#seth milchick x reader

[galactic-magick]

Flirting Failures: Mr. Milchick x Reader

A story in which you are the fifth member of MDR and try to flirt with your supervisor, Mr. Milchick.

Words: 2.3k

(I had so much fun with this lol. Gender-neutral reader, use of Y/N, and no S2 spoilers in this btw)

-

“None of you have every tried to seduce him? Seriously?”

Your fellow workers in MDR just stare at you, still a bit rigid from Mr. Milchick’s latest check-in. Well, everyone except Helly, who’s already out of her seat again.

“If you can figure out how to break that guy go ahead, but I’d much rather spend my time trying to get out of here.” she makes her way to the supply closet, searching for another subtle way she could send a message to the outside world. She’s tried everything she can think of—writing on herself, attempting to ingest notes, trying different exits, recording videos to her outie—nothing’s worked. But Helly is nothing if not determined.

“Come on guys, isn’t flirting with you boss a go-to tactic for getting what you want?” you continue. “Just because we’re severed doesn’t mean we don’t know about these things.”

Mark shakes his head.

“I don’t think we should mess with him, Y/N. You haven’t been here long, you don’t know what he’s capable of.” he warns.

You huff, a bit in disbelief that no one else is on board with your idea. Clearly nothing Helly has done so far is working, so why are they so against trying a new tactic? Besides, this tactic sounds much more fun.

After a few moments, Irving speaks up.

“Maybe we should hear them out. He definitely treats Y/N better than the rest of us. And he is handsome, I suppose.”

“Shit, Irv, can you quit having the hots for our co-workers for five seconds?” Dylan rolls his eyes.

“All I’m saying is Y/N might already have an advantage. Haven’t you noticed the way Milchick looks at them? And he’s never sent them to the break room for things he would certainly send the rest of us there for. Maybe he already has feelings for them.”

“Yeah, right.” Helly cackled, coming out of the supply closet with handfuls of materials. None of these people give a shit about us. They don’t even see us as human beings. He would never.”

“Look, Y/N, we just don’t want you to get hurt.” Mark reiterates. “Be careful.”

Ignoring the advice from most of your co-workers, you attempt your first move on your lunch break that day. You find your target by the vending machine, and he notices you approaching immediately.

“How are you, Mr. Milchick?” you ask innocently, stepping closer to him.

“Very well, thank you.” he nods with that wide, chilling smile. “And yourself?”

“Great! I’m almost done with my file.” you grin. “Is there a prize for finishing early?”

“Why, yes there is.” he replies. “Your choice. A waffle party, a dance party, or a wellness session. Whichever your heart desires.”

“What if I want something else?”

He cocks his head at you, “I’m sorry, those are the only rewards available at this time.”

“I see,” you sigh dramatically. “What about you then? What rewards do you get for your work?”

“I don’t believe I can disclose that information.”

Damn, he’s stubborn. You’re not getting anywhere with this.

“Aren’t we friends, Mr. Milchick? Can’t you trust me?”

“Of course, Y/N. But I am your superior. There is only so far our rel—our friendship—can go.”

He’s playing that card? Really?

Your co-workers are watching you from across the room intently, curious if you’ll be able to pull this off. You’re embarrassed that you can’t, especially after going into the challenge so confidently, at least not yet. Maybe Irving was wrong, maybe Milchick really doesn’t see you as a person, just a plaything he gets to boss around. Who are you to think you’re special? You’re just a bug he could easily crush under his shoe. He holds infinitely more power over you as an unsevered man, with the knowledge of both the inside and outside world. You’re nothing to these managers, just like the rest of your friends.

“What is it you want, Y/N?” he speaks up again, noticing your face falling. “If you truly aren’t happy with your work compensation, I may be able to negotiate—“

“No, Mr. Milchick, you don’t have to do that.” you cut him off. “What I really want is something you’re probably not allowed to give me.”

“And what would that be?”

Seth Milchick has been fighting his attraction to you for weeks now.

He’s not supposed to care about innies. He’s supposed to keep them in line. He’s supposed to keep them in line. He’s supposed to make sure they meet quota and that’s it.

But you...you’re a force he can’t ignore. He’s know there was something special about you since the moment he met your outie, helping them through the process of severance and meeting the new version of you. He still speaks to your outie every so often, giving them updates on how your innie is doing when you ask. He simply can never say no to you, even if it puts him at risk.

And now, your innie is before him asking for something else. Something he likely can’t give you without dire consequences. There’s so much you don’t understand, so much you’re unaware of in this place. He can’t protect you from everything. Even if he desperately wants you, he can’t be selfish. He has to keep you at a distance for your own good.

“I...I want to know more about you,” you finally say. “It can’t be wrong to want to know more about my boss, can it?”

Of course he wants you to know him, just like he wants to know everything about you in both of your forms. But that is not a privilege he possesses.

“Boundaries at work are important.”

“Oh come on, Mr. Mil—“

“You need to drop this, Y/N.” he says sternly.

He pivots and walks out of the room, leaving you in silence.

“Well, I tried.” you shrug as you return to your friends in defeat. “I guess he’s harder to crack than I thought.”

“Would’ve worked on me,” Helly snorts.

“Thanks, Helly.”

Dylan scoffs, “Not me. Your flirting game is pathetic.”

“You want to try next?”

“Hell, no. I’m not getting sent to the break room again.”

You slump down in a seat, beginning to munch on your snacks that aren’t even that good. If Helly can’t figure out a way to escape, and you can’t seduce Mr. Milchick to let you out, what hope is there? Mark has tried his fair of tactics, and so did Petey, as you’ve heard. Irving cares too much about the rules to try anything serious, and Dylan is happy here as long as he’s getting his prizes.

Maybe it’s worth it to keep trying.

You must be approaching this all wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t respond to direct signs of interest, maybe you need to play the long game. Although it’s not like you actually know what you’re doing in general. You have no memory of any successful romantic encounters, or unsuccessful for that matter. You have no idea if your outie has a partner, or if they’re married.

Wait—Mr. Milchick isn’t severed. He knows you on the outside. What if your outie is married, and that’s why he won’t flirt back? At least he’s respectful.

Either way, you’re going to try again.

A few days later, while the others are focused on their files, you take some time to make Mr. Milchick a thank you card. Maybe a heartfelt gesture will be enough to make him believe you care.

Dear Mr. Milchick, you write.

Thank you for being a great supervisor to the MDR team. We all appreciate you, especially me. You’ve been very kind and patient with me even when I do things wrong. Thank you for all you’ve done to help me and I hope we continue to work well together. I enjoy seeing your smile everyday.

Sincerely, Y/N.

You fold it up and stuff it in an envelope, setting it aside for you to remember to give him on your way out. You return to refining you file, finally starting to get the hang of it.

“You cannot allow this to continue, Seth.” Ms. Cobel’s gaze is piercing, watching you write your letter on her screen. She zooms in, reading what you wrote. “Pitiful.”

“They’re harmless, I assure you.” Mr. Milchick looks straight ahead, attempting to keep his true feelings from Ms. Cobel’s awareness. “It’s just a silly work crush. I won’t encourage it, but I don’t believe it’s a danger.”

“See that you don’t.” Ms. Cobel seethes through her teeth, turning off the screen.

He should warn you, shouldn’t he?

With Cobel onto you now, he may not be able to keep protecting you from consequences. And if he continues to show any favor towards you, her suspicion will only increase. He has to shut you down, and he has to do it fast.

He enters MDR, counting every member except you.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“They just went to the bathroom.” Dylan says, barely looking up from his computer.

Mr. Milchick goes in after you, hearing a couple protests from MDR on his way in. Thankfully you’re at the sink washing your hands and he didn’t walk in on you indecent.

“Mr. Milchick? What are you—“

“I need to talk to you. And this is the only place I can do it completely in private.”

“...Okay?” your brows furrow in confusion.

He takes a deep breath, “Ms. Cobel was watching the security cameras while you were writing that card for me. You’ll be in major trouble if you keep doing things like that.”

“What the fuck? I was just trying to make something nice for you!” you gasp, shocked that not only the surprise is ruined, but Ms. Cobel is being a bitch about it. “What, is she jealous I didn’t make her a card too?”

“No,” he chuckles. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” you cross your arms.

“She thinks you have um...romantic intentions towards me.” he says it like it’s a curse word, forbidden.

“And so what if I do, huh?”

“It’s. Not. Allowed.” he emphasizes. “We could both be fired. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I don’t care. It’s my outie’s problem.”

He glares at you, then swiftly grabs your wrist, pulling you out of the bathroom. The others stumble back from listening at the door, shouting after you as Mr. Milchick drags you down the halls.

You know exactly where you’re going. He’s never sent you there before, but clearly you crossed a line this time.

“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world. None may atone for my actions but me and only in me shall their stain live on. I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. All I can be is sorry, and that is all I am.”

“Again.”

“How many times do I have to say this shit?”

“Until you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it. And I never will. I’m not sorry. I did nothing wrong!”

“We have to do this, Y/N. It’s for your own good.”

“You don’t give a shit about my good! Helly’s right, you guys don’t even see us as human beings, just husks you can exploit. And to think I tried to flirt with you!”

You get up and shove all the lie-detecting equipment away, stomping towards the dark hallway before he stops you.

“Y/N, stop.” his grip isn’t as rough as it was before. “Please.”

You look at him, your eyes fighting tears.

“I do see you as a human being. My favorite human being, in fact. Only person tied for that title is your outie. But there are serious repercussions for breaking protocol here. I can’t act on those feelings, do you understand?”

So the suspicions were right. He does care about you.

But you were just faking infatuation to get what you want, right? So how come when he’s telling you directly that he can’t give you what you want, you’re still drawn to him?

You look down, laughing to yourself at the absurdity of this situation.

“I guess it never would’ve worked out anyway. It’s not like I can leave this place, so we could never go on a date.”

He joins in your laughter, “Exactly.”

“Can we at least be friends? Is that allowed?” There’s a desperation in your voice now, fearing the loss of your connection with him completely.

“Of course.” he smiles.

You glance at the equipment splayed all over the floor, “What are you going to tell Cobel?”

“I’ll tell her I knocked some sense into you in the Break Room, and that’ll you’ll never try anything again. Can you work with me to keep that statement accurate?”

You nod, and he gives you the okay to leave. Before you open the door, you look back.

“Can you tell my outie how you feel? Maybe this can’t work with me, but maybe it could work with them?”

“I’ll think about it.”

The door shuts behind you, and you make your way back to MDR, coming up with a number in your head to tell your friends. You read that stupid thing plenty of times, but who knows what the final count was.

“How was your first time in the Break Room?” Dylan asks upon your return.

“Horrible. I had to repeat the same thing like 300 times.”

“Light work. I had to do over a thousand.” Helly cringes at the memory. “So what’s up with him and Cobel being onto you?”

“They figured out my plan to seduce him and threatened me. I told them I don’t care if they fire me, but maybe there’s something worse than termination. Milchick made it sound really serious.”

“What did I tell you about just listening to him? It’s better for everyone.” Mark says.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right, Mark.” you roll your eyes.

You sit back down at your seat, booting up your computer. You’re not quite sure what to do anymore, you last idea having failed, along with a new awareness of emotions.

Maybe your outie can have a love you can’t.

-

(if there's interest I might continue this!)

[gnawing-at-my-cage]

PLEASE im literally begging ANYONE to write some Seth milchick x reader. I need him an embarrassing amount.

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 04

🐐 SYNOPISIS: He says it’s the last time. That he’s not coming back. Left alone, you settle into the silence, filling your days with routine, with quiet, with the weight of years lost. You were always waiting for something, for someone, for a life that never really began. ⚠️TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 04 — Got A Feeling, You Give Me No Choice

"I’m not coming back." Seth states it like a fact, a thing that’s already happened. Like it was never his choice. "This is the last time."

Even though he’s still standing right beside you, his presence suddenly feels miles away, an impossible distance stretching between where he is and where you’re left behind. A crater, wide and gaping.

Your throat is dry when you finally speak. "I only have you," you tell him.

His expression doesn’t change. "Then you don’t have anybody."

The coldness of it should hurt more. You expected it to. But what hurts more is the fact that you don’t have anything to throw back at him. No weapons, no barbs, no deep, cutting knowledge that could wound him the way he’s wounded you. He’s always kept himself too guarded, too locked away, too much of a mystery. You don’t know what will hurt him, what will make him stay, what will make him regret this.

So you say the only thing you can think of.

"And you? Do you have anybody?"

A silence stretches between you. He doesn’t answer, just grabs his coat, and then he’s gone.

After he leaves, you don’t cry. You don’t get angry. You just sit there, staring at the empty space where he stood, until the silence starts pressing in too tightly. Then you knit.

You don’t even remember when you started. It was something to do with your hands, something to fill the hours, something to make you feel like you weren’t just waiting for nothing. You knit in silence, stitch after stitch, watching patterns form without really seeing them. It’s muscle memory now. It’s not about the end product, not about what you’re making. It’s about the act itself. The steady movement. The repetition. The illusion of control.

Later, you pull out your gouache set. You paint without a plan, just soft strokes of color bleeding into each other. You paint a sky, then a lake, then a house that doesn’t look anything like the one you live in. It looks warm. Cozy.

You stare at it for a long time. Then you put it away.

You just stay home.

Because you truly have nobody.

Your mother’s illness was supposed to be temporary. That’s what the doctors told you. A few months, they said. A recovery period. She just needed time. Then a few months turned into a year. Then another. Then six.

You don’t blame her. You could never. It was easier, in some ways, to have a reason to stay still, watching the years pass by. To have an excuse not to move forward, not to take risks, not to chase anything of your own. You told yourself you were being dutiful. You told yourself you were being good.

And if you could have given your life to your mother instead, you would have. She was always so much better at being alive than you.

And when she was gone, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your own fault. You know that. But knowing doesn’t make it easier. Doesn’t tell you what to do. How to be a person out there. So you moved north, found a job that would make decisions for you and got your brain split in half. You turned yourself into two, hoping that at least one of you would figure it out.

Now, the Outie that is supposed to be you sits alone in a house, knitting, painting, drinking cold tea, waiting for something that doesn’t exist.

The knock comes late at night, three firm raps on the door. No hesitation. No uncertainty. You don’t need to open it to know who it is. Seth stands on your porch, hands in his pockets, and doesn't ask if he can come in. He doesn’t need to.

You step aside. The door clicks shut behind him.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. There’s nothing to say – no questions, no small talk, no need for pretense. His fingers find your waist first, skimming just above the hem of your sweater. Your hands move, reaching for the lapels of his coat, pulling him in. It’s not gentle. You don’t want it to be.

Seth exhales, but he lets you take, lets you press yourself against him like you need to confirm he’s real. Your fingers slide to his collar, gripping, pulling, testing the give of his control. His hands flex against you, palms firm against the dip of your spine.

He kisses like he does everything else: with precision, with patience, like he already knows exactly what you need before you do. He drinks in every stuttered breath, every tremor, every unconscious tilt of your head. You let him.

You press closer, needing more, needing to drown in the feel of him, in the weight of his hands, the scrape of his fingers against bare skin. He maps you out like he’s memorizing, like he’s cataloging every reaction, every shift in your breathing.

You should stop this. You know that. You don’t know what he wants from you, not really, but you know what you get from him. This. A tether. A moment where the world narrows down to something sharp and immediate, where there is no before or after, just now.

His mouth drags along your jaw, down the column of your throat, teeth scraping lightly, making you gasp. His hands roam lower, gripping, guiding, pulling. You let him.

You shouldn’t. But you do.

His coat hits the floor first, then your sweater, then more. The air is cool against your skin, but you don’t feel cold. Not with his hands on you. Not with the way he touches you, like he’s pulling you apart just to see what’s underneath.

Your back hits the wall, and he’s there, pressing into you, caging you in. His breath is warm against your cheek, his fingers tracing patterns along your ribs, your hips, your thighs. You’re not sure when your own hands found their way exploring the planes of his back, the tension coiled in his muscles.

His name slips from your lips and his hands tighten on your waist, dragging you closer, swallowing whatever space remained between you. It’s slow. Excruciatingly so. Every touch, every shift, every drawn-out second feels like he’s stretching the moment just to see how far you’ll let it go.

You let it.

You let him.

When he finally lifts you – strong, steady hands gripping beneath your thighs, holding you like you weigh nothing – you let your head fall back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. You don’t want to think. Don’t want to remember why this is a bad idea. Why he is a bad idea. All you want is this. The push and pull, the friction, the feeling of his mouth trailing lower, lower, the way he unravels you with nothing more than his hands and his patience.

[writeshite]

“Careful now.” Mr. Milchick cautioned, his left palm just beneath yours as he’d stopped you from nearly dropping the small, neatly wrapped box. He guided your left hand back to a level height, around ninety degrees at angle from elbow to hand. “We wouldn’t want to break that.” His right hand was set atop yours on the top side of the gift box.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Milchick,” you sighed in relief. “My apologies, my outie overexerted himself this past weekend.”

“Yeah, that’s called sex,” Dylan snarked, pointing to the hard to cover hickeys trailing to the back of your ear. You weren’t exactly eager to promote or detail your outie’s sex-life.

“It’s his outie’s wedding anniversary,” Mark rectified Dylan’s crass statement.

“I’m aware,” Mr. Milchick responded, “Five years, seven months, and twelve weeks.” His left hand softly traced your wedding ring. If you didn't know any better, you'd say his smile took a softer tone; the usual dead joy in his eyes looked almost enamored. “My congratulations to your outie. I imagine the annual exhaustion indicative of a successful and joyous marriage."

Dylan's yearly crude joke on the matter was cut short as Irving placed a hand on his mouth. "I believe so too," you beamed, "alongside the presents, of course." You nodded to the gift in your hands. "Thank you for hand-delivering this year's gift, and last year's, and the year before that. You really don't have to; I'm sure there are better things to do." You glanced down at the gift; his hands had yet to leave yours.

"Nonsense," he assured you, "It's no trouble at all." Mr. Milchick squeezed your hands and, with one final smile, left the space. Irving made a disgusted sound as Dylan licked his palm and darted into the supply closet for a tissue.

Dylan pursed his lips, glancing over at the door; once certain Mr. Milchick wasn't returning soon, he teased, “Get a room next time, will you?”

You rolled your eyes. "It's hardly sexual to talk to a coworker."

"It is when you and Milchick do it," Dylan pulled a face in good jest. "Tell him, Mark!" He attempted to corral Mark to his side, "The eyefucking is abysmally disgusting." He dramatically exclaimed.

"I mean," Mark pursed his lips momentarily, "I don't really see anything of the sort," his words caused disbelief to rise on Dylan's face. "Besides, isn't Milchick married?"

Both Dylan and you turn to each other, then Mark, before shrugging, uncertain as to the answer. "How can you be sure?" Dylan asked.

His question was met with no answer as Irving returned and sternly expressed Mr. Milchick's preference for privacy: "What extracurricular activities Mr. Milchick has have no bearing here; he hardly enjoys sharing facts about himself outside of work, we should respect that." Dylan pouted and directed a not-so-quiet 'party pooper' at Irving; the latter turned to you and smiled earnestly, "Besides, aren't you more excited to find what anniversary present our friend has this year?"

Dylan half-shrugged, and he and Mark turned their attention to the gift box as you tore away the purple wrapping. This year's gift was an appropriately and mildly decorated set of custom sticky notes. "Your outie's husband is quite thoughtful," Irving commented, glancing at the stickers. “He's a lucky man."

[blairs-sillylittleblog]

Seth Milchick x Reader: Performance Review - minor spoilers for S2

WARNING: my writing is ass.

Set in season 2 episode 6

You and Milchick had been having feelings for each other for a while. He’d always been fond of you and had protected you from Ms Cobel and the breakroom. He had tried to make the feelings go away but he couldn’t help the way he felt. You were looking for him because the refinement team had asked you to ask him for something. They sent you because they all knew you were his favorite and he was nicer to you. You both were always making googly eyes at each other and you spent more time with him than anyone else did. He’d always have an excuse to have you by his side, he’d ask you to help with melon and egg bars, help with paper work, etc, etc, etc. This allowed you two to get somewhat close, that is as close as possible without him letting his corporate mask fall off too much. After a long time of roaming through the Lumon halls, you found him in a dark room with an almost empty massive jar of paper clips. His hands were shaky and you could’ve sworn his eyes were a bit teary. “Ms. y/l/n, what are you doing here?” He said as he put down his shaky hands. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” You were surprised to find him in that state. Mr Milchick almost always kept his composure. “I’m doing just fine. How can I help you Ms. y/n?” he said coldly. But you could tell that he was in distress. “Milchick what happened?” He looked down. You walked over to the table he was standing by and saw the performance review. He had mentioned it to you before and he let you know he was nervous about it. “Come on talk to me. Was it really that bad? What happened?” He finally looked at you, he was tense and on edge, he handed you the performance review and you flipped through it. “Milchick this is ridiculous! Using a paper clip the wrong way? Is that what you’re doing? Practicing?” He shot a stern look at you. “Look, Seth, I’ve seen how hard you’ve been working and how huge your workload and responsibilities are, why are you letting them treat you like this? They’re nagging you about using a paper clip wrong? That’s not okay!” He took a forced deep breath and said “I need to be better”. You put a comforting hand on his arm and his posture seemed to relax a bit. “I just want to be better”. He said and sighed, the corporate mask slipping off more and more. “Seth you’re a wonder person and paperclips and big words don’t matter that much, please don’t let this review affect you like this, I mean it.” He grabbed your hand from his arm and held it between his hands. “Thank you y/n” you both looked at each other in silence for a moment and then you pulled him into a hug. He was surprised and hesitant to hug you back, but he slowly gave into the hug. “Thank you y/n” he whispered into your ear while tightening his embrace “Of course Seth”. You gave him the comfort no one else had ever given to him.

[meandamovie]

mr milchick marry me

[buglism]

Hello refiners.

I have some amazing news that’ll make you feel as right as rain,

I’m writing for severance <3

Main cast:

Helly R / Helena

Mark S / Mark Scout

Irving B (innie & outie) (im up to latest episode & if Burt fucks shit up I’m writing a happy ending between irv & another older gentleman (reader) IDGAF)

Dylan (platonic or poly) (his wife deserves love too, shoot me ab it)

Harmony Cobel

Seth Milchick (tho with how little we know I may struggle)

Etc etc (I feel like Devon & Ricken would lowkey fw ENM/poly 👀)

(minus Miss Huang, strictly platonic as usual) (im rotting for some x Masc reader requests PLEASE it’s gotten to the point I’m making a D&D inspired by severance, only characters im iffy about writing romantically are Dylan & irving (ig it’ll depend on request)

Please enjoy each fic equally, happy requesting; praise Keir 💧

[galactic-magick]

You should do a Severance fanfic where the readers innie is super shy and timid but their outie is very independent and has a bite to them! (Kind like reverse Helly ig?) Maybe it could be a Mark or Mr. Milchick x Reader! 🫶💕

Ok so I ended up doing both and did a blurb for both innie and outie reader for each. Enjoy!

Outie!Reader x Outie!Mark:

You’re a longtime friend of Mark and Devon, you grew up together and stayed close into adulthood. They’ve always liked how headstrong you are, you always speak your mind and are confident in everything you are and do. Even when you were kids, you’d stand up to bullies easily and no one would mess with you.

As adults, you and Mark both got severed around the same time. You had your reasons and you don’t let anyone make you feel bad for it. Lumon put you in different departments so it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest that you’re friends on the outside.

Mark often invites you along to get-togethers with Ricken’s friends, knowing you’ll call bullshit on things and make the event more bearable.

“Look, you guys are really going too deep into this no food dinner thing, can we please get some pizza? I’m starving!”

You and Mark usually have to have a few drinks together after any of those shit shows. You tend to bond over your problems in unhealthy ways, getting drunk and making fun of those pretentious lunatics. It’s a form of solace for you both, and Mark appreciates your spunk that always makes him laugh through the sadness.

Innie!Reader x Innie!Mark

You’re not supposed to talk with other departments. You’ve had that drilled into you since day one, and you’re too scared to break the rules.

But then you hear about your department head, Burt, conversing with someone from MDR. One day, you go with him to visit, and that’s when you meet Mark.

You’re very shy meeting new people. Heck, you’re still shy around your own O&D coworkers you’ve known for the last couple years. But Mark makes you feel at ease, like you’ve known each other forever. Could that be possible? Maybe you’re friends in the outside world, but you’ll probably never be allowed to know.

Your first wellness check is quite mind-boggling. Ms. Casey tells you about how your outie is a great friend and is very confident. Your outie is loud and funny and fiercely independent. You get some points off simply from asking, “Really?”

MDR includes you on their OTC mission, and you and Mark are shocked to see each other at Ricken’s book reading party.

“Mark?”

“Wait, we know each other? Out here?”

“I just saw Ms. Cobel here too! What is going on?”

You both tell Devon everything you know, and she laughs at the fact you’ve found each other as innies as well.

“Not even severance can keep you two apart, huh?”

Outie!Reader x Mr. Milchick

You were Seth’s strongest supporter when he landed a job at Lumon, but it soon takes a toll on your relationship.

It’s a very demanding job, with lots of after hours work and he’s always on-call. Most days he’s only home to sleep. You confront him about it several times, but he always just reiterates how important the work is.

There comes a point where you nearly leave him, knowing you’d thrive better alone than with someone who’s rarely around. But then Lumon offers the two of you a deal.

You get severed, and in return Seth can have more time off to be with you after work. It’s a strange deal, as you’re not sure what they gain from you being severed. But you’ve been wanting a new job anyway, so you figure it’s worth a try to save your relationship.

You do get what you want, and things start going back to how they were, besides the fact that you now aren’t conscious for half of your day. It’s kind of nice, that you don’t have to remember any of the hours you’re not with him.

You’re not one to just let yourself be told what to do, though, so you pry for answers from Seth about your severed life. He’s not allowed to tell you anything, and he definitely lies about the work you’re really doing, but he does say you’re different in there.

Innie!Reader x Mr. Milchick

Seth has never know you to hold back with anything. He has never known you to be soft spoken or timid in any capacity.

So imagine his shock when he meets your innie, free from all your usual traits.

You’re so shy at work, and honestly he finds it quite cute. You’re perfectly poised, follow the rules, get the rewards. It’s like you and Helly switched personalities, but he knows it’s still you at the core.

The hardest piece of it for him is not telling you he knows you on the outside. It’s so hard for him to see the love of his life in two different forms, and only one of them he can say he loves, only one of them he can touch. He misses you when you’re standing right in front of him.

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 02

🐐 SYNOPISIS: You told yourself it was nothing, a one-night mistake. You know you shouldn’t care – he made the boundaries clear. But you pushed them. You wanted him, and now that you’ve crossed the line, you can’t seem to stop. ⚠️TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 02 — I Find Myself Alone Again, All Alone With You

You haven’t heard from Seth in two weeks.

You tell yourself you’re fine. You go to the grocery store, wandering through aisles you don’t need to be in, staring at labels without reading them. The fluorescent lights hum above you, too bright, too sterile, but at least it’s something to do. Something that isn’t thinking about him.

You tried to keep it professional. You really did. You needed this job. After your mom passed, you had nothing – no degree, no work history, just years of caretaking that didn’t count for anything outside of hospital waiting rooms. You were thirty, broke, and desperate. So, you signed the contract.

And then there was him.

You knew you were interested from day one. Seth made it clear that things had to stay professional. He’d say it casually, in passing, but often enough that you understood he was drawing a line. But you kept finding reasons to call him. Small things. A broken lock. A ride to pick up a couch. Silly, needless favors, just desperate to hear his voice. You knew what you were doing. He knew, too.

The night you finally got him in bed with you, it was the best of your life. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering. But in a way, it makes sense he didn’t call you after. He never really wanted anything beyond the professional. You should’ve known better. Still, you’re angry.

You don’t know what you want from him. An apology? An explanation? Another night? You just know you’re not ready to let it go.

So you wait for him in the parking lot after work. When he crosses glances with you, you nod, and he nods back, understanding. You know he’ll follow you home.

“Say you’re not interested,” you tell him as you cross your threshold, giving him an ultimatum.

The door clicks shut behind him. He stands there, tense, like he’s considering leaving. But he doesn’t. You watch him, waiting, heart pounding, giving him a chance to say the thing you both know he won’t.  He’s weighing his words, and you can see it, the way he shifts, the way his eyes flicker around the room, looking for an escape that isn’t there. He doesn’t want to give you too much information. But the way you’re looking at him… he can’t resist. He feels weak. Unfocused. Dizzy.

“You know I can’t say that,” he finally mutters.

“Then what’s the problem? We just need to be careful. No one’s going to find out,” you press.

Something in him changes. His posture, his mannerisms – something subtle, like there’s already been a consequence. Like someone already found out. A cold knot forms in your stomach. Shit.

“Was it her?” Your voice barely comes out. You’re terrified of the answer, and the look on his face is worse than confirmation. He looks cornered. Scared. You’re too smart for your own good, and he knows it. Too smart for this to ever be safe for him. “So this isn’t about the job. This is about her.”

He hesitates again, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“She is the job.”

You stare at him. You blink, once, twice, trying to make sense of it. It makes no sense, but at the same time, it makes all the sense in the world. You try to break the tension.

“Wow,” you scoff lightly. “You fucked me so good even my Innie felt it.”

He doesn’t laugh.

Your confusion starts to turn into dread. “Is she… like a child or something? The way you talk about her…”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly. Then, after a beat, “Not a child. Exactly. But they don’t know– shouldn’t know about… these things. Our world. They’re… well, pure, for a lack of a better word.”

“And we corrupted her…” you whisper, guilt setting in.

Seth doesn’t confirm or deny it. He just looks at you.

"So I’m not allowed to have sex ever again, or what?" The guilt gnaws at you. You regretted the procedure after the first day, but you had no other option, so you kept going. You decide to tell him. "Honestly, I regretted the procedure after the first day. But even then, it was too late. Now what? I can’t quit. Where am I getting another job like this?"

"You’re very important to us." His voice takes on that practiced calm again, the corporate poise from when you first met him, like he’s reading from a script he memorized a long time ago.

"Who’s 'us'?" you spit, not giving two shits about Lumon right now.

"The work is important." He tries a different approach, but he’s still pulling back, keeping it professional, as if that’s still possible. But it’s too late for that. You crossed the line. You can’t go back.

It creeps in your mind – the unsettling thought that your Innie isn’t some distant, separate version of yourself, but a raw, unguarded mirror. The fact that the line between you blurs so easily, that she can feel echoes of something she’s never experienced, something intimate and terrifying… it should make you stop. Should make you question how deep this connection really goes. But you’re too scared to find out. Too scared to face what it might mean if your Innie feels him, wants him, the same way you do. So you shove it down, lock it away, and focus on what’s in front of you – the heat of his body, the promise of his touch, the distraction of chasing something that’s already wrong. 

You step closer, slowly, deliberately. “You’d prefer if it was someone else?”

His head jerks up, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t answer. 

“At least it’s you,” you say, softly, like you’re offering him some kind of twisted reassurance. You take another step, close enough now that your bodies are nearly touching. “You really want me to find someone else?”

His throat works, like he’s trying to swallow something down, but the longer you hold his gaze, the more his resolve crumbles. 

“You just need to be careful,” you whisper, tilting your head, lips inches from his.

“I was careful last time,” he murmurs.

You press closer, until there’s no space left, until you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His eyes close, and you think he’s going to push you away. But when he exhales, it’s slow, shaky.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to kiss you. Hard. Desperate. His hands come up to your face, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

[next chapter]

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 01

🐐 SYNOPISIS: In the sterile, windowless halls of Lumon Industries, waking up in your own body is supposed to be predictable – seamless. But when your Innie opens her eyes with a strange, lingering ache, panic takes over. Something happened while you were gone. Something your Outie did. And now, you’re left to piece together the unsettling reality of sharing a body with a woman whose choices aren’t yours.  ⚠️ TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 01 — When The Morning Cries, And You Don’t Know Why

The fluorescent lights hum above you, the elevator ride down is silent except for that low, incessant buzz. The walls are smooth, cold against your shoulder as you lean back, trying to shake off the subtle disorientation that always comes with waking up here.

The faint smell of disinfectant lingers, sharp and clinical, and the floor vibrates ever so slightly beneath your feet, a mechanical heartbeat counting down to your arrival. But this morning – or whatever passes for morning here – something feels off.

The moment you wake up in the elevator, you know. There’s a strange heaviness in your body. As a woman, you recognize it instantly, though you don’t want to. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s there – a residual awareness, the ghost of what your body went through while you were... gone.

You shift and the sensation becomes clearer, unavoidable. The ache between your legs, subtle but insistent, makes your stomach turn. Your heartbeat quickens, panic blooming sharp and fast. Your mind races, trying to grasp the edges of what happened while you were asleep, but there’s nothing. Just the feeling.

No, no, no. You can’t be here like this.

Panic hits you before you can even think. You don’t stop to question it – you just run.

The elevator doors open, and you’re already moving, heart pounding, desperate to get to the bathroom. You barely see the office, barely register the startled glances as you rush past Irving, past Dylan.

“Hey!” someone calls, but you don’t stop.

You can’t stop. The panic isn’t just fear – it’s disgust, a deep, gnawing horror at the thought of your Outie, of what she did, of who she let touch her. A man you don’t know, a face you’ll never see, a voice you’ll never hear. The idea makes your skin crawl, and you run faster, as if you could outrun the reality of sharing a body with her. As if you could escape her choices.

You’re almost there when Mr. Milchick steps into your path, alarmed.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” he asks, concerned but composed, his voice even, practiced. His eyes track you carefully, reading your panic with laser precision.

You shake your head, trying to push past him, but he follows, his hand gently touching your arm, grounding in a way that makes you want to cry even more.

“Wait, hold on,” he says, and before you know it, he’s in the bathroom with you, the door clicking shut behind him.

You’re crying. When did that start? You’re pressing your hands to your face, trying to stop, but it’s all too much – the soreness, the terrifying blankness where your own memories should be.

“Talk to me,” Milchick urges. His presence fills the small space, but he’s careful not to touch you again. He crouches slightly, lowering himself to your eye level.

“I can feel it,” you whisper, the words shaking. “I can feel what she did.”

The anger surges. You’re enraged at her. Your Outie. You blame her for this. For letting a man touch her. For making you feel this.

His expression shifts, the professional mask slipping just slightly, confusion and fear are all across his face. His mouth opens, then closes, as though he’s choosing his next words with extreme care – care that suddenly feels personal.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly, too quietly.

You freeze, staring at him. His question isn’t neutral. He isn’t asking about some stranger.

“It was you,” you say.

He blanches, lips parting like he wants to say something, to deny it maybe, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, and you see it there – the guilt, the regret, the worry. His shoulders tense, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I didn’t think you would– I would never–” he starts, and his voice is tight, shaken. You can see it in the way he swallows hard, in the tension thrumming beneath his skin – he’s terrified, not just of what you might think, but of the possibility that, somehow, even being as careful as he was, he might’ve harmed you. That he crossed a line with you – not her, but you.

The panic inside you doesn’t vanish, but it shifts. At least it was him. At least you know his face. Your body relaxes, just a little, the relief hitting you hard enough to make your knees weak. You sink to sit on the closed toilet lid, elbows on your knees, head in your hands, trying to breathe.

It’s not right, not really, but some part of you, the part that’s noticed him since the beginning, feels... relieved. The theory you’d quietly formed, that maybe your Outie felt the same draw to him, feels confirmed. And that makes the panic just a little easier to bear.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, wiping your eyes, still embarrassed, still shaken. “At least it was you.”

“You– you were running like something was really wrong,” he says, searching your face for cracks you’re trying to hide. There’s panic in his eyes, but he’s holding it down, forcing himself to stay grounded for you, though you can see he’s fighting not to spiral – not to make this about himself. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

You swallow hard and look away.

“I didn’t know,” you say, “When I woke up, I just… I could feel everything, but I didn’t know who it was. I was scared of it being someone I wouldn’t like.”

The admission makes you feel raw, exposed in a way you weren’t prepared for. Milchick’s expression softens just slightly, and he takes a small step closer, but not too close.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You meet his eyes, and for the first time, you notice how afraid he looks. Not afraid of you – afraid for you. That realization settles in your chest, heavy and confusing.

“If I knew you could feel it, I…” He trails off, shaking his head as though trying to physically rid himself of the thought. “I never would– I wouldn’t have…”

But saying it out loud seems to shift something in him, and he realizes, with a visible pang of guilt, that he shouldn’t have done it anyway.

“I shouldn’t have,” he says, more firmly, his voice edged with self-recrimination. “I– I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

His guilt, so tangible, makes your stomach twist in a new way– not because you want him to feel bad, but because the alternative is worse. Your mind races, faster this time, until you blurt it out, frantic:

“What if it wasn’t you?”

He blinks, startled.

“What if it’s someone else next time?” you press, the panic rising again, overwhelming. “Is my Outie a slut? What if she sleeps with someone else? What if I wake up feeling… feeling someone I don’t want?”

Milchick looks like he might be sick. He opens his mouth, then closes it, at a complete loss. He doesn’t have an answer.

You both have to face the fact that it could have been worse. And for him, the sickening truth is, he’s the better option. But now he knows you feel what he did, and that knowledge twists inside him, awful and impossible to ignore.

[next chapter]

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, chapter 03

🐐 SYNOPISIS: You thought you could push the thoughts away, focus on the work, on the routine. But the doubts keep creeping in, unexpected and impossible to ignore. You didn’t mean to question her choices, to feel this restless, but now that the thoughts have started, they won’t stop. ⚠️TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

previous chapter // masterlist

CHAPTER 03 — Know That If It Hides, It Doesn’t Go Away

You get a snack from the vending machine. Raisins. Not because you’re hungry, but because that’s what you do. It’s part of the routine, and routine is supposed to keep you steady. But when Petey turns to you and asks, "Feelin’ better?" you realize you must not look steady at all.

You nod. A lie.

He gives you a lopsided grin, trying to endear you with a joke. "You think you caught Mark’s elevator allergy?"

"Maybe…" you mumble, but you don’t laugh. You don’t feel like laughing.

You don’t see Milchick, almost as if he’s avoiding MDR. As if he knows you might have questions he doesn’t want to answer.

So you focus on the numbers. The work has never felt so consuming, so endlessly fascinating. You keep your face close to the screen, eyes scanning for patterns, hands typing, clicking, inputting. You let the rhythm take over, pushing out anything else, until your vision blurs and your head starts to ache.

A stray thought worming its way in, like a crack in a perfectly smooth surface.

Why do you always wear black?

It’s not a question you’ve ever asked before. It’s just how things are – your blazer, your slacks, the sensible dark flats that pinch at the toes. A uniform you were handed without choice, without thought. But now the question lingers. Some color would be nice, maybe something softer?

You blink hard, shake it off. Return to the numbers. Click. Select. Categorize.

Another crack. Another unwelcome thought.

Your hair is tight today. Pulled back in a severe, no-nonsense style. Just like yesterday. Just like every day before. Wouldn’t it feel nice to let it down? Would it move differently? Would you feel different?

You straighten in your chair, adjusting your posture, clenching your jaw. These thoughts aren’t helpful. They aren’t right. The numbers. Just focus on the numbers. You press the keys harder, as if force alone could drown out the unease crawling under your skin. But doubt is persistent. It burrows in, takes root.

How much of you is really you?

Did she pick the food you eat? The way you sit? The way you think? Did she choose to make you like this? A cold sweat prickles at the back of your neck. You rub your eyes, the glow of the monitor making your headache worse.

"I’ve noticed you’re not feeling well lately," Irving says.

Dylan scoffs. "Oh, you noticed? Did you notice her running to cry in the bathroom yesterday?" He rolls his eyes.

"Dylan," Mark stops clicking, stops working, just long enough to scold him.

"What? She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Irving’s the one being weird."

"I was going to suggest she read from the book," Irving defends himself, eyes wide, unguarded, as if he hadn’t meant to push you, hadn’t meant to bring it up again. "I’m sure Kier’s words can help her with whatever it is she’s going through."

You hesitate, rubbing your tired eyes, fingers pressing into the corners. Then, "You know what? I think you’re right."

You follow him to the shelf on the wall beneath the portrait of Kier Eagan. He takes out the handbook and flips through the pages. Then he reads to you, his voice reverent. Something about duty. About obedience. About temperance.

You close your eyes and listen, trying to let it sink in. Trying to let it fix whatever’s wrong with you.

Later, you pray. Pray to be better. To be good again.

"Tame thy tempers."

A command. A reminder. A warning.

You swallow hard. You will obey. You will be better. You must be better. Because this body isn’t yours. And it never was.

Two weeks pass, and then – 

That feeling. Again.

It creeps up on you the moment you wake up on the elevator. Was it Milchick again? Or was it someone else? You don’t know. You can’t know. It isn’t your memory to have.

The thought claws at you all morning. Beneath your desk, your hands tremble slightly, restless in your lap. Your skin feels hypersensitive. Your clothes feel wrong – too stiff, too close, too much like something someone else chose for you.

You excuse yourself and walk to the bathroom, locking the stall door behind you, the latch clicking too loudly. You press your hands to the walls. You breathe. In. Out. Your heartbeat is erratic, your skin burning, but not from shame. Not entirely.

You should be praying.

You should be repenting.

Instead, your fingers twitch against the fabric of your skirt. The sensation has taken root inside you now, growing, twisting. Your head tips back against the wall. Your breath catches. Your whole body is betraying you, dragging you somewhere dark, somewhere you don’t recognize.

You squeeze your thighs together, but it only makes it worse. Makes it stronger. Makes it impossible to ignore. Your mind drifts – against your will, against every lesson you’ve learned, against every word Irving read to you from the handbook.

A touch that you can’t remember. A mouth at your throat. Fingers pressing, dragging, slipping – 

Your breath stutters. The stall feels smaller, hotter. The tiles seem to close in. You let yourself sink into it, just for a moment. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to make sense of what he might have done to you.

Then, slowly, carefully, you press your thighs together, testing the sensation, and – oh.

A sharp inhale. A startling jolt of pleasure, something entirely new and terrifying. Your knees nearly buckle.

Is this how it felt?

With him?

With her?

You squeeze your eyes shut, drowning in it, trying not to make a sound. Your own touch is foreign, unfamiliar. Your fingertips skim over the fabric of your underwear, tracing the outline of something forbidden, something you shouldn’t be doing but can’t stop. Would it have felt like this if you could remember it? Would it have felt better? Worse?

Did he make her shake like this? Did she want him to?

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you, and your breath hitches. You bite your lip. Hard. You move tentatively, experimenting, discovering – each stroke, each press, each shift of your hips ignites something deeper, something uncontrollable. Your own body is an unknown territory, one you were never meant to explore.

It builds. It burns. It pushes you higher, hotter, unbearable in its intensity – 

Your whole body tenses, clenches, shatters. The pleasure rips through you, violent and all-consuming. You brace yourself against the stall wall, shaking, dizzy. The bathroom is too bright, too still.

It takes a second for the nausea to hit.

Your stomach turns, your chest tightens. Your hands are unsteady as you smooth down your skirt, fingers numb.

You stare blankly at the door.

[next chapter]

[manmadeandbeyond]

" your other you " , a seth milchick x reader fanfic moodboard.

[manmadeandbeyond]

[ cameron awkward-rich // alice notley // bilal al-shams ] "your other you" , a seth milchick x reader fanfic web weaving.

[manmadeandbeyond]

[your other you] // a seth milchick x reader fanfic, masterlist

🐐 SYNOPISIS: In the sterile, windowless halls of Lumon Industries, waking up in your own body is supposed to be predictable – seamless. But when your Innie opens her eyes with a strange, lingering ache, panic takes over. Something happened while you were gone. Something your Outie did. And now, you’re left to piece together the unsettling reality of sharing a body with a woman whose choices aren’t yours.  ⚠️ TAGS: Heavy Themes, Sexual Situations, Dubious Consent (due to severance dynamics), Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, Liminal Horror.

CHAPTER 01 — When The Morning Cries, And You Don’t Know Why CHAPTER 02 — I Find Myself Alone Again, All Alone With You CHAPTER 03 — Know That If It Hides, It Doesn’t Go Away CHAPTER 04 — Got A Feeling, You Give Me No Choice

[blairs-sillylittleblog]

What Milchick would be like if he had a crush on you, a refiner.

Disclaimer: my writing is ass

- Milchick has never had too much experience with love

- At first he tried his best to ignore the feelings he felt for you, after all even if you reciprocated those feelings he would never be allowed to date you.

- He would try his best to protect you from Ms Cobel and being send to the break room.

- He’d make up excuses to spend more time with you i.e. have you help him set up stuff like the melon bars and stuff

- He’d stare at you a lot.

- One time you got hurt and he had to take you to the medical room and put a bandaid on you. He was so glad he got to be close to you and he was extra careful and gentle while cleaning the small cut.

- He’d try for his favoritism for you to not show but it would show. A lot.

- Whenever the refiner team wanted to ask Milchick something they’d have you ask him because they know he’s nicer to you.

[galactic-magick]

Flirting Failures PART 2: Mr. Milchick x Reader

Link to Part 1

Words: 1.1k

(Thank you so much for all the love on Part 1! Still gender-neutral reader, use of Y/N, and no S2 spoilers)

-

You feel something on your face as you go up the elevator, bringing your fingers to your cheek at the familiar ding. It’s wet, and your eyes feel watery. Was your innie just crying?

You switch your things from your locker, head up the stairs, and run to your car as quickly as you can, pulling out your phone as soon as you shut the door.

You click on Seth Milchick’s contact, something you do probably way more often than you’re supposed to. But you don’t care much for those particular rules, especially because he’ll tell you things that you can’t find answers for anywhere else.

“Y/N! What can I help you with so soon after your workday?” he asks.

“Why was my innie crying? I came up the elevator with tears actively streaming down my face. Did something happen to them?”

You’re very protective over your innie, a feat you’ve found is actually pretty rare in the severed community. Other people you’ve talked to don’t even see their innies as an extension of themselves, just a different consciousness to experience everything they don’t want to, something they don’t even see as a person. But you genuinely care about this other version of you, and you’d hate to find out they’re getting hurt in any way.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make them cry.” Seth responds. “You see, your innie tried to...flirt with me today.”

You can’t help but chuckle a bit at that.

“Well, it’s good to know my innie also has good taste, at least. What did I do?”

“You…” there’s a beat of silence, as if deciding whether to respond to your comment, “I can’t really say specifics, but I let them down gently, since there’s rules against co-worker relationships. But maybe they took it harder than I thought.”

Now it’s your turn to be silent.

You try to get the situation straight in your head, setting aside the initial humor of it all. Your innie made a move before you did, got rejected, and was so distraught they were brought to tears? And now every time you go back in that elevator, you’re sending your innie back to face the man who broke their heart?

Of course your innie would have the confidence you never could. You’ve been crushing on Milchick since you met him, but you never pursued anything beyond talking to him on the phone every so often. And now that you know your innie has feelings for him too, wouldn’t it be unfair for you to have something with him that they can’t? You’d be, what, stealing him from yourself?

Your thoughts are tied in impossible tangles, so much that you nearly forget he’s still on the line. What are you supposed to say?

“Y/N?” his voice cuts through.”

“Sorry, I just…” you exhale. “I feel bad for them.”

“I know. And for the record, I didn’t want to let them down.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I—“ you hear muffled voices. “I have to go. Important meeting with Ms. Co-”

He hangs up.

-

You’re almost done with you file now, and honestly you couldn’t care less.

You should be excited to win your first prize, but none of them appeal to you anymore. What is a perk worth when you can never experience the depth of human connection? What do you care about some stupid material object or party when there’s no escape when it’s done?

You’re not quite sure why it all hit you so hard yesterday. Something about pretending to fancy Mr. Milchick made you realize you actually do, and how much you’ve actually wanted to experience love in this life. All of your friends in MDR do too, really. Irvings excessive visitations with O&D lately haven’t gone unnoticed, nor Mark’s longing glances at Helly. Heck, even Dylan talks about his fantasies of how many women his outie must be pulling. You all crave love and escape to some degree, and none of you can have either of them.

Is this to be the rest of your existence? Just sorting numbers? Never experiencing sleep or the outdoors? Waiting for the next round of 8 hours?

“Y/N? May I have a word?”

You look up, entirely not thrilled to see Mr. Milchick in the doorway. Still, you do as he says, following him into the hallway.

“I wanted to tell you that I got a call from your outie yesterday. They said you were crying on your way up the elevator. I thought we resolved the issue, there was no need to cry.”

“Really?” you raise your brows. “You called me out here just to tell me when I should and shouldn’t cry?”

“No, I—“

“Right, because we can’t leave, can’t have more than two vending machine snacks, can’t ask what we’re doing, can’t explore the floor…Oh! And we can’t cry whenever the fuck we want! Is there anything else you want to tell me we can’t do?”

He takes a deep breath.

“I meant I was confused. I assure you, I didn’t intend to hurt your feelings.”

“Look, I’ll keep my promise of backing off so you don’t get in trouble. But I never promised to not have feelings. You told me you care about me, and that made me a little emotional, okay? Are you going to send me to the Break Room again for that?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then how about you leave me alone for a little while.”

You walk past him back into the office, and he doesn’t follow.

“What’s he going on about now?” Dylan asks.

“Just checking to make sure I’m behaving, I guess.” you shrug, getting back into your seat.

“Why wouldn’t you? You don’t actually like him, do you?”

“None of your business, Dylan.”

“Fuck, are you serious?”

You ignore him, binning a few more sets of numbers.

“Y/N! Tell me you’re not fucking serious!”

You aggressively push down the divider between your desks, giving him the middle finger before pulling it back up.

-

Seth never called you back after that day, and you’ve chosen not to bother him for answers again just yet. He’ll tell you when he’s ready, right? Won’t he?

You find yourself thinking about your innie again. What are they really like? Do they act the same way you do? Talk the same way you do? Seth tells you bits and pieces, but you don’t really know this other version of you. And will you ever?

What if your innie is your better half? What if a life in a controlled environment makes you a better person?

What if he likes you better in there than out here? Or the other way around?

You didn’t consider this specific consequence of the procedure when you agreed to it, that’s for sure.

-

(Let me know what you guys think of the switching innie and outie POVs! And let me know if you're interested in more parts!)+