again…”

You looked up and saw his smirk. That damn dimple and mischief in his eyes, suppressing laughter at your concern. You shook your head and sighed. “You're so very reassuring, my love.”

“You shouldn't need reassurance. Daft woman. As if I would ever let anything happen to you,” he leaned down quickly and gave you a peck.

“What about Mouse?” You teased

“Ehhhh I don't know… I mean, It's not like we didn't already make another one…”

“You're incorrigible,” you laughed, thumping his chest with your fist.

Sukuna's hand moved to rest over your belly that was getting bigger everyday. He kissed the top of your head. “As if you don't know damn well that I would happily burn down all of civilization to protect what is mine.”

You had no doubts he meant what he said. He always did. And when it came to his family… well may the Gods take mercy on anyone who tried to harm his family because Sukuna damn sure wouldn't.

You couldn't help but find that side of him sexy. He was a walking calamity. But he was yours.

#sandwitchstories #mouse's mini-verse #soft sukuna #dad sukuna #girl dad sukuna #DILF sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna

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silent-stories · 2 days ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Series summary: After years of building your band’s reputation as one of the most influential in the metal scene, you and your bandmates move to Los Angeles. What you don't expect, however, is that your new neighbors are none other than Bad Omens, and that Noah is a huge fan of your band.

Series masterlist

The moment you walked into the music store, the scent of wood, metal, and leather hit you, immediately transporting you to memories from your childhood. The sound of strings being tuned, the hum of drums being tested, and the rhythmic tapping of keys filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

It was like stepping into a sanctuary, the kind of place you’d lost yourself in for hours when you were younger. Back then, you used to wander between the rows of guitars, basses, drums, and amps, feeling like the world outside could wait. It was always easier to breathe in a music store. The chaos of the world seemed so much quieter when surrounded by instruments.

You took a deep breath, soaking in the atmosphere. The walls were lined with guitars—some old and worn, others gleaming with fresh paint. Amps of all sizes were stacked along one side of the store, while the percussion section was neatly organized just ahead. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia.

Noah, walking in beside you, caught your eye with a grin. “Looks like you enjoy this place,” he said, his voice light, but there was an understanding in his tone.

“Yeah,” you replied, running your fingers over the smooth surface of a guitar, “it takes me back."

Noah nodded, a quiet smile on his lips.

"I'm sure I'm gonna come back here often." You added.

“Well, I’m glad we’re doing this today,” Noah said, looking around. “Let’s find that drum head and those sticks, yeah?”

You nodded, already feeling that familiar thrill of being surrounded by equipment you had no real need for but wanted anyway. You led him toward the percussion section, where you found a display of drum heads. They were all neatly stacked, with each one bearing different designs, sizes, and materials.

“Okay, so Jake mentioned he needed a new drum head,” you said, scanning the selection. “And he loves his gear to look good, so we need something that'll catch his eye. He’s really into the red and black combo these days. Literally, his entire wardrobe is those colors."

Noah’s eyes lit up when he saw the perfect one. It was a deep red with a black snake designed on it. “This one. This is perfect for him. It’s bold, but not too much. And the red and black thing? It’s spot on. I don't really know him but this thing screams Jake.”

"Oh, I like this one."

“I’ve been around Folio long enough to know what looks cool,” Noah said with a shrug, grabbing the drum head off the display and holding it up in front of you. “This one’s definitely the vibe.”

He handed it to you, and as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity shot through your hand, making your pulse quicken. You smiled as if nothing had happened, your mind already working on what else you needed. “Now we need the sticks.”

You walked a few feet to the stick display, where a wall of different brands and styles greeted you. You picked up a few pairs, testing their balance in your hands, feeling the weight of them.

“Red and black?” Noah asked, still standing by the drum head section.

“Yeah,” you said, tossing a pair of black sticks back onto the shelf and picking up a set with a bright red finish. “These could work.”

Noah walked over, inspecting them as he grabbed a matching pair. “They feel good. Solid grip, and the weight’s pretty spot on. They’re not too light, but not too heavy either.”

"Since when are you also a drummer?"

"Trust me, you don't want to see me play. I only know a few things."

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “I hope he's gonna like these.”

You walked to the counter, briefly talking with the cashier and then you both made your way out of the store. The late afternoon sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a soft golden hue over everything as you stepped back into the parking lot.

As you climbed into Noah’s car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. There was something about being in a music store that always grounded you, and today, with Noah by your side, it felt even more meaningful.

He slid into the driver’s seat, tossing the keys onto the dashboard.

“Thanks for helping me pick this stuff out, Noah.”

“No problem,” Noah said, “It’s always good to help a friend."

The drive back from the record store was relaxed, the warm glow of the setting sun stretching across the road as you and Noah talked. Music hummed softly in the background, a low rhythm filling the spaces between easy conversation. The city rolled by outside the car window, but you barely noticed, too caught up in glancing at Noah from time to time.

At one point, as the playlist shifted to something slower, Noah glanced over at you, his expression curious. “You play guitar, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the question but not by the certainty in his voice—like he already knew. He was a fan, after all.

“Kind of,” you admitted with a small shrug. “Alex tried to teach me a bunch of times. He was really patient about it, but…” You grinned, “He never got far with me. I’m not exactly a natural. I'm probably better with a microphone.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “That’s not what it looked like.”

You frowned, genuinely curious. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking briefly to the road before returning to you. “I’ve seen you play. Acoustic sets. You did that version of Ghost a few times.”

You felt a sudden, warm flush creep up your neck. “That barely counts,” you said with a laugh. “It’s just one song. And I stopped playing it a couple of years ago.”

Noah shook his head, smirking. “Doesn’t matter. You still did it. And you didn’t look half bad doing it, either.”

You scoffed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, well, I’d love to actually know what I’m doing someday.”

He didn’t reply, but his smile lingered, as if he knew something you didn’t. The music shifted again, the notes matching the golden haze outside, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

"Friend." That word kept echoing in his mind. He had said it so casually, without thinking twice. But now, it lingered with him.

It felt too much and not enough at the same time.

He had known you for just a little over a week, yet it felt like he had known you for years. And in some ways, maybe he had. But now that he was seeing you in person, talking and joking, everything felt so easy, so natural. It was effortless, like the two of you just fit. Like this was something that had been waiting to happen all along.

He loved the way you sang that song with him so much that he almost thought about taking a wrong turn to make the journey last longer. That song that in one way or another described you a little and that he knew he would never listen to in the same way again.

The front door creaked open, and Noah stepped inside his house, glancing around as he tossed his jacket onto the coat rack.

“Hey, already back from your date?” Nicholas asked from the couch, his legs stretched out lazily. He was lounging next to Matt, who was looking at his phone, but as soon as Noah closed the door behing him, his attention was on Noah.

Noah ran a hand through his hair, feeling the warmth rush to his cheeks. “It wasn’t a date,” he replied, trying to brush it off as casually as possible.

“Right, it wasn’t a date,” Matt chimed in “But you sure would’ve liked it to be.”

Noah shot him a quick glare, but his heart beat just a little faster at the idea. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

“We’re just friends,” he said firmly, hoping that would put an end to the conversation. But his voice faltered slightly.

“Yeah, you’re just friends…” Nicholas smirked, “But you sure as hell want it to be more than that, don’t you?”

Noah exhaled sharply, his brow furrowing as he leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a little cornered by their teasing. “Hey, you two. Did you just team up against me or something?”

Nick chuckled softly. “I’m just saying,” he said, his tone light but laced with amusement, “you don’t come home with a smile on your face like that after spending time with a girl unless you’re really feeling something. And this hasn't happened in a long time.”

Noah paused. He knew what they were saying was true. He did feel something. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. It was too early for him to even figure it out, but there was no denying the way his pulse quickened whenever you laughed, the way his thoughts lingered on every conversation you had. The way he’d caught himself smiling after the drive back even if none of you was speaking.

But there was also the fact that you’d only just moved to LA. You were still getting settled, still figuring things out. He couldn’t assume anything, especially not after just one week. Besides, you had been nothing but kind to him, offering your company, your time—just as a friend. You didn’t give any indication that you felt the same way.

“She just moved here, you know? She’s probably just being nice, trying to make some friends. I don’t want to mess that up.”

As Noah moved toward the kitchen, he heard Nicholas mumble, “Dumbass,” under his breath, and Noah couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t ready to admit anything, not even to himself—and for now, he’d take it slow.

You took a deep breath as you climbed the stairs, still holding the bags in your hands. You entered your room and set the items down on your bed. First, you carefully unpacked the drum head, the red snake design standing out vividly against the plain brown wrapping paper. It was perfect for Jake, and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

You set it aside before moving on to the sticks. They felt solid, the red finish a nice complement to the rest of the gift. You placed them neatly next to the drum head, the items now ready to be wrapped.

Once everything was in order, you headed downstairs, hoping to get some rest before you had to start working on the shirt designs again. As you entered the living room, you spotted Alex lounging on the couch, his usual smirk in place as he glanced up from his phone.

"So," he started, his voice teasing, "What did you do today? Besides, you know, buying gifts for our lovely drummer?"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you took a seat on the armrest of the couch. "I just went out with Noah," you said, trying to keep your tone casual. "We went to a music store to pick up some things for Jake's birthday."

Alex’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you and Noah spent the day together, huh?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "Was it a… fun outing?" He dragged the words out, clearly enjoying how the situation sounded.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "It was just a trip to the store, Alex," you said, trying to play it off as no big deal. "He was just being kind, helping me pick out the right stuff for Jake."

Alex’s grin widened, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh, sure. Just 'helping' you out. Look at you, getting all cozy with the neighbor." He leaned back against the couch, still smirking.

You shook your head, laughing lightly. "It’s not like that," you insisted. "We’re just friends. He’s just a nice guy, and I needed help picking out some gifts. That's all."

Alex raised an eyebrow, his teasing tone never faltering. "Friends, huh?" he said, dragging out the word.

You shot him a playful glare, not willing to admit anything. "I swear, you’re impossible," you said, standing up from the couch. "It’s literally nothing. We just went out to get some stuff for Jake’s birthday. End of story. I don't like him that way."

Alex chuckled softly, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Sure, sure. If you say so."

"Alright, enough," you said, rolling your eyes. "Now that I’ve dealt with your teasing, I’m gonna work on the merch. In my room. Alone."

You heard the blonde's laughter follow you until you closed the door behind you.

In the following days, things passed by in a calm, pleasant rhythm. You spent a few afternoons wandering around Los Angeles with Sam, Jake and William, exploring the city in ways that felt both casual and exciting. One afternoon, you strolled through Melrose Avenue, checking out the cool, vintage stores that lined the street.

There was this one shop, Wasteland, that had the most amazing collection of secondhand leather jackets and band tees from decades past. You spent a good chunk of time browsing through the racks, finding the occasional gem, and laughing at some of the ridiculous fashion choices from the ‘80s that seemed to make their way back in style.

Another day, you went to The Last Bookstore in downtown LA. The towering shelves of books, the hidden nooks, and the whimsical vibe of the place were exactly the kind of escape you craved when the city felt a little overwhelming. Sam had picked up a graphic novel while William flipped through a music history book, but you found yourself drawn to the vinyl section, running your fingers over the old records with a soft smile. It was a little treasure trove, tucked away in the heart of the city, and you found a kind of peace there among the pages and music.

As you walked through these different parts of the city, you were starting to notice something. More and more often, people would recognize you—fans of the band, or sometimes just music lovers who happened to spot you. It wasn’t something you had ever been used to, but it was happening now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill every time someone would call out your name.

It would start with a hesitant wave, and then someone would ask, “Hey, are you Y/N from Dark Waves?” Or “Are you a singer?” And before you knew it, you’d end up posing for a selfie, or signing a quick autograph, exchanging a few words with a fan. It was always brief, always pleasant, but it made you feel something inside, like you were on the right path.

It was a little surreal, honestly. Growing up, you never really expected to be recognized in places like this—walking through crowded streets, sitting in cafes, or shopping in quirky stores. Yet there you were, in LA, where it seemed like everyone had a chance to run into someone they admired. Each time someone approached you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude. It reminded you of how far you’d come, of the countless hours spent working on music and building your career, and most importantly, it reminded you of the people who had helped get you to where you were now—your fans.

They were the reason you were living this life, the reason you had the privilege of playing music for a living. They were the ones who had supported Dark Waves through everything, and now, it was starting to feel real. You weren’t just in the band anymore—you were part of something much bigger, something that had a life of its own.

You had continued your routine of leaving food for the stray cat, just outside your garden. Every morning, without fail, the food would be gone, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing the cat was eating. There was something comforting about it, even though you didn’t know much about the cat or its life. You just hoped that, at least for a while, it could count on the food you left out.

One night, as you sat on the couch, flipping through your phone, you heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, just a soft rustling, but it was enough to catch your attention. You froze, listening, and then the sound came again—louder this time. It was as if something had knocked into something else. Curious, you stood up, slipping into your comfortable hoodie to shield yourself from the chill of the night air, and made your way toward the door.

You stepped outside, the darkness of the night surrounding you. The street was quiet, save for the occasional distant car or the rustling of leaves in the wind. Your garden was still, and the only thing that seemed out of place was a small vase that had been knocked over by something. Your gaze darted toward it, and that’s when you saw him.

The orange cat, the one Noah had talked about, was there, darting away from the mess it had caused. His fur was a bit scruffy, and he looked thin—almost gaunt, as though he hadn’t been eating enough. There were patches of dirt on his fur, and his eyes darted nervously, as if he were expecting someone to chase him away. He was hungry. You could tell. And he looked like he hadn’t had an easy time of it.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, calling out softly to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Come here.” You crouched down, hoping to show him you meant no harm, that you just wanted to help. But before you could even take another step, the cat whipped around and bolted, darting across your yard toward the fence that separated your garden from the next.

“Hey!” you called after him, instinctively trying to catch up. “It’s okay, come back.” But your words fell on deaf ears. In the blink of an eye, the orange cat had jumped up and over the low brick wall separating your yard from the neighboring house—the one you’d started calling "Omens house". You watched helplessly as he disappeared behind a little brick wall in the corner of their garden.

Just as you were about to turn back toward your house, a low creak behind you made you jump. You spun around, heart thudding, to see the door of the Omens house opening slightly. Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, was Noah. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, his voice thick with sleep as he drawled, “Are you trying to break in and rob us, or…?”

His long hair was a tousled mess, falling in loose waves over his shoulders, and his t-shirt hung rumpled, like he had been asleep minutes ago. His eyes, heavy with sleep but laced with amusement, regarded you with a sleepy kind of curiosity. The sight of him—barefoot except for a pair of ridiculous flip-flops with fake green grass covering the soles—almost made you burst out laughing.

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No, no robbery plans tonight, I swear.” You gestured behind you toward the wall. “The cat—the orange one you told me about. He was in my yard, knocked over a vase, and when I tried to calm him down, he jumped into your garden.”

Noah chuckled, stepping closer until only the iron bars of the gate separated you. He squinted toward the wall you pointed at, as if expecting the cat to appear just because he was looking. “Yeah, he does that. Skittish little guy. He’ll come out when he’s ready. He always does.”

His calm certainty made you smile, but your eyes drifted down. You couldn’t resist. You pointed to his feet, your lips twitching. “I'm sorry. Are you seriously wearing those? And you call me 'weirdo'?”

Noah followed your gaze, then shrugged unapologetically, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face. “Hey, these are genius. Every day is a walk in the park. Literally.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, but it didn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, pointing at his flip-flops like they were proof of a crime. “Who even buys those?”

“I do,” he said, unfazed. He stepped back, making a grand show of spinning around like he was modeling high fashion. “Jealous? Don’t lie. You wish you had a pair.”

“Yeah, sure,” you managed, shaking your head.

His grin lingered as he rested his arms on the top of the gate, leaning slightly closer. “But about the cat, you’re doing good leaving food out. He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

“I hope so,” you murmured, your voice quieter now. “He looked so hungry tonight. I just…” You trailed off, unsure how to put the thought into words.

Noah’s expression softened, his voice warm. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Dark Waves had a soft heart?”

You shot him a look, a grin tugging at your lips. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Bad Omens walks around in grass flip-flops?”

His smile broke wide, laughter rich and easy. “Touché.”

For a moment, you stood there, the silence between you comfortable. The night pressed darkly around you, but the small pool of light from the porch seemed to hold you both in a world of your own. His hair framed his face in messy locks, and even though he was standing there in grass flip-flops with sleepy eyes, you couldn’t help noticing how pretty he was. It was ridiculous, really, but undeniable—effortless in a way that made your breath catch.

He yawned, a soft, lazy grin still lingering. “Well, goodnight, weirdo.”

You smiled back, feeling lighter. “Goodnight, nerd. Try not to trip on your lawn shoes.”

He blinked, a laugh bubbling up again. “Nerd?"

“If you keep calling me weirdo, I’m going to keep calling you nerd. Those are the rules.”

“Those aren’t real rules.”

“They are now,” you said with a satisfied shrug.

"Alright," He let out one more laugh, and as you turned away, the warmth of his voice lingered long after you reached your door. In the dark, even with the ridiculous flip-flops, he looked unfairly pretty.

The late afternoon sun was dipping low as you walked with Jake to the familiar front door of Noah's house.

You found the gate ajar and Jake didn't even hesitate when he pushed it open, entering their garden.

"This is the right time they report us for invasion of private property." You muttered, following him.

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Jolly. His tall frame filled the doorway, and his eyes flicked between you and Jake with mild curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, offering a polite, if subdued, smile. "Hey guys."

Jake grinned. "Hey, man. We came over to invite you guys to something. Got a minute?"

Before Jolly could reply, footsteps sounded behind him, and then Noah appeared in the doorway. His eyes landed on you, and for a second, it was like there was just the two of you. He leaned against the frame, his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His gaze was soft as he took you in.

“Hi,” he said simply, his voice low, almost intimate.

“Hey,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips.

Jake’s eyes darted between the two of you, a slow, exaggerated sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Anyway,” he said loudly, breaking the moment, “I’m having a thing at our place Wednesday night. My birthday. Nothing big, just drinks and hanging out. You guys should come by.”

Jolly exchanged a glance with Noah, then nodded. “Sounds good.”

“You don’t need to bring anything,” Jake added. “Just yourselves. And Folio. You have to bring Folio. It’s just for fun, get to know each other, have a few drinks.”

Noah’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “We’ll let the others know. But yeah, I’m in.”

Jolly nodded. “Same here.”

“Awesome,” Jake said, clapping his hands together. “It’ll be good to chill.”

The conversation lingered just a moment longer and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel Noah’s gaze follow you until the door finally shut behind him.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

WTMS Tags: @rumoured-whispers @klutzy-kay24 @concretejunglefm @thecoyotescry @kenjipepsi1 @amelia-acero @xxkittenkissesxx @moostress19 @respectfulrebel @super-btstrash-posts

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x y/n #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x musician!reader #noah sebastian x singer!reader #x reader #wtms #when the music speaks

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thelivingautomaton · 2 days ago

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MANNNNNNNNN ok. not to get my SEVERANCE brainworms all over the place but i literally cannot stop thinking about this show. also i keep reading theories on reddit and some of them are really good and some are unbelievably stupid/media-illiterate. so i am dumping my wild predictions/theorizing/thoughts on season 2 here. Please Enjoy Every Bullet Point Equally(TM)

OKAY let's get the big one out of the way: it seems pretty apparent now that cold harbor (and maybe all of the datasets mdr is given to "refine") is binning memories/experiences/brainwaves into severance chips, likely in order to reformat or rebuild someone's personality from the ground up.

this reddit post sums a lot of the evidence up but tl;dr you see an electron microscopy image of neural axons, as well as an etCO2 statistic, which is typically used to monitor respiration of someone who's in a coma or on ventilation

MOREOVER, the four aspects of mdr's data line up with kier eagan's four tempers (woe, frolic, dread, malice -- i've also seen it pointed out that this aligns with the four mdr workers, and in the original pilot script there's a reference to "needing" four workers, but iirc they all work on separate files??), and apparently one of his Whole Things(TM) was the idea that you can neatly sort a person's entire personality into those four boxes

the numbers provoke an emotional response in the refiner based on their interpretation of the data, which we can surmise is likely neural/electrical signals of some kind, specifically from brains that have been frozen or cryogenically preserved and are slowly being thawed. hence all the stress over "finishing" files on time, before they "expire" (i.e. brain thaws too much)

the opening credits for season 2 places a HUGE emphasis on big swollen misshapen heads, on brains, and also on ice...including a blink-and-you-miss-it glimpse of a crashed car sinking into the ice, which takes us into our next big point:

gemma obviously didn't die in the car crash BUT!!! lumon taking her and (presumably) replacing her body with a double (mark says he identified her but that she was also "burned" so that's obviously questionable) was actually something of a random fluke. for whatever reason the circumstances of her death made it so that she was ideal to use as a guinea pig for "part-time employment"

again, kind of going off the s2 opening credits here and the image of the car sinking into the ice -- obvs mark visited the tree where she crashed, but i feel like i remember he had to drive on a bridge overlooking a body of water to get there? maybe gemma and the car both fell in and were frozen (since everything in SEVERANCE apparently happens in the wintertime, lol)

i mean, it wouldn't surprise me if we learn that the car accident was "arranged" by lumon??? (either purely to harvest bodies or potentially if gemma turns out to have been involved in anti-eagan stuff on the DL) but idk, i don't love the idea cos i don't like it when shows try to tie LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE THING together into the big overarching mystery, y'know? like, some things are really just down to dumb luck and chance

i also don't think miss casey herself is a clone of gemma, so either her body was WAY less fucked up by the car crash physically than we might otherwise think, or lumon has some top-secret super-healing tech on the testing floor. maybe both!

ANYWAY, remember "allentown"? mark s's first-day fluke, where he completed a file in one day? that was him refining gemma into miss casey the first time around. YADDA YADDA LOVE TRANSCENDS SEVERANCE he literally put the splintered icy fragments of his dead wife back together again because she LIVES IN HIS VEINS guys. and now he's doing it AGAIN with cold harbor. this is why lumon was so desperate to keep him around even while they fired irving and dylan at the drop of a hat: they know he can get the job done, ESPECIALLY when it comes to working on gemma/miss casey. (see also: mark w commenting about how his team from the branch that shut down never made quota)

i've seen the idea tossed around that all the refiners are assigned to someone who was emotionally close to their outie (e.g. irving's deceased father) but i really don't think that's the case -- like, dylan says mark's freshman fluke let lumon devise new techniques for refining to cut down on the time it takes to finish a file, and istg i can see it perfectly in my head: cobel asking mark s how the FUCK he managed to do that and him just being like "i don't know, the numbers looked...scary??????" and her just. rolling with it.

(also i feel like that's why dylan's generally a good refiner -- he can read people! his outie knew what to say and how to act to impress the door factory guy in s2e2!)

so lumon really really needs cold harbor to work. if it's not because they care about gemma SPECIFICALLY for some secret reason, it must be that they care about the technique. lumon (i.e. the board and/or the eagan family), like so many corporate overlords before them, are selling immortality.

i'm on the fence about whether they're trying to resurrect/immortalize kier eagan specifically -- like it would make the most thematic sense, and they have a ton of material FROM his life certainly to work with, but he's supposed to have died in 1939 and cryonics tech just wasn't advanced enough at the time. but also the world of SEVERANCE is pretty distinct from our own so i guess it's plausible

i feel much more confident in saying they're trying to get the technique working specifically for the sake of current ceo jame eagan, who is an old decrepit fart. imo the "revolving" he mentions to helly in the s1 finale is key to this -- like, it kind of sounds like eagan-speak for rotating through/swapping into a new body???

this MIGHT be where the idea of cloning becomes involved, which i can see supported by the emphasis in the s2 opening credits on babies (including baby kier at the end ofc), but i also just had the even more fucked up thought that what if the end goal is to upload the eagans' personalities (and those of their chosen cronies) into the bodies of severed workers. hence the continued necessity for a severed working underclass as well as their ruling higher-ups -- it's a body farm, an endless cycle of severed workers toiling away to let the rich live on and then having their bodies/minds/souls co-opted when they've lost their other utility. oh my god helly was right THEY LITERALLY ARE LIVESTOCK

guys holy shit what if the season ends with jame (or KIER) eagan's personality getting uploaded into miss casey's chip and overwriting miss casey (and also gemma?? idk i feel like mark scout/mark s are both going to have to come to terms with the idea that gemma as she was is capital-g Gone, even if her body and brain are still sort of alive). and then season 3 has dichen lachman chewing the scenery as creepy old man eagan. I THINK IT WOULD BE FUN AND ALSO FUCKED UP

okay so what about cobel, right? like, obviously she's been drinking the eagan kool-aid, she is All In on immortalizing kier (or jame or whoever). but there's more to it than that!!! she's the one harping on about reintegration being real and possible, AND she's desperate seeking for any signs of it during mark s and miss casey's wellness sessions. why? cobel wants to revive her mother charlotte (we see her medical tag on cobel's eagan shrine), but she wants HER MOTHER, not a blank slate -- in other words she's rooting for the chips to not function properly in order to truly resurrect someone who's been dead

in particular i think this is why she flipped her lid on mark at the end of s2e2 when he asked what she knew about gemma -- like, idk maybe it's confirmation bias at play but to me her primal scream felt like it was coming from a place of...jealousy? like, "how DARE you ask me that, how are YOU the one who's allowed to get your loved one back and I'M being promoted up the ladder so lumon can get me out of the way even though MY motivations are pure". that kind of thing

cobel's attitude towards lumon and helena in s2e2 is SUUUUUUPER ambiguous -- i think she's going to turn from outright enemy into kind of a weird "enemy of my enemy is my friend" thing this season?? especially since i got the feeling that she really did kind of care about mark and devon in her own supremely weird, fucked-up way

oh god you guys. what if her "mrs selvig" persona was cobel imitating her own mother, mid-atlantic accent and corny outdated references to clark gable and all. FUCK

also the fact that she's looking for miss casey and mark s to remember each other implies that reintegration is possible even without outside interference with the chip itself (i.e. however reghabi reintegrated petey). and you know what?

i think she's right.

THE BIG BOY THEORY: MARK SCOUT AND MARK S WILL START TO SPONTANEOUSLY REINTEGRATE THIS SEASON

i will live and die on this hill, ben stiller i swear to FUCK

what's the overriding symbolism in the season 1 opening credits?? the line between innie and outie is porous (or "mushy", if you will). black sludge seeping from the trash cans that's made of all your other selves (also reflecting how irving dreams of his outie's black paint). mark's innie and outie selves constantly chasing circles around one another until at the end they both collapse on the bed...and then collapse together as a single person.

what's the overriding symbolism in the season 2 opening credits???? not just "mark scout, i.e. mark in red pajamas, delving into lumon's mysteries", not just "mushy confusion of innie and outie feelings re: helly and miss casey" -- mark's innie and outie selves working together. innie mark pulling outie mark out of the severance chip. innie mark hoisting up the curtain dividing outer and inner worlds to let outie mark through. innie mark CARRYING OUTIE MARK IN HIS ARMS. do you see the fucking vision.

of course that's also coupled with the final image of the credits: mark bursting through and out of his own head. which i think emphasizes that there's going to be conflict as well as cooperation between mark's disparate selves (especially when it comes to everything involving the helly/mark/casey love triangle)

why did mark look like he was having a goddamn seizure when he was coming down the elevator. why did he glimpse a mysterious figure following him in the hallway. WHY THE FUCK WAS HIS VERY FIRST INSTINCT TO BOLT FOR WELLNESS AND LOOK FOR MISS CASEY!!!!! (okay this could also conceivably be due to him yelling to devon that she was alive literally one second ago but still)

i think mark's "spontaneous reintegration" is also more or less an insane fluke, basically a product of the fact that he's now working on gemma/miss casey's refinement data AGAIN and both his innie and outie selves are starting to blur together regarding their shock and turmoil over the realization that gemma is alive (and probably loads of other stuff too while we're at it).

but idk, maybe spontaneous reintegration also occurs naturally over time? irving is also having some bleed-through and iirc he's been at lumon the longest of all of them

shit dude. what if outie burt ALSO has bleed-through and that's why he followed irving and was crying. honestly what the fuck was even the deal with that, i don't know!!!!

anyway i imagine that "spontaneous reintegration" would really put a kibosh in lumon's plans to permanently rewire and wipe the brains of severed folks in order to pave the way for an immortal ruling class. also i thought the way they did petey's hallucinatory flip-flopping between his lives/selves was awesome and i would like more of that, please. (also: i miss petey, y'all)

i think if they do end up going this route it's gonna be spoonfed to us pretty slowly though -- like, s2 will slowly build up the mystery of "what the fuck's going on with mark reintegrating", then s3 is his two selves coming to terms with...All Of That

those are all of my big idea theories but i also have some smaller bullet points to address:

dylan's gonna visit his family in the """visitation suite""" and it 100% is going to be paid lumon actors. and the giveaway is gonna come at the end of the episode when we cut back to outie dylan's life and his wife (or one of his other kids, who knows) is terminally sick (maybe wheelchair- or bed-bound?), hence outie dylan's desperation to find another job post-firing

that is one million percent helena eagan down on the severed floor (although i can see the argument for it being helly r and she's just not comfortable sharing her real experience on the outside). her shady story aside, i think britt lower is CRUSHING IT as "helena pretending to be helly but it's kind of off-putting and fake because it's helena's idea of how helly would behave". like, it's giving me the same vibes as in FRINGE when fauxlivia pretends to be olivia and then seduces/sleeps with peter. real ones know

RICKEN IS NOT A FUCKING SECRET EAGAN!!!!!! DEVON IS NOT SECRETLY IN ON ANYTHING (besides keeping her brother safe)!!!!!! HIS FRIENDS ARE JUST PRETENTIOUS SHITHEELS!!!!!!!!!!!!

as much as i would literally chew glass (positive) for mark s and miss casey to be A Thing, i feel like narratively and thematically it's not gonna work with the show's overarching themes of like, struggling to process grief and selfhood and figuring out what makes you you (or someone else their own independent self). gemma is Gone and you can't bring her back and you can't cut yourself off from the grief and the pain. mark has to reintegrate (literally and metaphorically/emotionally) in order to resolve his issues and move on

this show is so!!!!!! OOOOOUUUUGGGGHHGHGHH

#severance #severance spoilers #automatonic posting #if anyone actually reads all this: congrats. you are now in as deep as i am

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