Tales of TheSuitaSkin

Dark stories about transformation. Only 18+

[thesuitaskin]

Take a Photo (Alternate Version)

One of my favorite caption stories by @2xskin Ideas had been floating around in my head for years, and still being hooked, I finally decided to explore it in my own way. It might be the start of something. https://maletransformation.blogspot.com/2015/12/seanday-treat-take-photo.html

“You want to take a photo? It’ll last longer,” John muttered as Ryan watched him flex.

“I didn’t know there was so much ink,” Ryan replied, already opening the camera on his phone.

John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow beneath the close-cropped hair. The trimmed beard sharpened the expression, made it look more severe, more confrontational. “I was being sarcastic,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh,” Ryan said, embarrassed, and turned his camera off.

“So what can you tell me?”

“About what?” John sighed.

“You know,” Ryan said carefully. “About John.”

John didn’t answer. He continued feeling the tight, muscular pectorals that sat heavy on his shoulders—solid, veined slabs of flesh that looked less like a body than a piece of equipment. Beneath his ribs, a black rose tattoo bloomed across his side, stark against tanned skin. A thin gold chain with a small cross lay against the center of his chest, catching the light every time he shifted.

In the mirror opposite, John turned slowly from side to side, studying his reflection with a calm, almost clinical focus, as if assessing whether everything was still in place.

He stretched, hooking his fingers into the skin of his tattooed bicep and pulling. The muscle swelled under his grip. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “This is a good fit. One of the best I’ve had.”

Ryan watched, saying nothing.

John lifted his chin. Not a big movement—just enough to lengthen his neck and square the line of his jaw. His head stayed tilted up like that, eyes hooded, gaze level with his own reflection. It made him look taller and even more full of himself. He didn’t drop his gaze once. Then, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his black FILA trunks and started to adjust them. He stepped slightly to one side, flexed his legs once, and watched how they tightened and relaxed. He made a small adjustment and looked again.

John picked up the smartwatch from the ground and slid it onto his wrist. He adjusted the strap with quick, practiced movements, then checked the display in the mirror.

Satisfied, he lowered his arm and reached for the pants.

He picked up the black athletic pants. Lightweight fabric. He shook them once, stepped into them, and pulled them up over his hips. The waistband settled just below the FILA lettering. He adjusted the height, checked it in the mirror, and left it there.

Then his eyes moved. They slid from the mirror to Ryan, slow and delayed, as if Ryan had only just entered the room.

“What the fuck,” John said quietly. “Why are you still here, you piece of shit?”

The voice was exact. Flat. Rough. No warmth at all. Ryan felt his chest tighten. “Ok Chad. Nice impression.”

“What’d you just call me?” he asked.

Ryan hesitated. John stepped forward. “You trying to be funny?” he said. Ryan backed up without meaning to. John closed the space and then shoved him. The wall stopped him.

“Don’t talk,” John said. “You’re already fucking this up.”

Ryan swallowed.

“You’re not him, Chad,” he said. “You’re just pretending.”

John smiled slightly.

“Yeah?” he said. “Then why are you shaking?” He leaned in close. Too close. “You say that name again,” he said quietly, “and I’ll see how brave you are when you’re on the floor.” John — the real one — had a short temper and had been inside for assault; this was his first week back on the streets.

Ryan didn’t answer. John straightened even more, satisfied. He looked back to the mirror, adjusted his stance, lifted his chin again. “Thought so,” he said. Then something shifted.

The hard set of his jaw loosened. The glare drained out of his eyes. The posture stayed — broad, confident — but the menace fell away like a coat being shrugged off.

John’s arrogant persona washed from his face.

“Well,” he said, almost casually, “that was easy.”

Ryan blinked, still pinned where he stood.

“There’s not much going on in his head,” John continued, voice lighter now, sharper in a different way. “Surface stuff. Anger issues. Habit. Reaction. Sucked it up real quick.”

Ryan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hands were still shaking.

“That's fucked up. You were pretty convincing,” he said.

John smiled.

It didn’t belong on that face.

The expression was wrong somehow — too narrow, too familiar. Ryan could see Chad in it immediately, thin and sharp-eyed, the kid he’d known for years. Skinny Chad. The one who used to get shoved around in school corridors. The one who’d graduated with him only months ago.

Seeing that smile on John’s face unsettled him more than the threats had.

Ryan shook his head slowly. “And I still can’t believe it’s you in there.”

John glanced back at the mirror, then at Ryan. “But here we are.”

Ryan remembered the fight — how hard it had been. How John had thrown them both off more than once. How he’d gone straight for damage, elbows, head, anything he could reach. Not panic. Experience. He fought like someone who knew exactly where it hurt. Ryan could already feel the bruises forming under his shirt.

John rolled his shoulders once. “He’s strong,” he said. “And he doesn’t stop once he starts.”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. John’s voice had changed, but Ryan’s body hadn’t caught up. His shoulders were still tight, his hands still hurt where they’d hit the wall earlier, and the room felt quieter now. He looked at John and tried to line up what he was seeing with what he remembered.

Ryan still couldn’t believe it was Chad inside—thin and skinny Chad, someone he’d known for years. They’d only just finished high school together. It had taken both of them to subdue John; he was big and strong. A few times he’d managed to throw them both off. He fought dirty, something he’d learned from being inside or maybe as a kid. He knew how to hurt people. Ryan could still hear John's short, ugly laugh and already feel the bruises.

Ryan had finally got the needle into his ass, and the two of them lay on him until the juice started to work. Ryan sat in the corner holding his side as Chad unbuttoned his shirt.

“Help me, will you!” Chad muttered.

Ryan shook his head and could only watch as Chad pulled off his Hi Tops, socks, and skinny jeans. He only paused for a moment before pulling at John’s white underwear. There was hunger in Chad’s eyes as he looked at the lifeless monster that hung between John’s legs. Then he mouthed mine and grinned.

He started to feverishly pull at John’s neck, finding an edge he gently eased his fingers underneath. Ryan could see his concentration; it was like he wasn’t even there. Chad followed the edge high across John’s back, almost to the ends of his shoulders, then down following the line of his chest.

Ryan heard a snap, and John’s head was separated from his body. Chad threw it over and it landed in Ryan’s lap. John’s brown eyes stared up at him, cursing. Ryan could almost hear him vowing his untimely death. He brushed John’s eyes closed, fearing what might have been if he hadn’t been able to get that needle into him. Examining John’s head, Ryan still couldn’t believe what Chad was planning. Like himself, Chad had always been the victim—the skinny kid people picked on. Ryan pushed his hand into the empty neck and held up John’s head. Soon Chad would be taking on the identity of the local thug that ran the district.

When Ryan looked up, Chad had all but transformed into the twenty-seven-year-old and was forcing his arm down into John’s.

“You still want to go ahead with this?” Ryan asked.

Chad scrubbed at his brown shoulder-length hair. “Hell yeah, I’ve got nothing, except this now,” he said.

He started to feel his entire body—the thick strong arms, deep heavy chest, and tight abs. He closed his eyes and groaned as his stolen body reacted. He sighed and looked down.

“And this monster,” he muttered, giving it a couple of jerks. “Plenty of time for that later.”

He reached down and pulled on the underwear, struggling to cage the stolen manhood.

Ryan had told him to leave off John’s mask and just have the body, but Chad said he wanted the whole package.

“Give me it,” Chad said, pointing at the mask.

He looked into Chad’s blue eyes and handed it over. Ryan felt kind of sad seeing his friend swallowed up by John. He wondered if he’d ever see him again—the real Chad, he meant.

Chad pulled it over his head, and Ryan watched his thick long hair disappear under John. Chad pulled at his new face, pushing the mask’s features into place.

John blinked for the first time and looked over at Ryan. Chad’s blue eyes were lost; only John’s dark brown eyes remained as he smoothed out the joins, creating a seamless, undetectable transition.

----

John shifted his weight and looked at Ryan, casual now.

“You’re replaying it,” he said. “I can see it.”

Ryan swallowed.

“I’m processing all of it.” “It didn’t have to be like that,” Ryan said. “And you didn’t need to scare me like this.” “Yeah,” John said evenly, glancing back at the mirror, checking his posture, smiling. “But it felt great and it was fun.” Ryan took a step back without thinking. John noticed and smiled—not cruel this time, just certain. “Relax,” he said. “You’re still useful.”

John then forced Ryan on his knees while pushing down his own pants. In an instant John’s monster dick jumped into Ryan’s face.

Finally. Ryan, driven by lust, was just about to start when John grabbed him by the hair with both hands. Without giving Ryan a chance to react, he rammed his cock down Ryan’s throat. Ryan quickly realized that John was only interested in his own satisfaction, but it was Ryan’s wet dream becoming reality.

“Now be the good little cocksucker,” John said confidently. “You can feel honored, I don’t let a fag suck me off every day.”

Ryan did so and tried to ignore the pain and not gag as he listened to John's taunts. A stain became visible in his own pants.

John shot his load recklessly into Ryan’s throat. “Fuuuuuck!” With a single deep groan and full of relief, John pushed Ryan away and turned around.

John picked up his black T-shirt like nothing had happened. No pause. No glance back. He shook the fabric out once and pulled it over his head. The cotton dragged across his shoulders before settling into place, the red stag spreading tight across his chest. He tugged the hem straight with a quick, practiced movement, then lifted his chin and smoothed the collar flat against his throat with two fingers, checking the fit in the mirror.

When John finished, he looked exactly as he had before Ryan and Chad had taken him down. Ryan watched in silence — heart still racing, breath uneven.

Suddenly a tune came up from Chad’s pile of clothes dumped on the floor. John glanced at Ryan, then bent down to dig through the piece and grab John’s ringing phone.

Ryan watched in silence as John tapped the screen and answered — his demeanor changed immediately.

“Tony, you fucking jerkoff, where the hell are you?”

He started pacing the small room, cocking his head with a wide grin on his face — the same one Ryan had seen on the unfortunate original not thirty minutes earlier.

“Man, I was right behind you. Then your girlfriend wanted to go into that clothes store. No way I was hanging around while she tried on a bunch of crap.”

Ryan smirked, and John shot him a look. Ryan’s mouth snapped shut, frozen by excitement or fear.

"Nah mate, I shouted I was going for a piss, but that bird of your must have been hanging off your ear. Bitch, you should get rid of her, she’s always nagging you." Ryan saw a glint in his eyes, John was notorious for not giving a fuck. John laughed.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you. She’s fine.”

He glanced at Ryan and made a quick jerking motion in front of his dick.

“Man, I don’t give a fuck. Look, I’ll meet you at that fancy cafe on the second floor in twenty. Yeah, like I care if she brings her friend.”

He hung up.

“Jerk,” he muttered under his breath.

John then shot a look at Ryan and held out a hand.

Ryan hesitated before taking it. John’s grip closed around his wrist and hauled him upright without effort, like pulling dead weight off the floor. He didn’t let go right away. He stood too close, crowding Ryan’s space, forcing him to look up.

“I know what I just did.” John said. His voice was lower, steadier, stripped of the earlier menace but not softened.

Ryan nodded, uneasy, eyes fixed on the familiar face that didn’t feel familiar at all. This was the same man who’d pinned him to the wall minutes earlier, who’d scared him without even raising his voice.

“I wanted you to see it work.” He gave Ryan’s wrist a brief squeeze before letting go. “It’s still me in here.”

Ryan swallowed. He wanted to believe that.

“I’ll be in touch,” John said. “Couple days. Maybe more.” He stepped back, already shifting into that confident, street-ready posture. “Once I get Tony alone, I’ll call you. Then you can dump that bitch and we can do all sort of things.”

With a smug grin, he pushed Ryan aside and walked away...

[thesuitaskin]

Halloween: Trick

Part 1

————

The first noise is heavy, weighted. A slow drag across the porch boards, as if something heavy is being repositioned until it stops in front of the door. Simon mutes the TV. The room seems to tilt toward the noise.

He tells himself explanations—raccoon, late delivery, kids—and the scrape stops. Silence.

He continues watching his TV show. After another sudden noise outside, he turns the TV off. He approaches the peephole. Outside is fisheye blur and lamplight. Nothing. He almost turns away.

Another bang. Refusing to be scared, he confronts his fear and checks the outside. As he opens the door—nothing. Just the echo of some Halloween kids in the distance.

He closes the door, locks the chain, and goes back into the living room.

Then: tap—clean, knuckle-heavy hits on the main door itself. The world whitens for a blink. He jerks back, heart punching stupidly.

Another sound unfurls along the siding: fingernails? No—something metal being combed down the length of his house, steady as a ruler. It reaches the window by his stairs and draws a drawn-out screech that sets his molars buzzing.

From the landing, a voice croons, too cheerful: “Trick or treat.”

Another voice, lower, amused: “Don’t you dare make us wait.”

A third voice—bright, wrong—sings like a child off-key: “Open up, Mister!”

His phone vibrates on the table. Anonymous call. He hesitates, answers, breath thin.

He stabs the red button and the call dies. Outside, the voice laughs through wood.

Something thumps the door. Once. Twice. Three times, harder—a bowling-ball heartbeat. The chain lifts and quivers. A powder of dust flakes from the jamb.

“Jesus—” His own voice gives him away.

“Gotcha,” the low voice purrs, close enough to taste.

Silence again. He hears a small object placed against the door, dragging a crescent. When he peeks through the peephole’s edge, he can’t see it—only the warped halo of the porch light and, for a second, motion: a hood’s shadow leaning away.

He backs toward the kitchen on a string. The ceiling fan whispers. The refrigerator ticks. The knife in the block looks theatrical, ridiculous; he pulls it anyway, hating the way his hand shakes.

From the far side of the house, a new sound: the porch chime Simon never uses. Ding… ding… ding-ding. Slow, wrong spacing. Then the chime stops and the rhythm continues without it—ding on wood, ding on rail, ding on his window frame.

His phone buzzes again. A text from an unknown number. It is a photo of his front step taken five seconds ago: a candy bucket he doesn’t own sits centered on the mat. The message under it reads: “TREAT FIRST.”

He edges to the stairs, breath snagging. Shadows from the outside are shifting. He sees the shape only as a suggestion. A whisper crawls through the mail slot: “Hello, Simon.” It is the low voice, textured with a smile.

Another whisper travels the siding toward the living-room window: “We know you’re awake.”

The bright voice follows, tone sugary: “Don’t make us wait.”

He hurries upstairs, as quietly as possible. Then he is scared by the heavy noises outside. From his position he recognizes that somebody has climbed up to the balcony. He is almost at the bedroom when the balcony door bangs—a palm flat on glass.

From the distance he sees the imposing figure. He doesn’t know if the thing outside has seen him. The face staring back isn’t a face. A featureless face, blank, erased, welded to a body that looks threatening. The figure draws its thumb over its throat, watching its own reflection with fascination, then taps the glass with a single knuckle. Tok. Tok.

“Don’t hide,” the thing shouts. The voice is confident, taunting. Familiar, almost—then slippery.

Simon staggers, nearly drops the knife. The masked man chuckles, a wheeze becoming a hiss.

“Warm-up’s over.”

From downstairs, metal grinds metal. The chain gives with a cheap, embarrassed snap. The bolt screams. Simon runs for the bathroom—smaller, lockable. He slips inside, turns the lock with a shaking thumb, and sits on the closed toilet with the knife held in both hands like a prop.

Outside, their voices braid and unbraid.

“Careful with the hinge,” the low one says—clipped, patient.

“We could just crawl inside him,” the bright one sings, delighted.

Laughter washes under the door, and something heavy shifts in the living room—furniture skidding a foot, then another. The front door exhales splinters. Boots enter. A short, feral whoop.

“Home sweet home,” the low voice decides. “Smells like a scared little shit.”

“Lights!” a third voice barks, the pitch skating high with fun—muffled by plastic. “Hey, Simon! Let’s set a mood, little bitch.” John. Even through rubber, Simon knows the tilt on bitch, the breathy eagerness.

Glass explodes somewhere. He flinches. He can hear them searching his rooms—fabrics ripping, bottles clinking; a cupboard door wrenched free with a metal scream; a picture frame spun and dropped for the joy of sound.

In the dark, Simon counts inhales until the numbers tangle. Footsteps approach the bathroom and pause.

Three polite taps. Then one full-body slam. Simon stuffs his fist in his mouth; the knife tap-dances in his lap. A mischievous giggle follows.

They drift back into rooms like sharks, circling. Drawers rip. Hangers scrape.

“Where’d our little host go?” the low voice asks, quieter now; dangerous when quiet.

“He’s in the bathroom,” the blank one says, delighted. “Taking a piss when we are going to redecorate this shit hole? Fine, let him rot there.”

Cupboards bang. A drawer rattles in time with a metal tap-tap-tap—a hammer head testing walls.

Simon moves.

He inches the lock. The click is a gunshot in his head. He eases the door open one finger-width, then another—cool hallway air slipping over his face. The knife trembles in his grip. He slides out sideways, closes the bathroom behind him, and ghosts along the wall toward the stairs.

The kitchen yawns up ahead—dark, grainy with streetlight. He rushes to the backdoor. He tests it, hand on the knob, shoulder pressed to wood. It doesn’t give. Something huge is on the other side—whatever they dragged across the porch at the start—braced against the door like a held breath. He leans harder. The wood moans. From the living room, fabric hisses and boots thump; a blue smear of LED light skates across the ceiling, growing brighter.

He lets go. Air rushes from him in a silent curse.

Back, then. Hide. Not the bathroom—they’ll go there first if they decide to gloat. The bedroom? Too obvious. The basement? A trap. His gaze snags on the narrow door by the entryway—the one with the water-heater hump, winter coats, and the smell of dust and old wool.

The closet opens like a mouth.

He slips inside and folds himself small, knife flattened along his forearm to kill any glint. Coats sigh against his shoulders; the water heater ticks, slow as a lurking heart. He pulls the door in until the latch almost seats and leaves a slit of dark no wider than a receipt.

He breathes through a sleeve. He listens.

Bootsteps triangulate the entryway.

“He left! New game,” John announces from upstairs. “Marco—”

“—Polo,” a voice answers from the kitchen.

“Marco,” John tries again, closer.

“Polo,” the low voice replies from the hall.

Silence presses.

The handle feathers, testing. “Well, what do we have here?” the blank one asks, a laugh under the line.

“Peekaboo,” John says—a ruined cassette imitation of a human voice.

The door rips open.

Light knifes in. Three shapes lock the doorway. A guy wearing a LED-mask, tall and plated with muscle; the faceless hulk in the compression shirt, hammer ticking the frame; and John in the Scream mask, mouth forever howling.

Simon’s breath just collapses.

“There you are,” the muscled one says, pleased. He sets a shoulder to the frame, forearm high; ink and chain catch the LED glow. Control radiates. “Playing hide-and-seek?”

The hammer kisses the jamb—ding.

“You’re fucked,” the faceless one says, almost cheerful.

John leans in until rubber fogs with Simon’s breath. Simon smells him—sour and sweet, like old smoke and gym cloth—then John peels the Scream up in one mad flourish. Wild eyes. That infamous, zipper-wrong grin.

“Boo,” he says, barefaced now—soft, intimate—and the word lands like a greasy nap in a public seat.

Simon’s body moves without permission. The knife jabs. The buff guy catches his wrist midair—father-gentle, unarguable. Metal clatters to the floor and skitters under wool hems.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“We want to do that,” the faceless one says, delighted.

John claps once, too loud, the mask dangling from his fingers. “Shut up!”

“What do you want?” Simon wheezes.

John considers. “Redemption,” he declares. “Or a good time. Whichever you can afford.”

They funnel him from the closet like livestock, a big hand heavy at the neck. The living room is wreckage—couch skewed, books pulped into paper snow, the TV split with a crawling crack.

“Stand there,” John says, steering him between the chaos.

The faceless guy spins the hammer. John sways, jittering, Scream mask swinging from one hand like a toy.

“Please,” Simon manages…

John’s face rearranges itself like a bad magic trick—eyes half-lidded, then too wide, mouth cocked left into a smirk that looks stapled on, then drooping into theatrical pity. He rocks on his heels, hoodie shadowing his forehead, making those pale eyes look chemical.

“Y’know, Simon,” he says, voice syrupy with rot, “I’ve been doing some math. Don’t laugh—I do math. Three guests, one host, zero neighbors who care. That equals… hmm.” He squints, tongue poking out with concentration, then beams. “A party.”

He pivots, arms out. “Welcome to Simon’s party, my dear fellas.” He snatches the hammer out of the guy’s hand and slams it into the wall above Simon’s head. Plaster spatters Simon’s hair like gray confetti. John winces in fake apology, then stage-whispers, “Oops. Open party concept.”

The two masked men hoot—brief, brutal—and start wrecking in counterpoint: the LED-masked one tips a bookshelf with one lazy shove; the faceless one leaps the back of the couch and lands with a thud. Every crash seems to cue another face-change from John. He goes solemn, preacher-serious.

“Why’d I do this to you, Simon?” he says, almost tender. “Halloween’s for truth, buddy. Masks teach people who they are. I wanted your heartbeat loud enough to be recognized from space.”

“Stop—please—you are so sick, John!” Simon whispers. It makes John tilt his head like a dog hearing a whistle only he enjoys.

“You hear that?” he says to the others. “He’s pretending.” He mimics Simon’s voice, high and quavering: “Please stop. Please—” Then he snaps his own voice back on like a light. “Newsflash, dickhead: you are pissing me off for two semesters. That’s a crime. You wore that little scared face down the hallway like a ‘rob me’ sign. That’s entrapment. You threw a party once and didn’t invite me.” He leans in so close his nose almost brushes Simon’s. His eyes smile without his mouth. “That’s treason.”

The faceless guy laughs. The LED-masked one drifts behind Simon, a quiet eclipse. “Keep talking,” he murmurs to John. “He listens better when he’s afraid.”

John puts a hand to his chest, mock-saintly. “Oh, I can talk. I’m a therapist.” He lifts his hand like a mic that isn’t there. “Hello, and welcome to The Simon Hour. Tonight’s guest: Simon, the dickhead. Our sponsors tonight—” He points at the guy with the LED mask and the faceless one “—are thug number one and thug number two. Sounds perfect… mmh, doesn’t it?”

Simon’s thoughts scatter like roaches. They don’t string into sentences anymore; they throb: there are three of them / no one is coming / this is how headlines start. He can’t pick which face on John to focus on—the sloped grin or the dazed, half-closed eyes, the way he can look exhausted and wired at once. Everything about him is a dare.

Simon flinches, jaw trembling. The masked men circle: the faceless one flexes and kisses his own bicep through the mask, murmuring something obscene; the LED mask picks up Simon’s framed photo of freshman friends and considers it, then crushes the frame in one gloved hand like a crouton.

“You’re psychos,” Simon says, and hates the whimper in it.

John’s mouth drops open in delighted shock. “He diagnosed me!” He claps once, jumps, lands, eyes rolling in his skull with glee. “Ohhh, Doctor Simon. Fix me, Daddy.” He leans in close again, voice falling to a confessional hush. “Here’s the cure: scream. Scream real good. Like it’ll make a door appear.”

The faceless one in the compression shirt taps the hammer head on the floor in a patient rhythm: ding, ding, ding. “Time’s running out, man.”

The LED mask steps into Simon’s peripheral vision, so close his shoulder fills half the world. “I am getting bored here.” It’s almost kindly, and somehow worse. The cologne is cool and expensive.

Simon can’t stop shaking. He can feel tears, but he refuses them, clenches his jaw until it hurts. He hears himself breathe like a broken instrument.

John whispers, “Attaboy. Hold it in. Makes it brighter when it breaks.” He lifts the hammer to Simon’s cheek and caresses him with the flat metal, slow, almost tender. “Cold?” His eyes are fond, like looking at a pet.

The two masked men lean in just enough that Simon can feel the heat of their shoulders through the air. Somewhere behind them, something small in the kitchen slides and falls, an afterthought of gravity. The apartment smells like dust and sweat and hollowed-out night.

“Smile,” John murmurs, face stretching into something that isn’t quite human. “It’s Halloween.”

“Boys—reveal yourselves.”

John’s grin clicks wider like it’s on a ratchet. The two masked figures move in sync: the faceless mask peels with a rubbery sigh, and the LED mask lifts off together with the balaclava, revealing the faces beneath—Vlad, the older brother of his friend Artur, and Derek, the older brother of his friend Stan.

Something detonates behind Simon’s eyes. “Why on earth would you team up with this maniac?”

Derek smirks. “Because we felt like it, princess,” he adds, voice thick with condescension. “Now squeak quieter.”

John basks in the spotlight, hood shadowing his brow, eyes glassy and amused. “All it takes is giving these two peacocks a reason to flap,” he purrs. “I said, ‘Your kid brothers’ buddy needs a makeover. Bring the hammers; I’ll write the script.’” He laughs, bright and ugly. “They were easy.”

Derek prowls the wreckage, narrating for an audience of two. “Look at this place. A waiting room with a mortgage.” He toes an overturned chair, then heel-kicks it so it skitters and smashes the baseboard. “When’s your personality getting delivered, man?”

Vlad folds his arms, admiring his own bulk like it’s art he owns. “He stands like he’s apologizing to gravity,” he says, pleased with his observation, then flicks his gaze back to Simon. “Straighten up. Try.”

John claps once, delighted. “Let’s get started.”

Simon doesn’t move.

John’s face drops to that dead-eyed, half-lidded blank, then flicks alive with a feral smile. “Hands. On. Head.”

He obeys. Shame burns hot in his cheeks.

“Good boy,” John purrs. He circles close enough that his jacket drags along Simon’s ribs, tugging his hood strings so his grin tunnels the world. “Repeat after me—‘I’m a big man online, and a squeak in real life.’”

“Go to hell,” Simon says, voice shaking.

Derek chuckles. “He’s halfway there. Keep going, clown.” He taps the hammer head lightly against Simon’s sternum: ding, ding, like a metronome of contempt.

John leans to Simon’s ear, breath sour-sweet. “Say it, or I pick something you love and drop it. Your choice.” His hand hovers over the desk. “Ten.”

Simon’s eyes jump to the hard drive. The photos. “I’m a… big man online,” he forces out, hating the shape of the words, “and a squeak in real life.”

“Why?” Simon rasps. “Why team up with this psycho to wreck my place and humiliate me?”

Derek and Vlad share a grin. John just glows, feral.

Derek steps in, the hammer kissing Simon’s chest. “Shitting your pants? We told you, moron.” He taps again. “Because watching you fold is pure entertainment.”

Vlad drifts to Simon’s other side, calm as a guillotine. “Some people push. Some people move,” he says. “You move.”

“Hands higher,” Derek snaps. Simon raises them an inch; Derek smirks. “Good boy.”

John leans in, eyes bright. “Dance for us, you piece of shit.”

“You don’t even really know me,” Simon grinds out.

“Don’t need to,” Derek says. He slides the hammer under Simon’s chin, lifting.

Vlad plucks a photo, crushes the frame in one hand. “Oops,” he murmurs. “Memories are soft.”

Derek presses forehead to forehead—intimate, ugly—then shoves him back into the wall. “Fight me, coward.”

“No.”

Vlad pushes him to the ground from behind. “Don’t you dare argue with us.”

“Fuck you, maniacs!” Simon spits.

“Glad you finally show some attitude, sucker!” Vlad laughs under his balaclava while Derek and John smile insanely. Then Vlad removes his black balaclava with a contented grin.

Simon expects the nightmare to continue but doesn’t expect what follows. Vlad brings both hands up to his face and hooks his fingers into his mouth, stretching it in an inhuman way up and over his head, revealing a sweaty face beneath it…

“Don’t!” Derek shouts, a horrified expression twisting his features...

[thesuitaskin]

The Sacrifice

"How’s he holding up?" Damien asked, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. His voice was low, steady — but not calm. More like someone trying to stay ahead of whatever came next.

Julian didn’t answer right away. He was half-turned in his seat, gaze fixed on the figure stretched across the backseat. It was the look of someone watching something they’d waited a long time to touch.

"Out cold," Julian finally said. "Didn’t even flinch."

Cyrus Kaviri lay slumped across the seat, breathing slow and deep. His head lolled toward the window, a muscular arm across his chest, the other hanging at his side. The guy was huge and handsome — even unconscious. He looked too solid to be vulnerable. But the sedative had worked.

Julian’s eyes moved over him again, slow and deliberate.

"God, look at him," he murmured.

Damien tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "We’ve got maybe an hour before the dose wears off."

Julian didn’t respond. His hand drifted down to rest on Cyrus’s package. Feeling the tool of a man he envied — in more ways than one — was unreal. But it was real, in a way Julian hadn’t been able to process until now.

"Finally, I’ll be with Lila," Julian said, almost absently.

Damien gave him a quick look. "You sure that’s why you’re doing this?"

Julian’s eyes flicked up. "I told you. He’s disrespecting her. You’ve seen him."

"Yeah, I’ve seen him," Damien muttered.

Julian smiled faintly. "He wasn’t even on my radar. Never talked to him, not really. I’d see him coming home from practice, flexing in the driveway. Cocky, sweaty, shirt off like he was proud of it. I figured he was just another neighborhood jock. But then…"

He trailed off.

"Then you saw him with her," Damien said.

Julian nodded once, jaw tight.

"Lila is everything. I was desperate, hiding, knowing I had no chance. And then… she ends up with him."

He looked at Cyrus again, fingertips grazing the fabric stretched across the man’s chest.

"She could’ve had someone who actually saw her."

Damien exhaled sharply through his nose. "Or you could just move on like a normal person. But anyway… I’m glad you joined in, even though the risk is way too high."

Julian’s hand froze. His eyes didn’t move.

"I don’t want to move on," he said quietly. "I want to be the reason her life gets better."

Damien didn’t reply. The only sounds were the hum of the road and the steady breath of the man they’d stolen.

After a moment, Julian spoke again, softer now.

"You’ve read the ritual more times than I have. You said it’ll work."

Damien nodded. "It has to."

Julian finally looked away from Cyrus, just long enough to glance at Damien.

"This is about to be permanent, right? If I panic halfway through — if I second-guess — it could fracture both of us. I could end up stuck in pieces. Or worse, he could stay, and I just rot inside."

Julian turned back toward the backseat. His voice was calm.

"I’m not going to panic."

He studied Cyrus again — the jawline, the thickness of his neck, the massive, calloused hands. The golden chain peeking from under his shirt. The scent: clean, faintly sweet cologne mixed with sweat. Real. Tangible.

"I want this," Julian said. "I’ve always wanted this. I just didn’t know how badly until I saw him get away with everything."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to something private. His fingertips brushed lightly along the hard swell between Cyrus’s thighs — reverent, obsessive.

"Now he will be mine."

Damien didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The ritual site was half a mile ahead — an empty clearing wrapped in silence and shadow. Everything was ready.

"Just remember," Damien said, quieter now, "this doesn’t turn you into a better version of you. It turns you into him. There’s no going back."

Julian smiled faintly, eyes locked on the sleeping face of the man he would become.

"That’s the point."

The car rolled into the trees.

————

The door closed as Damien stepped out for a breath. The ritual had drained him — like something had been ripped from his chest and filled with molten heat. He had done it. He had created a bodysuit — a living, wearable skin.

Julian’s obsession had made it possible. His envy wasn’t just convenient — it was essential. The process required two humans: one body to store the soul of the man whose flesh would be transformed, and another to act as the devouring vessel. That was the trick. Julian thought he was becoming Cyrus — stealing his life, his power, his body. But in truth, it was Cyrus’s soul that consumed. It swallowed Julian whole, not with malice, but by design. Damien had crafted every step of it.

Once Cyrus’s essence was preserved, his body could be emptied, reshaped, and re-bound. Transformed into something new. Julian’s body would stay unconscious for some time — a vessel without a voice, a meat puppet without spark. And that gave Damien time. Time to breathe. Time to admire what he had built.

It had been dumb luck that Julian had brought up Cyrus — the jealousy, the longing, the obsession. The moment Damien heard that name, he knew: this was it. The perfect opportunity to see the world from a different angle. A better body. A better man. Julian Cross no longer existed. Not really.

Damien stepped back into the room, slowly, barefoot and shirtless. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight — new weight, denser and distributed differently. Even the way his hips moved felt altered: lower center of gravity, broader chest, thicker thighs. Every step carried mass.

He walked toward the mirror, stopped, and stared.

There he was. Cyrus Kaviri. Towering. Sculpted. Breathing. His skin — that warm Persian bronze — glowed under the soft light bleeding through the blinds. Shoulders rolled out like slabs of stone. His chest — high, round, perfectly built — was beaded with sweat, each drop catching the light along the ridged curve of his pecs. Below, abs cut into geometry flexed and braced with every slow breath.

He lifted one arm — unhurried, deliberate — and watched the bicep swell into a vascular arc of strength. Veins shifted beneath the skin like cables under tension.

He reached for the gold chain, fastening it around his neck. It settled easily — snug against his collarbones, a siganture piece. Damien’s breath hitched. Not out of shock. Not anymore. But because the man in the mirror didn’t feel foreign… or familiar. He felt home.

The smirk came without effort. It belonged there. Thick brows. Green-gray eyes that stared like they already knew the world’s response. Full lips, shaped for taking, for owning. Even the way the sweat traced curves down his abs looked too intentional to be real. He wasn’t just wearing Cyrus’s skin. He was Cyrus.

Leaning closer to the mirror, the ritual’s heat still slicking his body, he breathed in the layered scent — cologne, heat, and something faintly primal. He lifted one hand — big, calloused, vascular — and dragged it across his jaw, feeling the trimmed edge of his beard. The skin was rough in the best way, tactile and masculine. His thumb brushed his lips, parting them slightly. They were full, shaped just right, and impossibly his now.

"I look like a goddamn Persian prince," he whispered.

The sound of his own voice stopped him. Not just for what he said — but for how he said it.

It was perfect. Deep. Smooth. Brushed with that faint Tehran lilt, Americanized into something sleek and magnetic. It vibrated with calm confidence, even in a whisper. Not just deeper than Damien’s old voice — more appealing.

He watched his lips shape the words, felt the vibration ripple through his chest. His chest. No flinch this time. The strange moment of dissonance was gone. He smiled.

Not the sheepish grin Damien used to hide behind. Not the tight-lipped grimace he gave passing mirrors — full of self-consciousness or longing. This was the Cyrus smirk. Tight. Tilted. Unreadable. And it felt natural, like he’d always smiled that way. Like it had never belonged to anyone else.

He tilted his head, letting a bead of sweat slip from the dark ends of his hair down the slope of his neck. His eyes locked on the mirror again — that green-gray intensity, like a wolf deciding whether to bite or beckon. He rolled one shoulder, savoring the way the muscle slid and bunched beneath the skin. Even that simple motion felt different.

He watched himself chew slowly, flexing his jaw on instinct, letting the beard frame every twitch of muscle. It sharpened his features — masculine without being brutish. He looked like someone pulled straight from a cologne ad.

He spat at the mirror, then leaned in. Stared into those green-gray eyes.

He touched his chin, feeling the trimmed edge of his beard — every hair, every pore, alive beneath his fingertips. He let his hand slide down his neck, over his ample chest, and then lower until he could grasp his new cock. As he jerked off, he licked his delicious saliva from the mirror. All these sensations, like the touch and the taste, were like a reward he had long awaited.

I just knew that creep Julian was fucking jealous of me.

The thought came unbidden, and it made him smirk. It wasn’t just his own voice in his mind anymore — it was Cyrus’s. His original thoughts were bleeding into the man’s instincts, merging into something new and seamless.

A load of his semen splattered on the mirror, and he was eager to taste the purest essence of the notorious Cyrus Kaviri.

It tastes damn good, just like you, stud—just like me.

A smile flitted across his face. He didn't mind wiping it away, and he strutted into the room where some of his clothes were lying around. Damien could now easily imitate the natural self-confidence and swagger that characterized Cyrus' gait.

He picked up the underpants, stuck his nose in them, and enjoyed their scent.

The scent of a Persian warrior. Mine.

Sliding them on felt like sealing himself inside the role — the first layer of the man the mirror now showed him. He turned, caught that reflection, and flexed, admiring the way Cyrus Kaviri’s form obeyed his will.

The jeans hugged his legs in all the right ways — snug over the thighs, tapering down to clean lines at the ankle. Pulling them up had been an exercise in control, not because the fit resisted, but because he savored the process. Every inch of fabric sliding over muscle felt like confirmation. The belt slid through the loops with a practiced flick, the leather catching briefly on the buckle before snapping into place.

The T-shirt came next — soft, pale grey, clinging instantly to the cut of his shoulders, the rise of his chest. It stretched in the slightest way across his pecs, then settled against his torso as though it had been tailored for him alone. A quick tug flattened the hem against his waist. The gold chain lay visible at the collar, glinting when he moved.

He glanced at himself in the mirror, tilting his head. Fixing his hair the usual way. Then he let a hand running down his chest, letting his fingers linger at the belt buckle before meeting his own gaze again in the mirror.

The smirk deepened — pure Cyrus. His voice came out smooth, deep, threaded with that Tehran edge.

"Man kheili khoshgelam… vaghte un shode ke be Lila neshon bedam che javayee barande shode."

It tasted perfect in his mouth.

I’m looking damn good… time to show Lila what prize she’s won.

————

Julian’s body — pale, slack, abandoned — was still. The chest convulsed. A low, guttural breath escaped the parted lips, thick with something that wasn’t quite human. And then the body went still again.

Outside, the car pulled away...

[vindictivenerdcels]

Spinoff: Fiancè Needs His Groomsmen Part 2

You can check on @fullfriendnerdclutch that we dubbed as part 1 here . As always, full credit to the OG storyline by @thesuitaskin

Pete's mind still buzzing from all the revelation and exciting plan laid out by "Austin". It all sounded too good to be true but the fact that driving Austin Hill's body for the past months turned out to be his gaming buds Owen still surprised him. That revelation really thrown out all the doubt that the shit "Austin" laid out is very much possible and he's going to be involved with the whole scheme if everything goes smoothly in the next 2 days!

Later that night, while busy watching some video he bookmarked in his X, Peter received a strange video call request from an unknown number that caused the video to pause. He rejected it for the first time, second and even third, but by the time the caller called once more, he picked it up and stared right at the screen in anger. His eyes instantly went wide to the sight that welcomed him, a true muscular daddy clearly built to perfection which also happened to be built like the kind of co-stars in the shit he watched

"Hey there, twerp. How's your evening? Done jacking off to those MILF porn?"

Surprised, confused and anger mixed into one as he barked back

"Who the fuck are you, creep? How can you get my number?"

"Someone way above your league, definitely. Enjoying what you see? That little chub already reached its full length?"

"Fuck, I don't need to engage with your weirdo ass. Fuck you!"

Peter turned off the phone clearly seethed with anger.....until it hits him. What if----

A message from that same number popped into his inbox. It's a selfie of the guy, all shirtless and slightly glistened from what seemed to be sweat

"Stop being so dramatic, Peter. Austin already told you about his plan, right?"

The same number called again, and this time, Pete picked it up

"Who the fuck are you?"

"As of now, I'm Mike, and I just called my brother Nick that I am not coming to visit him this week, per Austin's request,"

"Not my question, I mean, who the fuck are you exactly?"

"Can you make a guess? I know your bisexual ass probably thinking you are all straight for all the porn you watched but you literally watched straight porn for the dudes too HAHAHAH! I'm exactly your kind of type now,"

"You motherfucker. Benji, is that really you?"

"Hell yeah, but let's not call me that any longer because I'm not planning to get out from this dude, ever,"

"Shit, this makes me even more excited for Saturday! Dude, how long you've been inside that beast!?"

"My fourth day now. Austin told me about his insane plan around last week and told me to not reveal about my involvement yet to anyone, but I just can't resist not telling you any longer! He told me he would tell "the others" within this week so I figure he must've told you with the D-Day already approaching,"

"Yeah, it was insane, the whole thing. But fuck, this is beyond my wildest imagination. So, this daddy, is he a real one or just looked like one?"

"Oh, he's the real deal, got all this wife and two sons that he loved so much. The sons looked up to him and wanted to be like him while the wife really knows how to serve her husband to the fullest. They are all out for the weekend though, back to grannies place, so I'm all alone now,"

"Sounds like a perfect family,"

"Oh, indeed. A very perfect one, I'm having a hard time thinking to abandon this whole thing if this becomes permanent. You know how much I love to bury this cock inside a twink's hole while they screamed "daddy" or shit, but the way my wife's pussy just so slick and ready to swallow this whole monstrosity......it feels super right," Mike said as he angled his phone so it seemed like as if Pete looked up at him through his ridges of abs and pecs, the phone slowly placed lower until a marvelous cock slapped itself to hit the bottom part of Mike's ripped abs as it freed itself from the confine of the Calvin Klein brief

"Oh, shit---" Pete exclaimed as his hand absent-mindedly travelled down to his underwear, he's an audio and visual learner and could visualize everything with enough description, and clearly Benji is messing with him now

"Yeah, she's a fit, stay-at-home brunette Latina and I just love to spank that ass in the kitchen or mess up with her when she's showering. She's super playful and very open to do all sorts of things with me. Never in my life I encountered such an obedient bombshell that knows the biggest blessing in life for a lady is to bear the children of a patriotic, religious men and served her men obediently,"

"MMMHHHhhh......Ben--ji.....mmmhhhh.....stooppp,"

"The way she called my name as if she repented to Jesus, "Mikey, Mikey, daddy," ohhh such a fine tune to my ear. We got this beautiful mirror placed in our bedroom clearly to maximize our view when we fuck each other and oh boy, the sight of her back arched while I pounded her hole, boyyy, it should be immortalized and framed in the Smithsonian or shit,"

"Benn---ji---Mike....unghhhhmmpphhaahh.....stooop it......I'm fuccckkiinnhgg close nghhhhhaaahh!!"

"You disgusting shit. Are you really jacking off to my sexy time with my wife? But the real question though, are you imagining me or my wife? Because if it's her you're imagining, oh I swear to God I'm gonna turn you into a pulp. Only I can picture my wife looking all slutty and needy. Only I that can talk her tits because there's just no match to have such incredible mound of flesh all jiggly and versatile to possess. I can slid my 8 inchers cock in between those gorgeous 34Bs, I can squeeze it like a stress ball when I fuck her from all sides, I can munch it as if it's some kind of marshmallow and thank God we just had a baby so I can milk the shit out of it,"

"Mikey---Daddy-- I--- UNGHHHHHH----"

And the older man just laughed from the opposite screen while Pete just stared at his screen with bated breath and his whole clothing and hands messed up by the loads he shot.

"I haven't even touched you or shown you my wife and you are already a mess, dude,"

"Oh shut up, you know I'm weak for that kind of temptation,"

"Well, you better get an upgrade then. I'm not gonna keep in touch with a weakling, people will get suspicious. Maybe you can be my lil bro, what Austin said about it?"

"Nothing, to be honest. He didn't reveal which one I'll be between Nick and Adam,"

"Then, be Nick. So we can get close with each other without anyone raising eyebrows. Oh anyway, I need to grab my stash, it's about time I chug the pill for continuation,"

"Stash?"

"Yeah, he gave me a whole tube that would last me for 90 days,"

"A whole tube?"

"Yes, a whole tube, filled with this twisted possession pills and a handful that filled with the mind merging shit. He said he needed some place to stash it for a while so Eli didn't accidentally find it. After all, Eli stayed mostly at Austin's home nowadays and Austin told me that the small freak would snoop around the places and even frequently sniff his dirty clothing and whatnot,"

"It's still very surreal to listen to you calling Eli "a small freak" and you just so comfortably addressed Owen as Austin as if there's nothing odd about it,"

"Well, he speaks and thinks like the Austin I would know as my younger brother closest friend, why should I address him as anything else?" Benji said with a smirk while stealing glances at his own face in the mirror

Peter just chuckled. These pills really worked like a charm, huh? He thought to himself.

"So, why are you telling me all this? You can literally just not text me or anything, playing Mike to the fullest until Austin's further direction,"

"Well, we cannot let him steer all the fun, don't we? I heard him making all this big fuss about you guys trying out wedding suits, that's where you'll ambush my lil bro and Adam?"

"I suppose so,"

"Hmmmm.....wonder who will ended up as my lil bro. It disgusts me to the core that one of you slimy freckled freaks might slip and takeover my lil bro and used him like a puppet, but hey, that's probably for the best. He's such an asshole, a new driver might be using him better. Anyway, the plan is on Saturday right? Maybe we can spice things up a bit,"

"How? Do you have a plan in mind?"

"I have, but I'll tell you about it later. I have a guest coming in soon, gotta prepare myself first,"

"Later, we don't have later. Plus, what do you mean a guest? It's almost 10 PM now,"

"We'll have time, promise. And about the guest, well, no one's with me now, I'm a man with needs. I'll let your creative mind come up to your own conclusion. But after all, it's none of your business, twerp. Bye now,"

And just like that, the video call ended abruptly. What the hell was that? Pete murmured to himself, the cum already dried on his hand and clothing but his bed already reeked with all of the sweat and the JO. The time shows 10 PM, but he just felt dirty and sticky so he jumped to the shower to feel refreshed while internalizing the thought that Mike/Benji just floated to him

"Be Nick then,"

Nick Moretti. That arrogant douchebag. It's one thing to look at him in all his muscular glory from the outside, listening to him talking about girls like they're that easy to manipulate.

But to see the world from such perspective? To lure in the chicks with a flash of your smirk and a casual flex of muscle? To be the one in possession of such fine specimen of a body? Without Pete realized, his hand already grabbed his 3 inchers and jacked it off furiously for the past few minutes under the warm shower, and when everything went blank in his mind, that's also when he shot his load to the shower tiles. He panted under the cascading water, this weekend will be tough to not get horny despite it's probably going to be more nerve-wracking, he thought to himself

---

As Dominic flopped to Mike's bed after travelling out of town to eventually get himself fucked senselessly by the DILF to the point of passing out, Javion walked in to the bedroom to witness the mess

"Yo, so you tellin' me I need to step inside the gay dude you just fucked? Like.....bro, you can just NOT fuck the dude or something,"

"Well, beggars can't be choosers, either you go in there or you can go back working with your boring uncle and tutored your bratty cousins, your choice,"

"You better not fuck me once I slide into him,"

"Why would I? I'm not fucking a dude twice, heck, this body ain't fucking any dude ever again, I just see him as a means to an end. Hurry before he wakes up,"

Javion chugged the multi-colored pill that made his eyes sparkled all sorts of brilliant color and prepared himself for the takeover. If not for the fact that the towering DILF next to him convinced him that he's actually Benji, Javion wouldn't even bother to come here, but the dude knew things he supposedly got zero idea about so Javion trusted his guts and believed on him despite the way it sounded impossible. Yet, as soon as his hands "melted" right into the back of the passed out guy, he stared back at Benji/Mike in an amused yet disbelief expression before fully committing himself to the takeover. Another pill and several minutes later, Dominic is already wide awake and his eyes looking at Mike with lust that he simply can't hide

"That last pill.....mmmmhhh....fuck, the thought of you pounding my ass again becomes so irresistible. You didn't tell me how well it makes me think like him,"

"Oops, sorry not sorry. And no, I'm not touching you anymore, but I know what you can do to fulfill that insatiable desire,"

---

Mike said nothing for the next 2 days after his call to Pete. But right before the sun rises on the eventful Saturday, a chat popped in from the number Pete saved as "Daddy Mike". Mike revealed to Pete that he's going to pick him up and explain things face-to-face with him about his little plan. Pete opened the message around 30 minutes after the chat sent by Mike and he instantly leaped from his bed to at least clean himself for the day. Then, he stopped mid-tracks......if he's going to get inside Nick or Adam today, well, why the fuck he should care about showering, so he simply just washed his face, brushed his teeth and changed his clothing to prepare for Mike's arrival. Around the same time, Austin texted Pete that he needed to postpone things for a couple hours, so that certainly give Pete and Benji/Mike enough time to do whatever plan that Benji/Mike already stored in his mind.

Once Mike's car arrived in front of Pete's apartment building, the dainty man stormed out from his apartment building to then quickly entered the car. Inside the car, he's welcomed by the leathery musk of the car that mixed pretty intensely with Mike's body odor. It's also the first time that Pete witnessed Mike in real life and boy he looks super intimidating and imposing

"Morning twerp, are you ready for the day?"

"Oh, definitely. Also, I just heard from Austin, he needed some extra time today because there's something he needs to solve first,"

"I saw Nick's Strava, he's still in his neighborhood as of now, jogging, so Austin's delay clearly not involved him because based on his Strava, he's somehow went out of town and will take around an hour or more before coming back based on this distance. Any idea why?

"No, honestly. Maybe it's related to Adam. He got this family cabin or something, is it near the lake?"

"Yes, I think he's going to the lake. Well, based on the track, he stopped by at Ron's, so maybe you are going to be my little brother then seeing that Ron is probably heading to get Adam?"

"Oh fuck, for real? But why do the takeover not in the designated place? Is it because the cabin is pretty much isolated?"

"Hmmm.....maybe, but anyway, I think we should go to your suit appointment, staking the place first and see what you are going to work with, what do you think?"

"Sounds like a plan to be honest, bro, is that the plan you've been waiting to tell me, a stakeout?"

"First of all, nu uh, too early, twerp, not your big bro yet. Second, you'll see for yourself,"

---

"What the fuck???" exclaimed Mr. Wendell when he witnessed all 3 of his employee involved in practically a threesome in the 2nd floor private room.

The shock somehow compounded when from the opposite private room, Anthony stormed out and phased inside Mr. Wendell, his old yet still muscular body trembled as he fell to the ground with his face planted to the wood paneling. Then, several seconds later, he grunted through the possession as he's kneeling on all fours like a dog while both of his arms trembled hard trying to withstand the onslaught. Yet, to no avail, the takeover turned out successful as Mr. Wendell stopped trembling before letting out a deep, rich chuckle. He exclaimed that he did it, and looking at his 3 employees already enjoying themselves and each other, he started to pick himself up before starting to undress himself.

"Save some space for me boys, I need to punish Dominic for bringing these thugs into our dignified, artisanal shop," he said with a wide grin that the other assistant responded with the same kind of crooked, devious, smile

---

"Are you serious? All of them?"

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"So, this is the big plan? For more of our friends involved in this scheme?"

"Well, the big plan is to really ensure you are the one getting Nick. I feel like since Austin gave me that much pills, it's a bit of a waste to just use it for me when I can......share,"

"Austin will be mad at you, you know,"

"So be it, I bet he probably can churn out more pills anyway and between me and you, I know he will not let us get kicked out from our skinsuit. After all, deep down he's still our reliable, people-pleasing friend, Owen,"

"That's a bit cruel, don't you think? Using him and his power like that?"

"Think about it from bigger perspective. He told us to abandon our life altogether, I think he's a bit cruel himself for demanding us to do that. Yeah it's definitely nicer bodies and all, but he practically used us all in his scheme just to mess up with Eli,"

"Yeah......that sounds.....messed up if you put it like that,"

"Think of this as our extra payment, we deserved it after all the sacrifices we made. It's not like I hated my past lives, the offer is just too good to resist and this new live can only be enjoyable if we have some companies," Mike said as he circled his muscular arms around Dominic and Mr. Wendell, "Austin got you and Ron....and to some extent, Eli. Me.....well, I built my own circles,"

Pete just stared at the 5 men in front of him, 4 of them suited and looking preppy while Mike's in the centre with his camo tanktop and bandana that made him look a bit out of place but it's pretty much giving the real Mike vibes, all grinning and having their bulge prominently shown as if to cue what kind of sexual deviants that ended up in control of their bodies

"So, I already texted Nick to come by here, I said that Austin told me to come by, you maybe want to prepare yourself? He probably arrives in 10 minutes or something, so excited to meet his older brother," Mike said with a smirk as he grabbed two pills inside a tiny plastic bag from his pocket, one for the possession and one for the mind fusion.

"You are setting up a trap to lure in your own little brother?" Pete replied coyly with a hint of intrigue to match the deviousness of the men in front of him

"As I told you, he's a bit of an asshole, maybe someone can make him a better man,"

"Guess that's my job then," Pete said as he grabbed the tiny pills package and strut to the private room on the first floor

"Okay boys, let's prepare ourselves. It will be quite a fight but I believe 5 of us can take him down, no slip-ups, no miss, and no bruises on his pretty face, okay?"

---

Nick never seen it coming.

He's too elated to witness his older brother in a fitting button-up PINK polo, he never mentally prepared for the back-breaking hug Mike gave him right from the get go that caused him unable to move as it took him by surprise. He chuckled at first and flailed around trying to wrestle himself free, but Mike didn't let go even after both of their bodies ended up on the floor. Nick's eyes darted all around the shop trying to get some help but all the attendant and even Mr. Wendell himself simply just smirked at Nick's desperation. An adjustment in the positioning caused Mike to be able to slip his arms with ease and circled around Nick's neck with his powerful biceps. Choking for air, Nick eventually passed out from the strangling his own big brother did to him and that's when Pete walked out from the room, he's been peeking everything from inside the room as he watched everything unfold.

"I believe he stared at me for a couple seconds or something," Pete said as he walked out from the room with the possession pill already in his hand

"Well, let's get you in there quick so his last memory is not about his older brother choking him to death or something,"

"Uhhh--ohh---okay, but....umhh......can I do it inside the room? I'm....not so sure I want to do it in front of everyone,"

Mike rolled his eyes but he quickly grabbed Nick's limp arm and dragged him to the room

"Do you need it to be a private moment too, princess?"

"Actually, yes,"

"Just do it quick, okay? Austin already texted you, right?"

"Uh.....yes, he's going to be here in around half an hour,"

"Well, you have 15 minutes then,"

"That's more than enough," Pete said as he closed the door and then locked it from inside, Nick's limp body splayed on the floor with his back sweating from the onslaught

Pete heard the description on how the possesion felt like, but to be actually experiencing it is a full-on bodily experience he couldn't fully grasp or describe himself. The closest thing that he could think of about the sensation is that he feels like he's a hot knife that glides through block of butter, smoothly getting in-between the butter and yet somehow, there's an end to it. His whole body sustained to remain inside the body that he just slipped inside of and there's just no way out too as the entrance is no longer an entrance, but a solid back that he cannot penetrate again.

His amorphous form soon spread all across Nick's internal system, claiming control of all the limbs and nerve system of the passed out man by leaving a speckle of itself in the vital points that all will be powered once he controlled the nervous system. As it reached the brain, the amorphous Pete witnessed the real Nick's consciousness slumped in his control seat. Curious, Pete then touched the unconscious Nick and something unexpected happened to him as his form then slowly yet surely engulfed the real Nick's consciousness. Moments later, Nick's eyes snapped open in the real world. It has the same intensity and everything, but there's slight confusion beneath that intimidating eyesight. Did he.....just engulf the real Nick? Is that supposed to happen? The mind fusion pill is still in the tiny plastic bag so why on Earth he already knows everything about Nick? His confusion on why his brother strangled him. His excitement when Mike revealed that he's in town. His fuck last night with that NBA cheerleader he met at the club. But not just the recent memories, flashes of Nick's childhood and juvenile years, Nick's first kiss, Nick's first fist-fight with a dude that hit on his girl......everything is accessible for Pete without the need for the mind-fusion pill or whatever it called. But, afraid of making others suspicious and noting the tight timeline he's in, he decided to brush it all aside and hide the pills inside his jeans, he's not obliged to tell everything to everyone after all

"Fuck, shit is so painful," he muttered to himself, testing out his new-found voice while nursing his strangled neck as he quickly picked himself up to witness his own form in the full-length mirror.

"Hey, name's Nick. Nice racks," he said to his own reflection, replicating the douchebag opening line Nick uttered to the cheerleader that he ended up sleeping with last night

"Pretty privilege, fuck. He can say the dumbest shit but he'll still get the girls because he's fucking hot. Well.....I can say the dumbest shit and still get the girls because fuck yeah I AM fucking hot," he said to the mirror while flashing his predatory smirk

Pete's eyes then wandered to the growing bulge in his jeans and he decided that there's no way he's going to just jack himself off like a pathetic dude that cannot pull anyone to do as he pleases. So, as he let his jeans dropped to the floor, he then strut to unlock the door and called out one of Mr. Wendell associates

"Hey fuckers, anyone up to suck my fucking hard cock? I'm fucking horny over here!"

Mike and the others turned around as soon as they heard the voice. The 36 years old smirked at the sight, it's his little brother standing in front of the private dressing room with only his underwear on.

"Nicky, looking good over there," Mike said, purposefully calling Nick with his childhood nickname to tease him and see how the pills work

As expected, Nick's face turned slightly sour before smirking

"Fuck you Mike. Don't call me with that faggy name, ever,"

"Oh, so you preferred me to call you what? Pete? Petey?"

"Don't push it bro, I'm still not over you choking me, I'll pay it back when I have the chance,"

"Hahahahahah yeah right, good luck with that. Anyway, have you checked your phone? Austin probably texted you on his whereabout,"

"Yep, he's close. Less than 10 minutes to go. What do you want to do next? You want to reveal your involvement?"

"Ehh.....not really. I guess I'm just going out to the corner and hide while you guys can do whatever you wanna do. I think we can play a bit more with Austin, don't you think? Make him insecure and wary that not everything happened per his plan and there's external variable he cannot control, I bet you can use that creative mind of yours to come up with some shit,"

"Heh, I do have some shit on my mind in case you don't want to reveal your involvement yet. I'll update you later then, bro,"

"Okay then, I know I can count on you bro,"

"Always,"

As Mike left the premise, Nick grabbed one of Mr. Wendell associates to help him in the private room

"Let's dig in to our brain and pull off some role play, shall we?"

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Spinoff: Mike from Promising Models

@vindictivenerdcels you did yours, I have mine. You can check the OG here by @thesuitaskin

As Giselle expertly licked and swallowed his shaft which triggered his devious grin as the hot bombshell model looked so funny with Mike's beer can cock stuffed her mouth full, he decided to check his continously buzzing phone.

The name Rory appeared on his screen, what's so urgent? he pondered to himself. Looking at the blonde sucking on his third leg and the video call request, Mike decided to pick up the call because bros always come before hoes after all

"Yo Mike, can you come to my room? I have absolutely the craziest shit I ever experienced this morning,"

"If it's about another tightest pussy you ever conquered, I'm not going there bro, I am......busy," Mike said with a wink, not really focused on Rory's distressed expression

"No, dude, it's not about that. There's a fucking faggy nerd all naked next to me on my bed this morning," Rory said with a frustrared expression as if holding out his anger

"Wait......what did you say?" Mike said a little bit surprised, his sudden position shift caused his cock to impale Giselle's throat even deeper

"There's this weird nerd that somehow ended up in my room, in my bed, all crouched and hidden inside my blanket this morning! Wait......why do your eyes glitch like that? Bro, is there someone giving you a BJ?"

"Nu uh bro, no one, I'm just busy watching some stuff sent by Georgina, hence the noise," Mike said as he stopped Giselle from moving her head, practically choking her with his veiny, gargantuan 8 inch monstrosity

"Oh okay, you long-distance freak. Anyway, I couldn't be that drunk to the point of picking up a dude, right? It was just 4 tequila," pondered Rory, oblivious to the gargling and choking noise coming out from Mike's background

"Dude, that's just hella FUUUCCKK--ed up. Let me see what I can do to help you, I'm c--CUMMINGG there, okay? Gimme 15," Mike replied, this time he maintained his facial expression despite releasing all of his morning load down Giselle's throat, the poor blondie gargled and choked by the amount of cum yet she cannot break herself free from the choking to the point the cum and her saliva mixed up and simply spluterred out like a sticky fountain that now covered Mike's pubes

"Thanks bro, damn, my head is so fucking dizzy. And fuck, beating the shit out of that nerd really drained me somehow, I'll nap for a while," Rory said as he turned off the call. Mike quickly released Giselle's head from his choking. She let out a sigh of relief as she gasped for breath with her mouth all messed up from the load Mike shot down her throat. If it's any other men, Giselle would be furious to be treated like she's a mere object for pleasure, but Mike is somehow an exception due to his charm and connection that would help any aspiring girls to a better career in this City of Angels. So, like a good blonde bimbo, she licked her lips and thanked Mike, laughing off the incident as something normal as she said

"Can't let a distressed friend feels like the focus is not on them, can't we?"

"You're such a smart lady, keep behaving like this and you'll go far around here, I can assure you,"

"Awww, thanks. Anyway, you need to get out? Can I stay here while you're out?"

"Of course not, I'm not trusting anyone with my apartment. I will clean myself first and by the time I walk out from the shower, you better be gone, understand?"

"Oh......okay,"

Inside his mind, Mike sneered at Giselle, what a basic bitch......thinking that she's all special just because she's holding herself down there, she's not even milking it better than that wimp Simon LOL, he thought to himself. Simon.......is that nerd causing all this? What didn't he reveal to me and Rory about that fucking pill? Mike internal monologue pondered again.

As he walked out from his bed with his slick cock flopping left and right, he strut to the shower to quickly clean himself. If what Rory described turned out to be true, it means that Jeff is out from controlling Rory's body, but how? Will that happen to him too? And why it happened in the first place? Plus, where's Jeff then? His mind is getting a bit more anxious under the shower, he quickly walk out after a quick clean-up to ensure that he's not smelling like sweat and fresh cum. The blondie already left the apartment per his order so he got the place all for himself

"Please don't let this be the final time I'm enjoying this room. Life will be hella sucks without you, bro," he murmured to himself while rubbing his cobblestone abs before putting on the closest piece he can find. It's a branded athleisure clothing that he and Rory developed way before his takeover, and it's one hell of a snug fit

"Fuck man, I will never be ready to leave this shit,"

As he grabbed his phone, a message from a weird number appeared on his phone

"Dude, I'm ejected from Rory! Are you doing okay? I'm heading out to Simon's to interrogate him,"

Is this Jeff? He thought to himself......Hopefully this is the second chat he sent after not getting any reply from Max's original number, it would be hella risky and irresponsible of him to just reveal their whole scheme all along, Mike murmured to himself. Just imagine if he's also ejected from Mike already and Jeff just texted this outlandish chat to the real Mike???? That would be a major catastrophe, or maybe Mike would just dismiss it as another bullshit? Anyway, believing in the logical rationale Jeff possessed, Mike replied

"Yeah, Rory freaked out about you, I'm coming down to his unit now. What are you planning to do with Simon?"

"I'm just gonna make him responsible for hooking us up with this shit. I cannot stand a single minute not inside Rory, dude! I'm addicted to be him and I'm blaming Simon wholeheartedly. I wish he has stock of those pills remaining or can tell us how to get it!"

"Update me then, I'll bring Rory right there if you find any leads," Mike replied as he closed off his phone and walk out from his apartment

For the past 3 months, both Max and Jeff immersed themselves fully to the kind of life the real Mike and Rory would enjoy.

Despite its lavish settings and seemingly differing events, their activity consisted of three general things. Booze, babes and business. In the morning, they will have their 90-120 minutes workout with sets of friends they linked through the fitness influencer industry. Sometimes, they have clients to attend to that they charged thousand of dollars per session as it involved another set of workout in the bedroom that can happen right at that very morning or simply scheduled for. This workout usually happened in LA, but it's not rare for them to fly to Dubai, Bali, Cancun, St. Barths, Turks and Caicos or wherever their heart pleases. Then, afterwards, they filled their schedule with "work" that consisted of supervising their video and photo editor or attending bunch of BS business meetings scheming up classes and programs for impressionable and lost young men or bunch of losers. Usually, it's accompanied with lunch paid by people that invited them for the meetings, those social climbers trying to wow the established LA influencer crowd like him and Rory or they simply paid for it using their own money that they will then reimburse as business expenses to the bunch of companies they fronted for. Before the sun sets, depending on the location, they usually lounged around the pool or the beach in the hotel where their client paid for their accomodation and it's impossible for them to not have at least two babes each by their side. The same girls would then usually joined them for dinner and the night out that followed, or if both of them are drained from their very busy social butterfly schedule, they would then head straight to their room where they would blow their loads inside the girls before repeating the whole cycle the very next day. Now, Mike is not very sure about the continuation of it all if all in a sudden, he can simply be ejected from Mike's body and forced to return to his pathetic, invisible life as Max Belmont the boring graphic designer that will probably lose his entire industry because tech bros keep funding AI graphic generator development.

"Mike, Mike, hey dude, sorry if I rambled too long, I'm just....."

"Oh---no, no, no, sorry bro, I'm just trying to remember what transpired last night and spot the moment if there were any when you interacted with a scrawny gay dude. He must be sticking out oddly, last night theme was literally "Babes & Bros" after all," Mike replied trying to hide the fact that he's been zoning out from the get go thinking of the lives he and "Rory" might lose if Jeff failed to find anything from Simon

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to remember too. I literally have zero recollection of talking to that fag, and even if I talked to him, why the fuck I did that?"

"Okay, chill bro. No need to get all pent up again, maybe I should grab you some beers, you stock up any?"

"Yeah, maybe that will help. Just take out anything to be honest,"

Right as Mike excused himself to the kitchen, he received a short text from Jeff

"Bingo, quickly bring your ass here bro, and bring that meathead Rory too, the real one need to be in control once more,"

So, with a smirk while still hidden by the fridge door, he instinctively shouted

"What about a drive bro? We can use my Lambo, get your mind off from this shit,"

"That sounds perfect, let's fucking go!"

---

Mike told Rory that rather than driving aimlessly, he actually needed to drop something that the girl he slept with earlier this morning left behind in his unit. Rory bought the story with no questions asked because why would Mike fool him at this or intended to harm him in the very first place? They are the closest of friends, he knows there's no way Mike would let anyone or anything to harm him. So, Rory remained oblivious all the way until they reached the front door of the apartment 2139 on the 21st floor. Not even before he managed to knock on the door, Mike all in a sudden put him on a chokehold from behind, taking the air out of his lungs and squeezing his arm to its maximum strength to ensure a total knockout. Too surprised by the sudden attack, the shorter Rory eventually found himself flailing around mid-air as his very own best friend seemingly tried to kill him through strangulation or asphyxiation. Rory's eyes turned even wilder when the door of the apartment slightly opened to reveal the same faggot that he bashed for waking up next to him. But before he can make any meaningful attempt to break free, Rory's vision turned dark as the last thing he witnessed is the gay dweeb crooked smile

---

"Where the fuck is that dweeb hiding it?" Mike said as he thrashed the entire living room and its shelvings, finding nothing worthwhile

"Yeah.....I can't find it still and I've checked all the drawer" Jeff said as he tiptoed around the scattered mess and also the passed out Rory's body

"Fucking stupid nerd! Why can't he just put it where it's visible??? Why makes shit so complicated?" Mike added angrily

There's several pathetic attempt to bust the bathroom door, yet it remain locked throughout the whole ordeal. Mike's just hyper-focused to the task at hand, he only realized that someone is inside the bathroom and can't escape

"Wait, you locked him inside there? HAHAHAH, fuck him!" Mike said as he continued his rampage, flipping over the sofa hoping to find a ledge or some hidden spaces marked by oddities in the floor paneling. While he's busy tracing the entire flooring, Jeff entered the bedroom and head straight to the drawer next to the bed. Inside the first drawer, Jeff finally reunited with the pills that caused all of the experience in the past few months, neatly separated into color-coordinated arrangement of reds, yellows, and blues. He counted 10 pills for each colors, which he then smuggled 2 for each into the pocket of his hoodie before shouting

"YO BRO! I FOUND THE SHIT! It's here in his bedside drawer!

Mike dragged Rory's limp body into the room as he marched inside. His eyes sparkled with mischievous delight when Jeff shows him all the pills.

"Can't wait to fuck around with my real mate again," Mike said as he tossed Rory's limp hand to the floor and let Jeff takes care of it

"Fuck, I remembered how Rory reacted to the tightening of his chest after that dweeb drugged him in the gym ages ago, and with what he said about these red and yellow pills, maybe I should just----" Jeff said as he squatted down next to Rory's passed out form and grabbed his face

"Wake up, fucker, wake up,"

Several attempt to wake him up eventually succeed when Rory's eyes fluttered, but then Jeff caused him to chin up before forcefully openimg Rory's mouth to drop all 3 different pills to the back of his throat. Acting differently from normal pills, it instantly dissolved upon contact with the tongue and Rory instantly trembled as the drug takes effect rightaway

"Yo......shit's quicker from last time,"

"Maybe it's the blue one,"

"Well damn if that's the case,"

Within a minute, Rory's body already back to its deflated form and that's when Jeff starts to undress the jacked stud and put him on like an overall. Mike observed Jeff squeezing into the much-bigger body with ease as Jeff expertly slide his legs to give some life to Rory's legs that hardened upon Jeff's body entering.

Then, a rather awkward sighting happened when Jeff full control over Rory's pelvic and cock caused Rory to spurt out cum all over the carpet of the bedroom. If Mike stood a bit more close, he would be in its shooting distance. Laughing it off and noticing the quick progress of his best friend, Mike stared at the container filled with all sort of pills. Taking a step closer to take a good look at it, he noticed a familiar logo that resembled a gaming company he knows that yet somehow emblazoned to this container. Alphaland. Hmmmm......something to ponder later on, he said to himself.

Rather than risking himself to experience the same thing as Jeff, he eventually decided to grab the blue pills out of the others and chugged it in instance. Like a cold breeze sweeping through, Mike instantly shivered as a differing sensation hit him internally. All this time, he always sensed like he simply peered into the real Mike's memory and used it for his benefit, but somehow, the blue pills caused him to feel more aligned, it feels like he belong here and really own the memory. It's not like he borrowed it, no, he owns that fucking cherished moment when he saw the first outline of his abs back when he was 13. The taste of his first alcohol. The first pussy he scored in Ibiza for his highschool graduation trip. The way he jerked himself off when he got that million-dollar funding for his business line he's been dreaming off. All the parties. All the workouts. All the lavish trip, all of them feels like truly his and not just him siphoning off the real Mike's memory. Yes he internalized so much that he's the real Mike all this month, but this is the first time that he feels like he truly belongs. It's like, if he needed to make an interpretation of it, the oversized crown finally fits well because he's now the real Mike through and through, no longer an impostor that steal access and control of the crown while siphoning off memories out of the real one. As he opened his eyes after internalizing the upgrade he experienced, Mike decided that there's no more need for them to keep the pills so he crushed all of it with his bare hands. Rory that just finished his whole takeover sequence stared at Mike with a knowing smirk, understanding the rationale why his best friend is doing that

"So that nerd doesn't have any silly idea,"

As Rory put on his soaked shorts, Mike is already one step ahead and walked out to the pounding bathroom. He moved the broom that jammed the door from the outside and kick it hard to surprise the panicking Simon

"Hey there, fucktard! I see that you are not tired screaming all this goddamn time. Do you still have anything else to scream about?" Mike said with an aggression that is quite unusual for him, "and ohh.....Jeff is not here anymore,"

"It feels fucking good to be back, dweeb. Great job in giving away your friend's once more. I'm starting to think, you actually love it when he's looking this good and decided to puppet the muscle stud that once ignored you to actually give a fuck by bullying you. No need to deny it, that little pecker of yours cannot lie," mocked Rory to the cowering Simon that looked at both men in fear, "just admit it, you purposefully let Jeff knows about the whole fucking pills and admitted that you still have its stash because you want that nerd to be able to control my body once more, right? Guess what, you fucking did it, and more," Rory said it with an intrigue to hint on the mental transformation he managed to unlock with the blue pill

"M---m---more?"

"Y---y---y, stop acting dumb! You know the blue pill, that shit is the apeshit! It makes us the real thing, y'know? You can fucking kill us right at this very moment and our ghost will be looking like the stud we are now! We're in so deep, we're the real ones now and all thanks to the blue pill. Now, what should we do to you to thank your sorry ass, dweeb?"

Both men stared at each other with a wide grin before deciding on to tied him to the sink and piss on poor Simon that failed to put up a fight whatsoever as both Mike and Rory easily stopped any silly attempt from Simon to fight back. Done with humiliating their former best friend, both leave the premise and head out to embrace the life as two bonafide hunk, inside and outside

--------

Epilogue:

Mike said to Rory that he needs to do some out-of-state business for the next few days, so Rory is all by himself for the weekend. He already finished his workout, working on his videos and editing his Masterclass content, so now he finds himself bored with nothing fun to do. Then, he remembered about the pills. He scoured through the internet once to really delve deeper about it and he found out through the remnant of the online forum he found in the wayback machine that while the red deflated your body, the yellow one actually functioned to suppress one's consciousness, making the drinker a zoned out drone or something. That's why combining the red and the yellow one actually helped for a more long-lasting control because you need to be mentally on-point to keep your hold over the body if you only chugged the red one. The blue one is the one that sealed the whole deal, ensuring total control as the invader fused into the puppet's psyche and well, he doesn't need it anymore since he's not planning to leave this life as Rory anytime soon. So, feeling a bit adventurous, Rory knocked on the door of the apartment next to him. The man opened the door and greeted him quite coldly in a heavy Balkan accent

"What do you want, pretty man?"

---

"Javier Guzman?"

"Yes? And who are you?

"My name's Mike Leatherwood. Well, it's actually Max Bloomfield, and I'm your biggest fan, Xander,"

Javier's eyes went wide after hearing that name as he stared at the smirking Mike. How the fuck this guy knows? His gaming channel was not even that big and he really separated that world to this other world of his. Could he be a follower?

"Alphaland huh.....quite a generic and meathead name but I know what it alluded to. The logo and all. Based on your reaction, I really hit the jackpot with that name. Well anyway, I'm here to propose a business venture, this guy's quite a handy busines operator if I may say, do you mind if I come in? I see that you're making quite a good life out of this whole thing,"

Javier simply smiled and let Mike walks into his house, maybe they will not work out right away from this meeting, but at least he knows that not only there's people out there that actually used his product to its full extent, they also know or at least manage to trace and link his disapperance with the way this meathead gymbro Javier suddenly has enough capital to built a business as big as this one. Game recognizes game, they said

[vindictivenerdcels]

You will not believe what I just did," texted Mike to Rory with a grin, the two best friends separated for thousand of miles but both still exactly in sync when in terms of pulling off crazy shenanigan

"Shoot your shot then, I have a surprise too," replied Rory

Deciding that it's better to FaceTime for clearer conversation, Mike called Rory's number. His eyes went wide when the one that answered the phone is not Rory

"Hey Mike, this is Rory's personal slave speaking. He's right next to me," said Miomir as he then directed the phone to Rory that smiled widely, "Tada! This is my surprise!"

"Whoa dude, the hell you did to the guy?"

"A little admission, I grabbed some pills from Simon stash before you destroyed it and I'm testing it out to some peeps. He's my first lab rat, choked him with the yellow pill and planted him some insight on how he should view himself in my presence,"

"So that's why you did all that research and yapped all the time about the pills,"

"Well yeah, that's exactly why. Great outcome, don't you think?"

"Great outcome indeed, but you kept the fact about the pills from me,"

"Hmmm.......guess I'm guilty for that. But after what you did to the pills, I have to say that it was a good call from my end. Now we have at least several more pills to play with, right, and now you can be involved in the plan. So....that's my surprise, what about you? What's this surprise you're talking about?"

"Okay, that's funny, because I'm actually going to the source,"

"Source of what?"

"The source of the pills. I got some leads during our raid at that dweeb's apartment, and I hit the jackpot,"

"Are you for real? And you kept that from me?"

"Well, nothing was certain and again, sorry not sorry, you kept the fact about the pills to yourself so I call that we're even. But yeah, I traced the source and damn bro, dude's jacked as fuck, slipped himself into this Mexican meathead and turned him into a savvy gym entrepreneur. Javier Guzman, that name ring a bell?"

"Bro, Javier Guzman is a bodysuit?? The fucking Alphaland owner?"

"Yep, credit to the real Javier though for having the work ethic and discipline to built his massive body, but there's just no way he got the brain to do all the business. He literally couldn't even sell out his shirt,"

"So, someone slipped into him and changed him for the better?"

"Yup, the turnaround happened when Xander Garland took him over. Dude's the one behind the rebranding of Javier's business into Alphaland, which was also his username in that silly forum where Simon found the pills. Xander is this BYU dropout loaded with inheritance money after his parents tragic accident when he was 19. He created the pills using some of that money and also expanded Javier's business. But, like the real Javier and his parents, I'm afraid he's with them now actually,"

"What are you talking about?"

"He never seen it coming. We chatted and all, he's a tough cookie to crack and not easy to impress, but I determined to walk out from here with a deal. So, during our workout together after he shown me around his place, I stuffed him with all three pills when I spotted him during dumbbell flys and now he's more.....cooperative, if I have to say,"

"WHAT THE FUCK? SO YOU'RE TELLING ME WE ARE HANDLING THE WHOLE SOURCE OF THOSE PILLS? BRO, WHO IS INSIDE OF HIM NOW THEN?"

"Oh, you can guess. Dude's deserved it after all what we did to him,"

"Wait.....are you kidding me? Is it who am I thinking right now? Simon? You let that dweeb in charge of Javier fucking Guzman?"

"Damn right, he joined me on the trip all along. He was so terrified at first before I explained my plan. Well.....I hid one critical piece out from him though, I intended to merely use him to be a weaker mind in control of that body and with that plus some extra yellow pills stashed in Javier's home, he's one malleable puppet that is more.....prone to my suggestion. Your yap about those pills after all helped me to cook this plan through,"

"Bro.......that's hella twisted. He must be fucking happy at first when you let him in on the plan and all,"

"Oh hell yeah he was elated, man literally soaked his jeans wet when I whispered to him all sort of possibility he could have if the whole thing went according to the plan during our flight. Of course when the second and third yellow pills slid into his throat, he was as surprised as when he thought we were swallowed by Mike and Rory,"

"So what those extras did to him?"

"Suppressed his dweeby, stuttering self to the point of no return. Now Javier Guzman is under my rightful control and I think he's more than ready to restart the pills production again. He listened to everything I said after all, like right now, told him to do his dips until I said stop and he's been going at it for the past 10 minutes non-stop,"

"Well, at least he's not going to annoy me anymore then. So, since you did all this by yourself, do I exist in this scheme or are you abandoning me here?

"Oh, of course you are in the scheme bro, I called on you first, remember? You can come down here and we can celebrate this joint venture together, told Javier to prepare his private jet for ya and you can fly here as soon as you're ready. But---"

"But what?

"---you better promise me to not pull off the kind of stunt with the pills behind my back ever again. I saw it all actually and I let it slide, but there's no more next time if you did it again, you understand that?" pressed Mike to the now more docile Rory, the gravity of their new dynamic hit Rory rather hard but he needs to accept the fact that he did Mike wrong and this is his consequences

"Yes bro, fully understand that. It was never my intention to do it behind your back,"

"Good, now come on, we are waiting for you so we can announce to the world about our partnership with Alphaland as a front for our whole operation, we can talk about the details when you're here,"

---

Added an ending that involved Simon with a slight nicer end to our poor photographer, but I don't know whether this should be canon or not. I just have too many pictures of them in my stash after all my chat with @fullfriendnerdclutch

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Spinoff: Fiancè Needs His Groomsmen Pt. 1

A collaboration with @vindictivenerdcels that reached out to me through his other account, inspired by @thesuitaskin Untouchable Fiancè series

Austin observed Nick from the distance like a hawk eyeing its prey. Every move of Nick's muscle, the dangling cross pendant, the way he grunted with each reps, the strength that body capable to produce, everything filtered through the lens and perspective of his now-wonderfully informed brain when it comes to all things workout and building physique. That is one delicious body to be taken over, he thought to himself as he stopped watching his supposed-best friend like a creep from a hidden point of view in the gym and walked to approach him.

"Hey there bro, you seemed to be in the zone already,"

"Oh hey there dude, you just arrived?Fashionably late today, don't you? The future Mrs. Hill kept you preoccupied?"

"Nah, it was future Mrs. Hill very own bestfriend that kept me longer in bed, it took quite some times to make the beast softened after all," Austin said with a smirk and a gentle grab of his crotch, which caused Nick to deviously grin and playfully punched Austin's arm

"You slick bastard. You know you can ruin that strong girlhood bond if you fuck all of her bestfriend's behind her back," Nick replied with a hint of sarcasm to Iris friend circles

"Well, what do you suggest I do to satiate their sex drive? Introducing my jacked douchebag of a best friend to them as my replacement?"

"Obviously, meathead! That's a start I know you haven't even think about until now. I mean, come on man, as I said it so many times, you gotta stop playing around and start sharing the ladies that hit on you to me or Adam. We have no issues pulling chicks but I'm not gonna say no if you pass me some hot chicks my way. And you, you can focus all your love and attention to Iris and her family,"

"HAHAHAH fuck you, dude! Stop teasing me to talk about that dweeb and his best friend. They disgust me, fuck, you just made me shivered with the thought of those two dweebs probably fucking each other while thinking about me,"

"Yeah dude, that story you shared about them scrolling through your IG sounded like a total nightmare. Fucking pervs,"

"Well, enough yapping. I'm about to hit chest today, so, see you around?"

"You don't need me to spot you? My schedule's free till the evening actually,"

"Nah, just lightweight workout for the day. Iris wanted to check out some vendor later today so I don't want to be pushing too hard,"

"Okay then. Oh yeah, totally forgot. I can do the fitting this Saturday, so you don't need to split my session's and Adam's, my brother postponed his visit,"

"Sweet, will tell Mr. Wendell about it so he can prepare his team for us. See ya later then, dude,"

Yup, all goes very sweetly according to his plan. Hopefully Benji will enjoy his time inside that incredibly jacked form of Nick's older brother, Mike. As for the fitting session.....that's the grand trap that will capture the two oblivious hunk unaware that they are literally like a pair of fish that swims into the net. As he started his set, his mind raced to the possible scene of seeing those jacked bodies of Nick and Adam seized by his best friends instead and how they will fool and toy around with Eli, a hardening meat started to beg to be released from the confine of the cotton briefs as it creates a rather prominent bulge in his pants, which Austin just stared with a smirk as he admired his overall form

---

Behind Eli's back, Owen actually used Austin's more flexible time to develop yet another set of pills. If the previous pills helped to jailbreak other people memory by integrating one's form to the neural system of the one taken over, he took it one step further this time. As far as he knows, he's the only one with the power to possess another people. He saw telekinetic, animal mind control, super strength or pyrokinetic folks in the past when his now-dead parents brought him to the "Gifted Meetings", or so they described it, but no one owned the kind of his power per his recollection.

The soul is a very sacred spaces and maybe his desire to have a loving parents caused him to develop such power in the first place, after all his mother was blessed in manifestation and foresight as her power so maybe this possession skill of his is the same kind of power as her manifestation but more directed towards something and definitely more potent due to its focus. The desire to live like others with complete set of family and sheltered from the cruelty of the world led him to have this ability and now, he finally materialized its full potential by staying inside Austin Hill for the past few months, much longer than his previous possession of Mr. Evans, the history teacher back in his highschool or Jamal Brooks, his college wide receiver, that only lasted around a week or two.

For him, the key has been the pills that he still took once per week, but he found the idea of making others experienced the same sensation as him to possess others to be thrilling so he used the profit Austin gained from crypto and stock to fund his exploration to create the possession pills. It sounds to be quite an extraordinary — even impossible — feat to achieve but as if proving his mother's powers, he indeed managed to create the pills as his dreams and just mere flashes of thoughts shown him to whom he should talk to, what ingredients to pick and what kind of steps he should take. The pills finished earlier this month and he's been making calls to some surprised friends that received a very odd phone call from the one and only Austin Hill. The surprise turned into intrigue as he explained his detailed plan to the flabbergasted friends, but of course they agreed to join forces and help Owen/Austin with that kind of reward on the line

Benjamin has been the first to demonstrate the efficacy of the pills. As he posed as a UPS delivery person, he downed the new pill right as he knocked on Mike Moretti's front door.

Not wasting his time, Benji lunged right away at Mike's body as soon as he opened his door and instead of stumbling and falling together to the ground, as planned, Benjamin indeed slipped into Mike's body with ease, the body was so shocked it failed to react appropriately to the invader. Benji, as Mike, quickly ripped open the package he previously brought filled with the memory pills. He grabbed one pill out from the tube and downed it dry in one go, Mike's supplement usage eased him to down the big pill with no help of water whatsoevers.

The metallic bitterness hit instantly, and within seconds, a slow surge ignited behind his eyes. His breath caught. His knees bent slightly—not from weakness, but from the sheer force of the incoming neural flood. Images, names, memories came in waves. Friends. Codes. Muscle memory. How Mike lifted. How he fucked his wife so incredibly to the point of them having their 5th child and would be 6th if she didn't stop him . How he thought. How he ran his business, everything became accessible for Benji as he quickly made the phone call to Austin to confirm the success of the possession

"Well, call your brother then and deliver the news that Angelo is too sick or whatever, make it convincing as fuck and ensure him that he can stay in town and you will come visit the other time, no need to visit you, okay?"

"This is the last time I'm calling you. I don't take orders from anyone, I'm Mike fucking Moretti," he said with a teasing growl

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy that thick Italian sausage, you dweeb. Just do your job and I will not mess up with you,"

---

"Where are you going this early? It's Saturday, I'm making breakfast,"

"Not your business, fag, and I'm not eating your soyboy cooking anyway,"

"Hey, that's not nice, and I know where you are going anyway,"

"And so, why do you ask then? I'm not obliged to let you know my errand or who am I going to meet,"

Eli stammered. That sounds like Austin, yes, but there's also this bubbling Owen that seemed to rose to the surface, is Owen frustrated with him? Eli thought

"I--- I just---"

"Anyway, just do the fucking laundry and prepare for Iris to come later. I know you will probably sink your nose to my gym gear before tossing it to the washing machine, just don't let me see you doing that shit when I come back and do wash it clean, will ya? My Alphalete gear smelled ripe because you probably didn't wash it right, thank fuck I'm the face of the brand so I can just request a new set, but I want what I have now to be clean, you hear me?

"O---okay, Austin,"

As Austin entered his car, he called Peter and Ron to prepare themselves as he is on his way to the tailor. Then, as he starts to drive, Adam calls him

"Hey there dude, sorry for such last minute call. I somehow cannot start my car and I'm actually in my family's cabin by the lake, no sane Uber will pick me up over here. Can I postpone my session to next week?"

"I can pick you up," Austin said as he gritted his teeth, slightly pissed off with the situation as his mind already wandered to all the adjustment he needed to do

"Wait--- what? Are you sure? Man, so sorry for the hassle, okay? I promise I will make it up to you, if Mr. Wendell charged you extra, let me pay for it,"

"No worries, I'll handle him. I'll be in your place in around 45 minutes,"

As he takes a sudden U-turn, he sends a voice note to Ron

"I'm picking you up in 10 mins, we're going for a quick road trip,"

---

"Dude, that's hella quick, I thought I would have some times to cram in some work before you pick me up. And oh, who's that tailing you?"

"See, told you he forgets you," he said to the dejected Ron that stands behind him as he just swallowed the pill, "Well, he's been called Ron all his life. But he's about to be called Adam soon,"

"Oh.....okay, he has the same name as me?"

"Even better. Now Ron!"

Frozen in his seat as he's left puzzled on what Austin said and the sight of the pale fat fuck that sprinted to his direction, Adam blinked a bit too late as he witnessed the way Ron's obese body seemingly sinking into him. He's left speechless, his mouth opens but he cannot say a thing as the invading force caused him to be practically paralyzed from head to toe. He let out a painful groan as more and more of Ron submerged into him and seemingly aligned his form inside of his much leaner physique. His eyes darted to the smirking Austin that approached him with what seems to be a tube of supplement. Austin takes one out and it glows like a shiny metal. As Ron seemingly take more and more spaces inside of him and started to reach control over his vocal chord, Adam's eyes went wide as he listened to himself chuckling bitterly

"After all the session I taught you back then, fuck you for forgetting me! I'm taking my payment now you meathead!"

He tried to reply to the statement that escaped his mouth, trying to plead sorry as he remembered Ron now as the Math prodigy that helped him survived the mandatory Math classes he should take back then by being his tutor for free, but it's a bit too late as Ron already controlled his nostril too and caused Adam's psyche to panic as he momentarily suffocated in the uncertainty. Soon after, he lost his sight and eventually grip of his own physical form, cornered to his brain that he valiantly tried to protect from the invading force. He witnessed in his subconscience how Ron tried to fit himself to the controlling seat of his body but Ron's massive form failed him to be in the controlling seat as it's already molded to fit the real Adam and the real Adam only. But that's when Adam heard

"Chuck me the pills, I'm fucking ready!"

Adam watched in confusion then as he heard the gulping sound and then a loud, whirring noise and a bright blast hit him very hard. He let out a crackling scream that falls on deaf ear as he's no longer the conscious and soon not even a subsconcious part of his own physique. The noise and the blast also revealed a rather surprising transformation as he witnessed Ron's psyche already shifted to resemble him through and through, no longer fat and totally resembling Adam even to every single detail of his five o'clock shadow.

With a smirk as he stared back at the surprised Adam, his impostor seated himself in the controlling seat of his brain, all connected to the whole nervous system and memory bank that belong to Adam. In the outside world, Austin witnessed live for the first time how his pills take effect in real time and he's more than pleased seeing how seemingly effective the whole thing is. It's not even 5 minutes since the initial takeover, and Adam is already a changed man inside

"Ohh Austin......he really is a goody two shoes per your explanation. So positive, a very prominent advocate for wellness and mental health, a very nice sweet guy. He's a changed man from his college days, but too bad he's a dick to me and to be honest, we can let that rotten former college jock personality out a bit more, don't you think? I'm not building my muscle all this year for nothing,"

"As tempting as it sounds, you better stay in character. We cannot let people suspect a thing for now. Plus, it's too early and you still need to retain control, I'm afraid acting out of the ordinary will make the brain detected something off. It's pills after all, not the same as my power,"

"Uggghhh fine........"

---

When they finally arrived back in town, they go straight to the tailor. Hopefully Peter stick to the plan and keep himself hidden from anyone's sight, Austin muttered under his breaty. It's going to be pretty reckless of him to tackle Nick all by himself in such a public setting. Even worse, Pete might be beaten to a pulp by Nick and that's not a sight he wished to see. As they walked in to the shop, Mr. Wendell welcomed them

"Your friend is waiting inside already, I already measured him and he's probably changing his clothes or tried out some things with my assistant Jason,"

Austin and Adam entered the room that Mr. Wendell pointed at and found quite a sight to behold. Nick just finished putting on his white tee but his cock dangled out freely with the blonde, dainty guy presumably to be Jason kneeled right next to it with his face splattered by cum

"Oh, there you two, I'm fucking bored waiting so I called him in and just make him use his hour. You paid him by the hour, right?"

"Nick---"

"Yeah?"

"What the fuck is this? Are you trying to get me blacklisted?"

"Oh calm down will ya. Jason here won't say a word to Mr. Wendell, right? You are not going to make your uncle have a heart attack and also break your parents heart because of your slutty mouth, correct?"

"Y---yes, sir,"

"See, told you. After all, I will not fuck that mouth of his if you're not late, Austin. Now, cum rag, clean up and call your friend to come here, it's fitting time for them," Nick said coldly as he put on the casual dress shirt given by Mr. Wendell for sizing and material options

"Y--yes sir, on it,"

As Jason walks out from the room, Austin quirked his eyebrow

"Pete? Are you there?"

"Who's Pete?"

"Drop it, Pete. It will take quite a tremendous coercion to even make Nick let a fag gets close to his cock, let alone him blowing his load for anything but a chick,"

"Well, guess I do need that mind merge pills after all. Do you bring it with you?"

"How the heck you made it?"

"Him? Oh he's easy as fuck. He was busy listening to this shitty men's right podcast with his earbuds as he exited his car. I just jumped right in from behind, no witness, no camera, no resistance, just a smooth takeover,"

"Oh......that's nice. Wait......did you hear that? Someone's groaning from outside, should we check?"

As the three men walk out from the private fitting room, they are surprised with the sight in front of their eyes as the store blind closed in full so no one from the outside can see the debauchery that happened inside. Mr. Wendell, in all his bonafide DILF glory with his suit tattered on the floor, is getting serviced by his three assistants, Jason, Franco and Dominic. As Mr. Wendell opened his eyes, he makes eye contact with Austin & co. and let out a chuckle while Nick grinned from ear to ear

"What did you do, Nick?" asked Austin rather sternly

"Oh well......about that----"

-------

Part 2 and (maybe) 3 will be released by @vindictivenerdcels

[thesuitaskin]

(Un)touchable Fiancé

Read Part 1

Thank you for reaching the first 500. I hope you like the sequel you've been asking for.

"You're really okay with this?" Austin asked, his tone low. "With me being him?"

Eli nodded, slowly. His voice came quiet, tight. "I want you even more because of it."

Austin didn't react right away. He simply stood there, framed by the mirror. His body—broad, sculpted, veined—was frozen in a moment of self-worship. The gold chain resting against his collarbone caught the light, swinging gently with each breath.

Behind him, Eli sat on the bench—shirtless, flushed, and silent. His eyes didn't move. He watched like the moment might vanish if he blinked.

Austin flexed—just one arm, slow and deliberate. The muscle swelled beneath his skin, perfect and unhurried.

"You still breathing back there?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the mirror.

Eli swallowed. "Barely."

A smirk crept across Austin's face. Not playful—measured.

"Good," he said. "That's how it should be."

He ran a hand slowly over his chest, down across his abs, watching his own fingers trace the hard lines. "You know what's wild? I look like this, and somehow it's your sister who got the ring. Not you. But you're the one in here, watching me like I'm a god."

Eli didn't respond.

"God damn," he muttered, almost to himself. "I really do look better every day."

Austin stepped toward him.

"Look at me."

Eli obeyed.

Austin leaned in, close but not touching. "You'll come crawling back again. Because you don't want kindness. You want this. My voice in your ear. My hand on your throat. This body. This ego."

He licked Eli's forehead—not tenderly, but like sealing ownership.

Eli's voice came, small but thick with tension. "I saw you last night. Through the door. With her."

Austin grinned, teeth flashing in the mirror. He didn't look at Eli—he didn't have to. "Yeah? You watched the whole thing like a little perv? That door wasn't closed by accident."

Eli flinched, cheeks burning.

Austin finally turned, walking slowly toward him, towel loose around his waist, droplets sliding down the deep grooves of his abs. "Let me guess—you were stroking it while I railed some random girl from the club? You couldn't help yourself."

Eli tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

"She was so easy," Austin said, standing over him now. "Didn't even ask my name. Just spread for the body. And you? You're sitting here begging for scraps. Watching me like I'm some kind of prize. Pathetic."

Austin grabbed Eli by the arm and turned him around with casual force.

"Come on. Bend over."

Eli didn't resist.

Austin smirked.

Eli leaned forward, bracing himself against the cold bathroom counter, breath shallow, heart pounding. Austin stood tall, his presence imposing. "I'm still not gay," he muttered. "But you were made to worship me."

Austin's hands gripped Eli's waist with quiet control—assertive, firm. His confidence wasn't loud; it didn't need to be. Then Austin began to move his hips forward, again and again. His hand reached around Eli's neck and pulled him back.

His gaze didn't shift to Eli. It stayed fixed on the mirror—on himself. On the way his shoulders squared perfectly, the way control fit him like a second skin. His reflection was the only approval he needed.

Eli trembled—not in fear, but in awe. Pulled into the gravity of the man behind him.

"You look better like this," Austin said in a voice low enough to make Eli's spine tense. "Bent. Obedient."

Austin growled against his lips. "Don't moan too loud. The same girl is still asleep in the other room."

————

Austin's days had rhythm—an unapologetic, alpha routine that never missed a beat. If Owen had once hesitated to slip into the full rhythm of Austin's life, that hesitation was gone. Now, he didn't just wear the body. He lived it. Owned it.

Every morning started with sweat. A run at sunrise, letting the sun catch every hard line of his body as he pushed himself down the neighborhood sidewalks.

Once Austin entered the open garage door, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths, his brown tank clinging to every ridge of his body. Sweat darkened the fabric in streaks down his chest, spine, and armpits—fresh proof of his morning run.

Eli stood silently at the edge of the room, eyes locked on him.

Austin didn't look at him at first. He peeled off his running watch, unbothered, then finally turned his gaze to Eli—sharp, annoyed, knowing.

"You got a job to do, Eli. Don't just stand there drooling." he commanded, voice cold and clipped.

Eli flinched at the command—but his breath caught in his throat at the same time. He nodded quickly and moved forward, eyes fixed on the soaked outline of Austin's torso.

"God, my scent," Austin muttered, pulling the hem up slowly. Eli's breath hitched again as each inch of sweat-slicked muscle revealed itself. The tank peeled off with resistance, clinging to Austin's back and armpits before he yanked it over his head.

He let it fall to the floor with a wet slap.

"Pick it up."

Eli obeyed immediately, fingers trembling as he lifted the still-warm shirt to his face. He pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering shut. The salty, masculine scent hit him like a drug.

Austin watched him with open disdain. "God. You really are into this. You're not even trying to hide it anymore."

Eli couldn't speak—he was too overwhelmed. He just nodded again, clutching the soaked shirt like something sacred.

Austin raised one arm, slow and deliberate, revealing the soaked tuft beneath. The scent was stronger here.

"Go on," Austin said. "Since you want it so bad. Prove it."

Eli leaned forward, face trembling as he pressed into Austin's armpit, inhaling like it gave him life.

Austin sneered, barely hiding his smirk. "You're disgusting. And you love it."

Eli nodded again, eyes wide with reverence.

"Don't stop. Not until I say."

And so he did—worshipping the body, the scent...

————

Austin also worked as a fitness coach by late morning. Sessions took place in a sleek, private gym downtown—clients hung on his every word. Women flirted. Men tried to impress him. Austin teased, flirted back when it suited him, leaning fully into the role. He'd touch a client's waist to correct her form, let his voice drop when giving praise. And when he caught her checking out his arms or the sweat pooling at his chest, he never hid the smirk.

Afternoons were filled with errands, emails, and business calls—running the small online fitness brand Austin had built before Owen took over. Content planning, sponsorships, Instagram reels showing off his pump progress and morning ab checks. His DMs were a warzone of thirsty messages. He chose who to respond to with precision.

And then came evenings.

Austin often went out—but Eli didn't know where or with whom. What he did know was that in the mornings, random women sometimes emerged from the bedroom. Eli had long since accepted that Austin cheated on Iris regularly. Owen didn't hold back, using the body to its full, raw potential—sleeping with whomever he pleased.

Other nights, Austin played the part of the fiancé. Iris adored him. He remembered how she liked her wine, her favorite shows, when to compliment her dress. He kissed her on cue. Held her waist when her parents visited. Took couple selfies, posted with cocky captions. He even showed up for brunch with her friends—pretending he wasn't hungover from the night before.

Every version of Austin was a role Owen performed to perfection. The gym god. The charming coach. The flirty bad boy. The ideal boyfriend. The golden son-in-law.

And beneath it all, Owen smirked in the mirror.

Eli had become a regular fixture in Austin's house—not as a guest, but as something else entirely. He played the role Owen carved out for him: submissive, silent, always eager. He stayed in the guest room most nights, waiting for a single message from Austin to know when to be present, when to disappear, when to listen.

Austin never hid his disdain—his words were sharp, cold, often laced with casual homophobia. "You're lucky I let you breathe my air, creep." And Owen made sure those words came from Austin's lips with such authenticity it made Eli shiver.

And Eli loved it.

He loved serving under the illusion—the golden boy alpha who barely tolerated his existence. He loved the tension. The cruelty. The way Owen's intelligence laced every insult, making them cut deeper.

Sometimes, Austin would text him just one word: "Stay."

That meant Eli was to remain silent in the guest room while Austin brought home a girl from the bar. The moans would echo through the walls. The creak of the bed. The low grunts. The gasped praise—Eli heard it all.

And it tore him apart.

Not because of Iris. Not because of the girl.

Because it wasn't him.

He'd sit on the floor in the dark, fists clenched, head against the wall, drowning in envy. Wishing Austin would walk in and humiliate him all over again. Wishing he could be the one under Austin's grip. Pinned down. Owned.

Eli wasn't just obsessed.

He was addicted.

To the scent. The sound. The body.

To Austin.

To Owen.

Because now, the man everyone loved? That was him.

He didn't just become Austin.

He became something more.

————

There were days Austin played the role so well, Eli almost believed the lie himself. Whenever he showed up with Iris at the family house—clean-cut, confident, polite—he slipped into the real Austin's mask without effort.

He'd greet Eli's parents with a strong handshake, compliment the food, talk about crypto investments and gym progress. With Iris clinging to his side, Austin would chuckle at jokes, nod along to weekend plans, and throw a protective arm around her shoulders.

And to Eli? Nothing.

Sometimes a nod. Sometimes a curt "Hey."

The golden boy act was flawless.

Eli sat across the table, barely spoken to, barely acknowledged. Austin would look right through him during dinner. Smile at Iris. Toast with her dad. Pretend Eli wasn't even there.

Once, during a cookout, Iris was chatting with her mother in the kitchen, and Austin leaned against the doorframe, sipping from a beer bottle. Eli passed by, their eyes met.

"Don't get too worked up tonight," Austin said under his breath, his voice sharp and smug. "She's wearing lace for me."

He took another slow sip and walked away like nothing happened.

Another time, after a family board game night, Austin stood next to Eli in the hallway as everyone packed up. His voice was low, expression cool.

"You looked like you were going to cry when I kissed her goodnight. What's wrong? Jealous?"

And once, when they were all watching a movie together, Iris curled up under Austin's arm, Austin looked across the room to Eli, his expression unreadable.

Then he mouthed the words: "She moans louder than you."

Eli's stomach twisted with heat, shame, and longing. And when Austin returned to stroking Iris's hair like a perfect boyfriend, Eli could only sit in silence—haunted, aching, addicted.

Because no matter how well Austin performed the golden boy, those sharp moments of cruelty proved one thing: Owen knew exactly what Eli needed to hear to burn.

————

There were moments Eli couldn't tell where Austin ended and Owen began. He knew the real Austin had been cold, distant—never openly cruel, never dramatic. If he disliked someone, he did it through silence, through subtle power plays. The perfect image of masculine composure. He never needed to raise his voice to dominate.

But Owen… Owen gave Eli something different.

Something darker.

Living in Austin's body gave Owen permission to push the fantasy further, to explore what Eli secretly wanted: a golden boy with a monster lurking beneath. And so, when the two were alone, Austin transformed into something wild—unhinged, unapologetic.

He strutted shirtless through the house, sweat glistening from an afternoon run, cracking open a cold drink and letting it pour down his throat—down his chest, soaking into his shorts like he couldn't care less. He was a god with no grace. Loud. Cocky. Animalistic.

Eli watched, frozen with lust.

"Look at you," Austin barked. "Sitting there like a pathetic little fanboy. Waiting to lick up my sweat?"

Eli said nothing.

Austin leaned in, grabbing Eli's chin with just enough pressure. "You didn't know the real Austin. Just the curated one. But this is what you wanted." His eyes burned.

Eli nodded, breathless.

He flexed—slow, deliberate—then stepped closer, voice low. "The real Austin would've ignored you. Me? I watch you break."

And just like that, the cruelty turned primal. He grabbed the back of Eli's head and shoved him down, sweat dripping from his chest.

"You want the real thing?"

Eli didn't answer.

Austin smirked. "Then prove it."

And Eli did—because every sharp word, every grunt, every second of dominance… was devotion.

————

There were moments when Owen's exaggerated roleplay took over—loud, taunting, openly cruel. But there were others Eli craved more. The ones where he caught a glimpse of who the real Austin had likely been beneath the curated image. And it wasn't in private, but when Austin was surrounded by his best mates.

That was when Austin let the mask drop just enough.

He wasn't loud like them. He didn't boast. But he was the quiet leader—leaning back with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, letting the others bark and laugh around him. He chose when to speak. And when he did, they listened. That's when Eli saw it. The natural dominance. The way Austin didn't need to mock or posture.

But Nick? Nick was different.

Eli first met Nick at a boxing event. Austin had paid for Eli's ticket but told him to sit a row behind. "Don't make it weird," he'd texted.

Eli obeyed. And from there, he watched.

Nick was the kind of guy who didn't know how to tone it down. Built like a tank, forearms veined and bulging, his black shirt stretched tight across a chest that looked carved out of gym steel. His voice boomed over the crowd, even in the packed arena.

"Bro, that chick from Friday? Absolute smoke show. Tightest fuckin' body I've seen all month. Screamed my name like she was in church."

He laughed—loud, careless. Eli flinched at the sound, but also… couldn't look away.

Nick leaned over toward Austin, fist bumping him. "You get with that blonde again? The one with the fake lashes? Told you she wanted it."

Austin gave a small smirk and a slow nod.

Nick whistled. "Fucking savage. Bro, you live the dream. These girls are starving out here, man. I swear, give 'em a wink and they melt."

He leaned back, spreading out in his seat like the arena was built for him. Tugging at the collar of his shirt to reveal a bit more of his chest, Nick caught sight of a group of girls walking by and grinned.

"Watch this," he muttered to Austin with a wink, then stood up mid-row, swaggering down toward the girls with no hesitation, confidence practically dripping off of him. He said something loud—too loud—and one of the girls laughed, tossing her hair. Nick threw his arm around her shoulders like they'd known each other for years, spinning her toward her friends like a prize.

"Told ya I was gonna pull one," he called back over his shoulder to Austin, who simply smirked, watching the spectacle unfold with an amused shake of his head.

Nick whispered something into the girl's ear, then pointed toward Austin with a booming laugh. The girls looked over, giggling, before Nick made his way back up the steps.

"Bro's the silent killer," Nick said with a grin, clapping Austin on the shoulder. "All I gotta do is point, and they're wet."

Then—he smiled.

It wasn't the kind of smile that invited you in. It was the kind that promised trouble. A flash of white teeth, confidence, and danger wrapped in testosterone and ego. Eli caught it from two rows back—and felt his whole body lock up.

The smile was erotic, magnetic. But there was something vicious in it. It wasn't meant for him. Nick hadn't even registered Eli's presence. But just seeing it made Eli feel exposed.

That smile was a warning.

He was the embodiment of danger and dominance, the kind of guy Eli knew would destroy him with a glance. There was no softness. No filter. No shame.

Eli couldn't help it—his stomach fluttered with something he hated admitting. Arousal. Terror. Obsession.

And from a row ahead, Austin glanced back once—just once—and caught the look on Eli's face.

He smirked.

Because he knew exactly what Eli was feeling.

Just then, Nick leaned over again, clearly enjoying the spotlight he never stopped demanding. Whatever he said was low and crude, just for Austin's ears—and Austin's expression cracked. The cool exterior gave way to something looser, rougher, like a mask dropped in the presence of a real friend.

"You're such a piece of work, bro," Austin said, laughing under his breath. He bumped Nick's shoulder, eyes lighting up with something rare—genuine camaraderie. "But yeah, she was into it. Said I ruined her for anyone else."

Nick let out a bark of laughter, no filter, no care who heard. "Classic. You and your damn cheat codes, man. Bro, stop hogging all the tens. Leave a couple for the rest of us degenerates."

Austin rolled his eyes but smirked, lifting his drink in salute. "Earn it like I did, asshole."

The two of them shared a look, a loud laugh, and suddenly Austin wasn't the polished, controlled version Eli usually saw. He was in full bro mode—smirking, flexing slightly as he laughed, leaning into Nick like they'd ruled every locker room they ever walked into.

It was jarring—and hot.

Because Eli had never seen Austin like that. He looked unfiltered. Real. Like this version of him had always been waiting under the surface.

————

When it came to Austin's friends, Eli hadn’t expected someone like Adam.

He'd imagined someone like Nick—or worse. Another alpha clone who acted like women and protein shakes were all that mattered. But Adam? Adam was something else entirely. He looked like he belonged in their circle—tall, athletic, lean muscle in all the right places—but his energy was nothing like the others.

He was open. Friendly. Grounded.

"Hey," Adam said, holding out a hand when Austin made the lazy introduction. "Adam. You're Iris's brother, right? Cool to finally meet you."

Eli blinked, surprised by the genuine smile. "Yeah—Eli. Nice to meet you too."

Austin didn't bother to chime in, already sipping from a shaker bottle and looking at his phone.

"Iris told me you were around a lot," Adam added with a chuckle. "Guess that makes sense now."

Austin shrugged, not looking up. "She made me promise to hang with him today."

"I don't mind," Adam said quickly. "Actually, I was about to hit the gym, but I can reschedule—"

"No," Austin cut in, finally glancing up. "We'll go. Just us."

Adam glanced at Eli, clearly not wanting to exclude him. "Unless you want to come too? It's chill either way."

Eli nodded, heart hammering. "Sure. Sounds good."

————

Eli was used to following Austin to the gym. There, he could drool over Austin's body without restraint. Austin, of course, rarely acknowledged him. It was a game for both of them.

But Austin always made an effort to keep Eli out of sight—to avoid unwanted attention. No one was supposed to suspect that a guy like Eli was hanging around someone like Austin.

Not even when Austin's younger brother suddenly appeared on the scene.

It had been a few days ago. Eli had just returned to Austin's place after working a grueling night shift, all he could think about was crashing on the couch for a few hours. The hallway was quiet, the familiar scent of Austin's cologne still lingering from earlier.

But as he stepped into the kitchen, the low hum of a blender caught his attention.

Someone was already there.

A guy leaned against the marble countertop, sipping a thick protein shake from a clear bottle. Tall. Muscular. Blonde hair, shorter on the sides, styled with effortless confidence. He wore a deep blue tank top that made his frame look even more pronounced—the kind of build that made gym influencers jealous. His skin glowed under the kitchen lights, arms veined, neck glistening.

For a moment, Eli thought Austin had returned early. But the posture was too relaxed. The expression too open.

The stranger looked up from his phone and gave a slow, assessing once-over. "Yo. You Eli?"

Eli froze. "Uh... yeah."

The guy nodded, offered a hand. "Justin. Austin's brother. Guess I'm the surprise guest today."

He smiled. Not like Austin's smirks that always felt loaded—this one was disarmingly warm, and yet... just as commanding.

Eli took the handshake, his mind racing. Austin had never once mentioned having a brother. And now here he was, in the middle of their apartment like he belonged. Like he'd been here a hundred times before.

Justin tilted his head as he took another sip from his shake. "Don't worry, man. He probably didn't mention me ‘cause I've been outta state for a while. Work stuff. Startup gig in Seattle. I just moved back this week."

"Oh," Eli said, trying to compose himself. "Cool. That makes sense."

It didn't. Not really.

Because now that he saw him, he couldn't stop seeing the Austin in him. Same sharp jawline. Same cut-from-marble build. But different all the same. Where Austin was intense, cold, even cruel—Justin felt grounded. Open. Like a guy who wouldn't put you down just for breathing next to him. But that familiarity in his voice, the shape of his arms, the way he rested his weight against the counter like he owned it—that was Austin.

And then, a flash—Eli remembered. A photo from months ago on Austin's Instagram feed. He hadn't paid attention to the second guy back then. But now... the resemblance was unmistakable. Justin had always been there, just outside the spotlight.

Eli found himself locked in place, eyes tracing every shift in Justin's posture. He hated how quickly his heart had started pounding.

"He told me you were staying here," Justin said. "Said you were the brother of Iris, so you are like family. That true?"

Eli hesitated. "I guess you could say that."

Justin's expression shifted slightly. Less amused. More analytical.

"Huh," he muttered. "Didn't think he'd keep someone like you around. Not saying that to be rude. Just... surprising, considering it's Austin."

Eli tensed. "What does that mean?"

Justin shrugged, letting the moment hang. "You just don't seem like the kind of guy he lets get close. He always had his... type."

Before Eli could respond, Justin stood and stretched, tank riding up to reveal tight abs and the dip of his hips. Eli tried not to stare.

Justin leaned against the doorframe. "You seem alright though. Maybe he's changed. Or maybe you just caught him in a generous mood."

Just then, the door opened behind them. Heavy footsteps. Austin.

He walked in, scanning the scene with narrowed eyes. His jaw tightened ever so slightly.

"Didn't realize we were having a family reunion," Austin said, voice clipped.

Justin turned slightly on the couch, grinning. "I was in the neighborhood. Figured I'd say hi. Didn't believe you were keeping Iris' brother as a roommate."

Austin's eyes flicked to Eli. Not pleased. Not surprised either. Just annoyed.

"Well, now you know," he said. Then, to Eli, "Got something to do or you just standing there for fun?"

The tension hung like smoke.

Justin gave a low chuckle. "C'mon. Don't be like that."

Austin grabbed his keys and turned. "We're heading out."

"Where to?"

"Gym."

Justin adjusted his shirt. "You're not coming?" he asked Eli casually.

Austin cut in. "He wouldn't lift a bar if it had gold on it."

Justin laughed, short and sharp. "Damn. Brutal."

But Eli caught the flicker of something else in Justin's smile. Not just amusement. Something colder.

And then they were gone—two forces of nature moving out the door, leaving Eli standing in their wake.

————

But with Adam in the gym this place became something else entirely. Eli had been there countless times with Austin alone—but never like this. The two of them fell into rhythm instantly, spotting each other, trash-talking between sets.

"You're slipping, man," Adam said, racking his weights. "That last incline was sloppy."

"Bullshit," Austin replied with a smirk. "You're just jealous I've still got the better chest."

"You've got the better ego, maybe."

Eli hovered at the edge, pretending to be into his cardio, but his eyes kept drifting back. To Adam's shoulders. The way his chest swelled with each rep. The defined lines of his arms when he racked a barbell.

And that smile.

Friendly. Real. Like he didn't have anything to prove. Eli could see why Austin kept him around—it grounded the whole dynamic. Even if Austin was colder now, Owen still respected the bond.

"You sure you're good over there?" Adam called out at one point, looking toward Eli on the treadmill.

Eli nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm just doing cardio."

"No worries. Just let us know if you wanna jump in."

"He won't," Austin muttered to Adam. "He's more of a watcher."

Eli flushed but forced a laugh. Adam gave a brief glance—confused, maybe—but didn't press.

The rest of the session, Eli tried hard not to stare. He focused on keeping his form tight, wiping sweat often, hoping Adam wouldn't catch a glimpse of the way his eyes lingered.

But when Adam peeled off his sweatshirt halfway through the workout, revealing that sculpted torso, Eli's stomach twisted. Not with lust alone. But with guilt. Guilt that he craved something pure—and turned it into his black fantasy.

Adam caught his eye at the water fountain later, offering a kind smile.

"Hey, if you ever wanna tag along for a workout or just talk fitness, I’m around," Adam said, easy and sincere. "No pressure, man."

"Yeah," Eli replied, his voice catching slightly. "That... that’d be great."

And as Adam turned back toward Austin, laughing at something stupid he said, Eli knew he was doomed.

Because there was something about Adam—the body of a god, the soul of a saint—that made Eli want to be good. Even if he couldn't stop living his fantasy.

————

The morning sunlight was already sharp when Austin walked through the front door, a tailored camel coat hanging open over a white V-neck tee and slim jeans. The collar of a leather jacket peeked out from under the coat, framing his jaw like armor. His boots clicked sharply against the floor. He looked annoyed. Not furious—just mildly inconvenienced, like whatever girl he'd left in bed wasn't worth the Uber back.

Eli stood in the hallway, breath catching.

Austin looked like a walking ad for danger and dominance. The coat framed his broad shoulders perfectly, the jeans hugging his thighs just right. The way his hand casually tugged at the hem of his shirt made the moment feel choreographed—effortless and commanding.

"What?" Austin asked, catching Eli's stare, voice flat and cold.

Eli blinked. "N-nothing. Just... welcome back."

Austin grunted, grabbing a protein bar from the kitchen. "I am going to the gym."

Eli's heart jumped. He opened his mouth to beg—then stopped.

"You're coming too," Austin said casually, already peeling the wrapper. "Don't look so surprised. Even Adam'll be there. Figured you'd enjoy that."

Eli stiffened.

Austin turned, a lazy smirk on his lips. "You really think I haven't noticed how you act around him? The good guy. The sweet one. Bet you dream about thanking him on your knees, huh?"

Eli flushed, lips parting, but Austin didn't wait for a reply.

"Just remember your role," he added, stepping closer, eyes sharp beneath the edge of his coat. "You're my servant. You don't get to choose who turns you on. I do."

————

The gym air was thick with testosterone and pre-workout fumes.

Adam greeted Eli the moment they walked in. His smile was just as warm, his handshake firm.

"Hey! Good to see you again, man. Glad you came."

Eli melted. "Thanks. You too."

Austin slipped between them quickly, clapping Adam on the shoulder. "Let's get started. Bench first."

The two dove into their rhythm—warm-up, plates, reps, low banter about stocks and macros. Eli stuck to cardio, eyes tracing the two of them. Adam was all focus. Form perfect. Eyes kind. Even as he tried to include Eli with little comments, Austin pulled him away.

"Let him run. You're here for a real workout."

Half an hour in, Austin left for a moment and Adam turned during a water break.

"You and Iris get along well?" he asked Eli.

"Yeah, she's great."

"That's good. I've known Austin forever. If he's serious about someone, I wanna know the people around her are solid. You seem... grounded."

Eli smiled faintly. "I try."

Adam clapped his shoulder. "Keep trying."

Austin returned minutes later, scowling as he saw the two of them mid-conversation. His voice was clipped. "You done bonding yet?"

"We're good," Adam said easily. "Just chatting."

Austin gave Eli a look. The kind that said: mine.

———

Eli slipped into the restroom to catch his breath—but the moment the door clicked shut behind him, he froze.

Nick.

The beast stood shirtless, entirely absorbed in his reflection.

Under the harsh, sterile locker room lights, every inch of his carved physique was on display. He wasn't posing for anyone. This wasn't vanity. It was reverence—toward himself.

Nick grinned at his reflection. Not with arrogance, not with menace - just a quiet, deeply satisfied grin. Like a man who is proud of the temple he has built. As if the mirror only reflected a pale version of who he thought he really was. As if he knew he could never reflect the full power.

Then his gaze wandered upwards and caught on Eli through the reflection, who was playing with his own bulge with his hands.

The mood changed instantly.

"What the fuck do you think you're lookin' at?" Nick growled, stepping forward, veins popping along his neck.

Eli's breath caught.

Nick advanced like a charging bull. "You some kinda fuckin' creep? You wanna stare at me like that, you better be ready to deal with it."

Eli stumbled backward.

"Eyes down, freak," Nick snapped, voice rising. "You hear me? You think this is a fuckin' show for you to jerk off to?"

Eli bolted for the nearest stall, slammed it shut, and locked it. His pulse hammered as Nick's voice echoed through the room.

"Sick little bitch. Don't even belong in this gym. Stay the fuck away from me."

Eli crouched in silence, breath ragged, humiliated. The cold tile pressed against his back as he stared at the closed door of the stall, his thoughts racing.

Why the hell is Nick here?

Finally, with a shallow breath, he stood. His legs were stiff, his heart still hammering in his chest. Carefully, he unlocked the stall and pushed it open just an inch—then another—peeking out as if the air beyond might bite.

Empty.

He stepped out slowly, shoes echoing faintly on the tiles. No sign of Nick. Just the afterimage of that confident grin in the mirror, etched into his mind.

————

Back in the gym, Nick was nowhere to be seen. Eli hoped—prayed—they'd missed each other. Adam greeted him with a warm nod, like nothing had happened. Eli forced a smile, but the question burned in his throat.

"Did you know Nick was here?" he hissed at Austin, voice low.

Austin smirked, tossing a towel over his shoulder like it was nothing. "I know."

Eli blinked. "You... what?"

Austin's smirk didn't fade—but his gaze sharpened, cool and annoyed. Eli flinched, instinctively taking a step back. Without another word, he returned to the treadmill, head down, heart thudding.

Just as he reached for the start button, a voice rang across the gym floor.

"Yo!" Nick barked, striding in like the space belonged to him. "What's up, bros?"

The dynamic shifted instantly.

Austin leaned back into his relaxed dominance, arms loose, grin sharp. Nick took up space—loud, physical, unfiltered. And Adam? He moved with effortless calm, fitting into place like the final piece of a puzzle.

"You made it," Austin said, smirking.

Nick flexed one arm casually. "You think I'd miss a pump with my boys?"

Adam chuckled and pulled out his phone. "Alright—squad shot. Let's make it official."

He took the selfie—all three flexing in front of the dumbbells.

They looked like gods.

Still on cardio, Eli listened in on their locker room banter. Nick was loud, throwing weight around with a theatrical grunt after every set. He thrived on attention, barking jokes and jabs, flexing whenever a mirror caught his form. Austin smirked along, occasionally adding a low comment that kept the rhythm going—cool, detached, but fully present.

Adam, meanwhile, balanced the chaos. Calm and precise, he moved between sets with silent discipline, re-racking Nick's weights without a word, adjusting posture when needed. He didn't compete for the spotlight—he just existed in it naturally. And somehow, that dynamic worked. Nick's storm, Austin's swagger, and Adam's grounded control—they weren't just friends, they were a unit. The kind Eli could never touch.

Nick moved on to dumbbell presses. Each rep was a performance. Sweat rolled down his chest as Adam hovered behind him, hands guiding for perfect execution.

"Keep it clean," Adam said. "Full range. No swing."

Nick grunted, pressing harder. After the set, he tossed the dumbbells down with a thunderous crash. "Fuck yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

Then came the deadlifts. Every rep was a thunderclap. Every growl exaggerated. Adam coached him softly between breaths, calm and precise.

After the final set, Nick roared loud enough to echo across the gym. He stood tall, sweat clinging to every cut of his chest, breathing heavily—an animal momentarily satisfied.

Then his eyes found Eli again.

The moment stilled. Nick's smile faded, jaw setting. Without a word, he dropped the bar with a clang that made heads turn and stormed across the gym floor, his footsteps as heavy as his mood.

"You again?" he growled, voice low, teeth clenched. "You some little gym perv?"

Eli froze. His body stiffened, breath caught in his throat.

Nick advanced. "I catch you starin' one more time, I swear, I'll drag you outta here myself."

Before he could close the gap, Austin intercepted—cool and calculated.

"Chill, Nick," Austin said, blocking his path. "Didn't know some random dude could break your temper like that."

Nick's nostrils flared. "Bro, he's been watchin' me all day like I'm some strip show."

Adam joined them, calm as ever but with purpose in his tone. "What's going on here?"

"This boy here's about to get a lesson in boundaries," Nick snapped, eyes still locked on Eli.

Eli's eyes found Adam's, pleading silently. Adam's return gaze was calm and grounding. He offered a small smile—gentle, almost brotherly. A quiet message: I've got this.

Adam then slipped between Austin and Nick, placing himself directly in front of Eli. He flexed one arm slowly, each movement deliberate, and looked down at Eli with a smile that was all golden charm and quiet dominance.

"You think Eli's ready to suck me off?" he said, voice smooth, grin sharp like a knife wrapped in velvet.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Eli's breath caught.

That smile—so warm before—now dripped with something dark. The curtain was pulled back.

Eli's eyes darted to Austin, desperate for clarity—but all he saw was approval. The same look Austin wore when admiring his own reflection: proud. Possessive. Unapologetic.

Austin rested his arm on Adam's shoulder—casual, commanding. "What do you say, Eli? I let my boys test out some new pills. Ones that let them possess bodies—even without the natural gift. Then I gave them the same formula I used."

His smile curled, slow and deliberate.

"Let them borrow a few... golden specimens."

Suddenly, Nick roared like a wild animal, tensing every muscle group. "God, this dude is so full of pure aggression." He laughed like a maniac, checking out his reflection again. "But who cares when you look like that—glorious as fuck. Can't get enough. If I didn't keep these new instincts under control… well, let's just say you wouldn't be standing there, Eli. And I'm not even talking about his thoughts. Dark. Cocky. Just the way I like it." He smiled in a way Eli could only read as threatening.

He laughed to himself, then turned back to the mirror, grinning. "And this face... yeah, no wonder people cave the second I flash a smile. Guess how many pussies that smile has already brought me."

His gaze slid back to Eli, the mood shifting—cold, sharp. "But every time I see you? It just boils in me. Why'd you have to walk in—staring like the creep you are—right when all those memories kicked in?"

Adam's smile twisted—cool, sharp, but carrying a sneer just beneath the surface. "Stop your bitching, Nick. At least the guy you're riding wasn't some puppy-dog do-gooder. You think playing Mr. Perfect was fun for me?"

He shook his head, flexing his jaw as if shaking off a bad taste. "All that grinning. All that ‘Hey Eli, how's your day?' crap. I had to sit there pretending to give a damn—like I didn't want to roll my eyes every time he opened his mouth."

Adam glanced back at Eli now, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You seemed to love it though. Thought Adam was your sweet little gym hero, didn't you?" He laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "God, that act was suffocating. No wonder he was always so quiet."

He leaned forward, voice low and mocking. "Hope you enjoyed it, Eli. Because that version of me? Gone."

Austin stepped back, eyes gleaming. "You didn't really think I was gonna keep all the fun for myself, did you, Eli? Those pills cost a fortune. But for my boys? Worth every cent."

He winked at Eli.

"Now I've got the full squad. The new golden boys. And you? You get to watch."

Eli's world shattered.

All three jocks stood before him—smirking, flexing, reborn.

"Do you think anyone will stop us if he sucks us off here and now?" Austin laughed, and there was a certain curiosity in his voice.

Adam leaned in with that familiar warmth—the one Eli used to trust. His tone was soft, almost apologetic. "So, Eli… mind if I go first?"

He smiled kindly, just like the old Adam. "I mean, come on, I've always been nice to you, haven't I? Always friendly. Always respectful. The good guy."

He chuckled softly. "Bet I was your favorite squad member, huh? The one you looked up to while pretending not to drool."

Eli blinked, caught in the familiarity—until Adam's expression twisted.

The smile he wore—so warm, so practiced—snapped into something else. A sneer. Cold. Sharp.

"Yeah," Adam muttered, his voice dropping as his smile turned cold. "Fuck this Mr. Nice Guy act."

He stepped in closer, his body towering over Eli with casual dominance. His fingers came up—soft at first—brushing Eli's cheek in a mockingly gentle stroke.

"You liked it, though, didn't you?" he whispered. "That sweet, humble Adam. The one who smiled at you like you mattered."

Then his thumb pressed under Eli's chin, forcing his head up.

"So how about you thank me for all that fake kindness, huh? Get on your knees like the grateful little bitch you've always been."

He gave Eli's cheek a patronizing pat—more firm this time, like ruffling the hair of a child he barely tolerated.

"You never wanted Adam. You wanted me," he said, his voice like velvet draped over barbed wire. "to treat you like trash."

And with that, he smiled again.

In the background, a guy tried to pass the group—but Nick had already made it clear, with nothing more than a glare and a subtle shift in posture, that he needed to take the long way around. No room for questions. No room for interpretation.

"Gosh, fuckers," Nick muttered once the guy was out of sight, shaking his head. Then, with a mocking smirk, he turned to Adam. "Hope you're not planning to let him suck you dry. Just look at him—guy's practically shaking."

As Adam chuckled darkly, Nick took a slow, deliberate step back—circling around Eli like a predator eyeing weak prey. His heavy breath grazed the back of Eli's neck before he spoke.

"Just know," he growled, voice close now, breath hot against Eli's ear, "if you screw this up… I'll tear you apart."

Austin, watching from the side, let out a slow, amused breath—his smile tired, but proud.

————

The gym lights were soft in the late afternoon, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The room echoed with the rhythmic clank of weights and the distant thump of bass-heavy music. At the far end of the free weights area, Justin stood shirtless in front of the mirror, glistening with sweat.

He admired himself—shoulders pulled back, arms flexed just enough to make every vein pop. There was no shyness in his expression. No modesty. Just pure, wordless satisfaction. His shorts clung to his chiseled frame, abs contracting with every subtle movement. It wasn't just a glance—it was performance.

"Damn," he muttered, smirking as he twisted to check out his back. "What do you think, bro?"

Austin stood next to him, chewing gum with the same casual rhythm he always used when pretending not to be impressed.

"You've been killing it lately," he said—voice low, casual, but with a glint of approval.

Justin chuckled and struck a full front double biceps pose. The lighting carved definition into every groove, like a sculpture under a spotlight.

"Yeah? Think I finally caught up to you?"

Austin tilted his head, smirking. "Not yet. But you're definitely getting cockier. I'll give you that."

They both laughed.

"You always had it easy," Justin said, still locked on his own reflection. "The looks. The respect. Girls. Status. Guess I just had to figure out how to take some of that for myself."

Austin raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you have any trouble with girls."

"Of course not," Justin replied, flexing again with a cold, arrogant stare. "Just look at me."

Austin didn't respond right away. He nodded slowly, studying his brother through the mirror.

"You really like being you now, huh?" he asked finally, his tone more thoughtful.

Justin met his gaze. For just a flicker—barely a heartbeat—something else passed through his expression. Then the smirk deepened.

"Let's just say… I finally get why you enjoy walking around like a god," Justin said. "Can't blame me for loving it."

Austin let out a dry, knowing laugh. He slung his gym bag over his shoulder.

"Well, looks like you finally fit into my selected circle. Nick and Adam are already at my place. You coming?"

Justin didn't answer right away. He gave one last flex, ran a hand down the center of his abs, watching the muscles tighten beneath his touch. His smile, this time, wasn't just confident.

It was Eli's.

He turned to Austin, his voice calm—almost reverent.

"You always make sure I feel good, brother," he said, drawing out the last word with a knowing, intimate edge. "Don't think I'll ever get tired of that."

Austin grinned. "Wouldn't want you to."

[thesuitaskin]

Untouchable Fiancé

Austin waited in an alley near his gym, checking his phone again and squinting into the sunlight. His wide chest rose and fell slowly as he sighed. He glanced down at his watch.

Late.

Too late.

"That's not like her at all," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He was supposed to meet his fiancée—at least, that's what the text from her number had said.

But instead, two familiar silhouettes approached.

Eli and Owen.

Austin's expression shifted instantly. His jaw tightened, and one brow arched in clear irritation. He leaned back against the brick wall, arms folding loosely across his bare chest, his posture relaxed but unmistakably tense beneath the surface.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said, voice flat, sharp with annoyance. "This some kind of joke?"

Eli looked uneasy, adjusting his glasses, clearly not built for confrontation. Owen, silent, stood at his side, eyes steady, unreadable.

"She… had to cancel last minute," Eli stammered, eyes darting to the ground.

"Oh yeah?" Austin scoffed. "And she sent you two instead? What, you thought this'd be funny? I don't know how you guys faked those texts, but you want to screw around with my schedule like a couple of kids?"

He took a slow step forward—his body relaxed, but his voice sharpened. "You realize I don't exactly have time for whatever this is."

Eli opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no good answer.

Then Owen stepped forward.

Calm. Deliberate.

"We didn't come to waste your time," Owen said. "We came for you."

Austin's eyes narrowed, his patience cracking at the edges. "You got a death wish, or are you just that weird?"

Then—without warning—Owen raised his hand. Not fast, not hostile. But with purpose. And placed it flat against Austin's chest.

Austin's mouth parted—then curled in disgust. "The hell do you think you're—"

He moved to shove Owen's hand away, but when his fingers touched Owen's arm, they didn't push—it sank into it. Austin's eyes went wide as the sensation hit him. A split-second of confusion. Then panic.

"What the—?"

But Owen was already halfway through the process. His arm slid deeper, like mist slipping through water. Austin staggered back instinctively, but Eli rushed forward, grabbing Austin's arm—not out of aggression, but to keep him in place.

"Get—get off me! Are you crazy?!"

Austin's voice cracked with rising disbelief. His breath hitched, and his body shuddered violently. He tried to fight it, but each movement only seemed to welcome Owen in further. Shoulders, chest, spine—fusing slowly, unnaturally. Owen's face briefly pressed into Austin's, then vanished.

And then—silence.

Austin's body slumped for half a second, then stood upright again—too quickly. It adjusted its footing. Rolled its neck.

Then the eyes opened.

Still Austin's face—but wrong. The expression behind the eyes wasn't his. The grin that spread wasn't cocky—it was delighted.

It was Owen.

The body rubbed a hand over its head, as if grounding itself. Then, hesitating for the briefest moment, it started to speak.

"…Wow," Owen's voice said through Austin's lips. "I've been waiting way too long to do this."

He looked down at his hands, flexing the thick fingers. Then, slowly, he ran a palm across the broad surface of Austin's chest, tracing one pec with amused curiosity.

"He really is built like a Greek statue," Owen muttered, admiring his reflection in a window.

Eli swallowed hard. "You... you actually did it."

Owen took a breath and tried to move like Austin—shoulders back, chest out—but there was an awkwardness. His arms felt too heavy, too unfamiliar. He flexed them, testing the strength in each movement. Austin's casual grace was missing; Owen wore the body like an expensive suit a size too big.

Eli blinked. Everything looked right—Austin's towering figure, his tanned, sculpted torso exposed beneath the open zip hoodie, his confident posture—but something was off. The soul that had animated that body with such swagger, with that effortless dominance, was gone.

Austin's body jerked slightly, awkward and stiff, as if it were being controlled by someone unfamiliar with its movements. Owen glanced at Eli, an eager, almost nervous excitement twitching in his expression.

"So, how do I look?" he asked, his voice too nasal, too uncertain—a stark contrast to Austin's usual confidence.

Eli winced. "You don't sound like him at all."

"I'm just fine, Eli. Give me a second," Owen muttered. His voice still didn't match—still carried his own nervous rhythm, lacking the smooth charisma Austin exuded. Eli crossed his arms, unimpressed.

Owen cleared his throat and tried again, adjusting his tone. "What's the problem, huh?" he said, dropping his voice and trying to inject some bite.

Still wrong.

He tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie, then planted a hand firmly on his chest, grounding himself in the new body. He closed his eyes for a second, channeling the image—Austin's tone, his bite, the amused arrogance he wore like cologne.

Then he spoke:

"Tch. Waste of my damn time."

The voice was perfect—low, smooth, dangerously charming. Even Eli's eyes widened.

"That's it," Eli said, surprised despite himself. "That's exactly how he sounds."

Owen smirked with pride, but didn't quite sell Austin's signature attitude. He still moved like a stranger in borrowed skin.

"You've got the body now," Eli said cautiously, "but you're missing the confidence."

Owen's gaze cut to him—sharp, irritated. "I'm doing just fine," he said, forcing himself to walk like Austin, correcting the rhythm of each step. "The possession takes time. I'll get there."

He rolled his neck, pulled the hoodie sleeves again, adjusting the fabric so it sat just right on the massive frame.

"Anyway," he said, voice more steady—more Austin—"let's go inside."

He paused, casting a brief, controlled smirk in Eli's direction.

"I want to see what this body's capable of," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "And what these pills will really give me."

Owen stood shirtless in front of the gym mirror, a single pill pinched between his fingers. His reflection was stunning—every vein and muscle sharply defined under the cold LED lights, just as they had been hours earlier, when Austin had still been himself.

He smirked faintly, rolling the pill between his fingers while watching his reflection. It looked like a fitness supplement, but Owen knew better. This capsule promised full memory integration—down to Austin's habits, tics, speech patterns, locker combinations, even passwords.

Eli's voice echoed in his mind: "You sure you're ready?"

"Yeah," Owen murmured. "Once I take the pill, his memories should flood my mind."

He flexed one of Austin's massive biceps slowly, still holding the pill in the other hand. No wonder Austin had such a high opinion of himself—he was built like a walking sculpture. Owen tried out Austin's signature cocky smirk in the mirror. It came out wrong. Too forced. Too tense.

He tossed the pill into his mouth.

"This is it," he said—his voice now deep, unmistakably confident—Austin's voice. "Welcome to Austin."

The metallic bitterness hit instantly, and within seconds, a slow surge ignited behind his eyes. His breath caught. His knees bent slightly—not from weakness, but from the sheer force of the incoming neural flood. Images, names, memories came in waves. Friends. Codes. Muscle memory. How Austin lifted. How he flirted. How he thought.

That bench? First time he benched 365. The corner by the squat rack? Where he kissed Eli's sister, Iris, for the first time. Owen knew it now. Felt it. The gym wasn't just a building anymore—it was personal.

Then came the micro-details. The way Austin held tension in his jaw when he was lying. The lazy lean of his stance when he was feeling smug. Even the exact rhythm of his laughter. It all clicked into place.

Owen opened his eyes slowly. His breathing felt easier, more automatic. His tongue rested against the roof of his mouth differently. His abs clenched instinctively between each inhale.

This body no longer felt borrowed. It felt like his.

And looking back from the mirror now… was Austin. Owen smiled again—this time, perfectly natural. He flexed his arms and let his shoulders roll into that familiar swagger.

Eli immediately noticed the difference in Owen's behavior and couldn't believe his eyes—the impact of the pill was staggering.

"Time to let these muscles work," Owen said dryly.

The rush of the pill was like warm static flooding every inch of Owen's brain, unraveling memories with crystal clarity and layering them seamlessly atop his own consciousness. His movements smoothed out as the body remembered what Austin had done a thousand times—pose, flex, smirk. No hesitation. Just instinct.

Austin's mind was a vault of curated charm. The flirtatious glances he gave Eli's sister. The subtle way he leaned in when talking to her—just close enough to spark tension, never close enough to commit. How he laughed at her jokes in public, then rolled his eyes the moment she turned her back. How he assessed her family—especially Eli.

Weak guy. Soft. Probably smart. Not worth the attention.

Owen didn't just hear the thoughts—he felt them, as if they were his own. He saw his real self through Austin's lens now: unimpressive, forgettable. A quiet nerd with an awkward sense of humor and too much intensity. A guy who clung too hard to things that didn't matter. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he questioned everything he had been—everything he thought was important.

But then the sharp confidence of Austin's persona began to take hold again. The weight of self-doubt started to dissipate, replaced by something more familiar, more certain. Owen straightened, inhaling deeply, as the voice of Austin seemed to echo in his mind, pushing him forward with ease.

And there were new memories. Former classmates, professors, gym bros, coworkers—each memory sharp as glass. Every interaction. What Austin said. What he really wanted to say. The things he never said aloud. Each thought tucked away with ego, precision, and cruel amusement. He could feel them now, not just as fleeting memories, but as part of the foundation of Austin's existence—stepping stones that built the confidence Owen now wore like a second skin.

Even the gym—the sanctuary where Austin had built this flawless frame—felt eternal now. Every rep, every pump, every calculated protein shake. It was muscle memory now, more than knowledge.

Owen felt the subtle shift in his posture as his body adjusted, aligning with that same insufferable arrogance. He wasn't just in Austin's body now—he was becoming him. Owen didn't need to think. He simply moved. Walked over to the bench, adjusted the weights like he'd done a hundred times, and began a flawless set of incline presses. Slow. Perfect form. Not a hint of strain.

Eli stood nearby, arms crossed, watching in stunned silence.

"Still watching, huh?" Owen said—voice smooth, charismatic, unmistakably Austin. "Knew you were always his biggest fan."

Eli swallowed hard. He said nothing.

Owen—Austin, now—finished the set with ease. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slid into another. Slower this time. Controlled. Almost theatrical.

"You don't have to look so surprised, Eli." He smiled. "It's not just the muscles I've got now—it's the method."

He glanced at the mirror, admiring the definition in his shoulders. "Perfect form isn't about showing off—it's about efficiency. Every movement has to be deliberate. Feel the contraction, control the negative, no ego-lifting."

He adjusted the bench angle slightly before sitting back down. "And rest days? Not lazy days. They're where the real growth happens—recovery, repair, progress. Austin timed everything. Knew when to push, when to hold back."

Owen looked back at Eli, his voice taking on that familiar smugness. "And nutrition? Not just chicken and rice. He tracked macros to the gram. Protein timing, carb cycling, even how much sodium he needed to stay pumped without looking bloated."

Owen took another set, smooth and steady.

Eli's gaze locked on Owen—on the way his muscles shifted under the skin with each perfect rep. There was no awkwardness now, no uncertainty. Like he'd lived in that body his whole life.

A drop of sweat slid down Owen's chest, and Eli's eyes followed it instinctively. His throat bobbed with a shallow swallow. His breathing had changed—slower, heavier.

Owen adjusted the weights, veins tight against his forearms, and moved into the next exercise without hesitation. The flex of his back, the way his shoulders rolled... Then Austin's eyes flicked toward him—calculated, amused.

"I remember everything he thought about you," he said softly. "Everything he never said out loud."

The words struck harder than any insult.

And yet Eli didn't turn away. Owen could feel it. The tension. The confusion. The attraction. He watched Eli's jaw clench as if trying to keep himself in check.

Austin stretched his arms behind his head, letting the light rake across his sculpted torso. His abs caught the shine like marble. Every pose felt deliberate now. Built to intimidate—and seduce.

Owen looked over at Eli, a mocking smirk curling on his lips. "You're not all bad, Eli," he said, the words dripping with condescension. "I mean, you manage to be around without completely embarrassing yourself."

Austin's mind had always dismissed Eli as beneath him, something to tolerate rather than respect. Austin's real thoughts were more than just dismissive. They were cutting, cold, and homophobic. But Austin's intelligence, knew how to turn that into a smooth, careless insult, the kind that slid off the tongue without a second thought. Every word felt like a jab, dressed in the armor of charm and disinterest.

He glanced at Eli, his smirk widening. "You should feel honored, Eli," Owen said casually, "that you can stare like that without facing any consequences. Lucky for you, I'm in control now."

Then he turned toward the cable machine. Each movement radiated strength, precision, and unapologetic ego.

Owen stood at the cable machine, Austin's thick fingers curling around the bar like they were molded for it. His grip was firm but casual, practiced. He rolled his shoulders back, chest expanding, before starting a set of slow, concentrated cable flys. The motion was artful. Each rep pulled the sculpted muscle into sharp definition—pecs contracting with powerful grace, abs locking into tight lines. Sweat collected along his collarbones and slid downward in perfect trails. It wasn't just physical. It was performance.

"God, he was so obsessed with this part," Owen murmured, smirking just a little. He met Eli's gaze through the mirror, voice low and biting.

Eli's eyes wouldn't—couldn't—look away. Every breath Austin's body took made Eli's chest feel tighter. The way his back arched slightly on each rep, the way the sweat gathered and shimmered—it was too much. Too exact. Too exposed.

Owen felt it all.

He remembered Eli's glances using Austin's memories. The way Eli's eyes lingered just a second too long when Austin's hand would settle on his sister's ass. The guilty little flicks of his gaze across Austin's chest at the beach. The tension in his voice whenever his sister brought up Austin's name—like he was swallowing something.

"Careful, Eli," Owen said mid-rep, not even looking this time. His voice was soft now, knowing. Cruel. "You're staring more now than you ever did before."

Eli flinched but didn't deny it.

Another slow rep. Then another—grindingly slow. A grunt escaped from deep in his throat, rough and guttural, filled with effort and knowing theater. Sweat slid down his neck, traced a path across his chest, curved around the ridges of his abs. Deliberate. Calculated. A show for one.

"You used to fantasize about seeing him like this, didn't you? Not just seeing. Hearing him. Watching every pump of his body."

He let the bar fall back into place with a clang that echoed.

Then he turned to face Eli fully. Spread his arms slightly. Chest rising and falling. Breathing hard. Sweat clinging to every cut of muscle.

He held the pose.

"I remember even your looks from the past, by the way," Owen said, voice smooth and laced with a biting edge. "How he thought your little stares were striking. Annoying, even." A low chuckle followed as he reached for the dumbbells, the sound almost too casual for the way Eli flinched. "And now I'm here—giving you a better show than either of you could've ever imagined."

He began to curl the weights—slow, precise reps that pulled every line of muscle into focus. The gym lights caught the sheen of sweat trailing down his biceps, veins bulging and pulsing with each motion. Austin's body moved with flawless rhythm, every flex another reminder of the power Owen now wore like a second skin.

Owen glanced at Eli through the mirror and gave a lazy half-smile. Eli stood stiff, frozen in place. His eyes tried to drift elsewhere—but kept snapping back.

"Don't worry," Owen added, breath light from the exertion. "He liked being watched. Just not by you."

Eli's jaw locked.

Owen exhaled on the next rep, a quiet, guttural grunt that hit Eli like a slap. His movements were all performance now—slow, controlled, drenched in tension. Every motion bled confidence.

Eli felt blessed. This wasn't a memory or a fantasy - it was real. The full Austin experience. It was perfect. To be this close to everything he could ever imagine.

Then Owen froze.

The dumbbell hovered mid-rep as his free hand rose slowly to his temple. Fingers pressed in—firm, grounding—as his eyes darkened. He winced, just slightly, and stood perfectly still. A tremor of breath escaped him. A memory surged.

The scent of Iris when she curled against him in bed, whispering nothing words into his skin. Her laughter as she danced across the tiles barefoot in the morning. The weight of her hand resting on his chest, like he was something fragile and cherished. The way she clung to him, believing she knew the man inside. The way she touched his chest when she thought he was asleep. The things she whispered when no one was around. How she clung to him like a prize she didn't want to lose.

His eyes fluttered—just for a second—then sharpened. He dropped the weight with a quiet clink.

"You know what's funny?" Owen asked, stepping forward, the echo of Austin's swagger leaking into his movements. "Your sister thought she had him figured out. Sweet, loyal, tamed." He laughed under his breath, dry and cutting. "She didn't see half of it."

He paced slowly, like a lion circling something smaller.

"She thought he loved her—and he did. But not the way she believed. She never saw how often his eyes drifted to someone else, how he wondered what it'd be like to give in. Never heard the things he muttered under his breath after she left the room. She didn't even realize he betrayed her a few times. Thought he was just tired, stressed. Oblivious."

Owen paused, eyes gleaming.

"And those family dinners?" he scoffed. "She didn't notice the way he flinched every time your dad started preaching his liberal ‘wisdom' like it was gospel. Or how your mom practically climbed all over him, smiling too wide, talking too much. It was suffocating."

He paused, gaze piercing. "She didn't realize he couldn't stand you either. Always hanging around, trying to play little brother. It was exhausting."

Owen's hand returned to his temple, tapping it lightly. "She's still in here. So is he. I hear her when I'm not even trying. Feel her touch sometimes when I close my eyes. He loved her. As much as he could. But…"

He stepped close now. Eli could see the rise and fall of his chest, smell the cologne mixing with sweat.

"…that doesn't change what I am now."

The words hit like stone.

Eli's breath faltered. His legs felt weak, but he didn't move. Couldn't. His heart beat wild against his ribs, and every glance, every flex of muscle, every word from that mouth pulled him deeper into something consuming.

Owen tilted his head and smirked—and that's when he saw it. The tremble in Eli's breath. The dilation in his pupils. The flush at the base of his neck.

"Well," Owen drawled, wiping sweat from his jaw with a towel, "someone's enjoying this a little too much."

He paused, watching the shift in Eli's expression—shame and desire knotted together. Then Austin's posture changed. Shoulders rolled back. Chin lifted. A spark of arrogance flared behind his eyes.

When he spoke again, the tone had changed completely.

"Eli," he said, dragging the name out, letting it drip with smug amusement. "Still staring like that? You've always been kinda awkward around me."

Owen's sudden switch to referring to himself as Austin brought Eli's dick to ooze precum.

"You really thought I didn't notice?" he said, voice velvet and venom. "The way your eyes wandered when Iris wasn't looking? How you could barely talk to me without fumbling over your words?"

The man in front of him was Austin now—cocky, commanding, irresistible. His smile pierced just deep enough to make you question yourself. "She thought you were just shy. But I always knew better. Guess my looks are enough to forget your weird friend Owen." He winked, mischievously.

Eli looked up at him, dazed, his lips slightly parted, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

Austin leaned back against the rack, arms crossing slowly over his chest, every muscle flexing with the pose. "God," he said, almost laughing now, "you should've seen your face when I grunted through that last set. You liked hearing that, didn't you?"

Eli could only offer a soft, trembling breath in response.

Owen stepped forward again, close enough now that Eli could smell the sweat and cologne, see the slow pulse in his neck.

"You want to touch it, don't you?" Owen whispered.

Eli nodded, just once.

With a final smirk and a wink, Owen brushed past him—his hand grazing Eli's chest, just enough to leave him shivering.

Eli's mouth went dry.

"I might let you," Owen said over his shoulder, voice low and teasing. "Later. If you're good."

And with that, he vanished into the locker room, towel slung around his neck—leaving Eli standing there: flushed, breathless, and completely undone.

He stood alone, frozen, still replaying what Owen had just revealed—and the way Austin's muscles had tensed and rippled with each perfect motion. The way Owen—his best friend—had slipped so naturally into that godlike form, like the body had always been his. It was surreal. Like a fantasy finally coming to life.

The echo of that final grunt still rang in his ears—raw and intoxicating. The air was thick with the sharp, masculine tang of sweat and cologne. Eli's chest rose and fell unevenly, his thoughts spiraling. Heart hammering, he moved without thinking, following the trail of heat and tension down the corridor. He pushed open the locker room door—

And froze.

The reborn Austin caught his reflection and smirked—first at himself, then at Eli through the mirror.

"Oh," he said, voice low and velvet-smooth, "you followed."

He turned slightly, just enough to give Eli a view of his back, muscles shifting with every movement. Then he rolled his shoulders, glanced back over his shoulder, and added, "Couldn't stay away, huh?"

"Isn't that glorious?" Austin taunted, his voice like silk stretched over steel.

And then—without hesitation—he undressed completely.

Eli's breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened. He couldn't look away. He didn't want to. For a single heartbeat, he saw Austin in his full, unapologetic glory—chiseled, flawless, unreal. He hadn't wanted to look away—and he didn't. Not until—

Laughter. Casual. Loud.

The locker room door swung open, and two guys walked in, chatting like nothing was happening, like they hadn't just stepped into the middle of something sacred. Eli stiffened, his body locking up like he'd been caught in the middle of a crime. They didn't say anything—just paused, glanced at him, puzzled. Confused. Maybe judging. It didn't matter. The moment had shattered.

Austin, completely unfazed, flashed Eli a smug grin before disappearing into the showers, every step confident and unrushed—like the disruption had never touched him.

Eli stood there, flushed, caught red-handed by reality.

Why did they have to come in now...?

He bolted, nerves tangled in embarrassment, slipping out of the locker room like a ghost.

Now outside, leaning against the cool wall, Eli tried to catch his breath. But the heat didn't go away. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to clear the fog in his head, but it was useless. Owen—his best friend—inside Austin's body, moving like him, being him, every subtle quirk and unconscious movement. Every muscle flexed with authenticity. Every word dripped with Austin's natural smugness. The way he had looked at Eli, the way he'd spoken to him… And then, the way he peeled off every inch of clothing with no hesitation, completely unashamed.

That's when the world sharpened again—the slam of a door in the distance, and movement beyond the glass.

Eli looked up—Austin was striding across the parking lot, dressed in a black tank that hugged his chest like it was tailored just for him, shorts framing his powerful thighs.

Eli, pulse roaring in his ears, didn't even realize he was moving again.

He shoved open the door, adrenaline spiking, heart thudding hard. The heat of the afternoon hit his skin instantly, but it didn't slow him. He broke into a half-jog across the lot, driven by pure lust.

Standing like a sculpture carved from confidence and Greek marble, Austin's arms were folded tight across that familiar chest. His legs were spread wide, black shorts clinging to his thighs just enough to make Eli's thoughts blur. His heart pounded, and it wasn't just from walking too fast.

Austin glanced sideways. The perfect jawline dipped slightly in acknowledgment, eyes narrowing just enough to add bite to his smirk.

"Never thought I'd catch you trailing me, Eli. Gutsy. Kinda weird." Austin's voice came low, teasing—cocking an eyebrow with a slow, deliberate smirk. "Kinda desperate."

Austin's mockery was paralyzing. Eli couldn't tell for sure if Austin really felt that way about him or if it was Owen's words—or both. Whatever the reason, Eli was horny.

"You okay?" Austin asked, stepping forward. The tone was effortless, exactly right—him.

Eli's face flushed. His stomach twisted with a strange, electric heat. It wasn't just the insult—it was how flawlessly Owen had become Austin. The strut, the smug tilt of the head, the way every word curled off his tongue. It was him. God, it was him.

"You know," Austin went on, his voice dipping into a low, velvet hum, "your sister had the same face when she was drooling over me." His smirk deepened, eyes dragging over Eli with lazy confidence. "The way her eyes wandered... hilarious."

He continued.

"Almost like you right now. But nothing in compare to your weird little friend Owen used to... that creep."

Eli swallowed hard, a lump catching in his throat. The words stung, but the voice—the cadence, the Austin-ness of it—was devastating.

"Owen..." He laughed softly, as if amused by something private. "That boy is something else. I don't know why but I've got all his little dreams now. His quiet fantasies. His obsession with…" He trailed off, gaze dragging over Eli, amused. "Me. And you."

Eli's chest tightened. His breath caught. The idea that Austin now held every piece of Owen—every secret, every feeling—was almost too much to bear. The way Austin looked at him, studied him, enjoyed him… it was overwhelming.

"I wonder," Austin whispered, "how much more fun I'm going to have than you two ever imagined."

Then came the smile.

Wide. That impossibly charming grin that could shatter defenses like glass. The world could fall apart, and that smile would still be the last thing Eli remembered before everything gave way.

Austin reached up, casually adjusting the hem of his tank top. The motion was slow, deliberate. Just enough to flash a glimpse of chiseled abs in the sun. A single drop of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. Eli followed its path with his eyes, breath shallow...

"Are you coming with me, Eli?" Austin asked, voice honeyed, mocking. "Or are you just gonna stand there and keep drooling?"

Without waiting for an answer, Austin slid into the Porsche like he owned the world.

The door shut with a soft click, and Eli sank into the passenger seat. The moment he did, the scent hit him like a punch to the gut.

The cabin—sealed tight from the afternoon heat—was thick with the heady mix of leather, Austin's cologne (rich, clean, expensive), and the fresh, masculine musk of post-workout sweat still clinging to his skin. Eli didn't even dare to breathe too deeply, but it didn't matter. The smell curled into his lungs, into his bloodstream, stirring something raw and animal inside him.

Austin leaned back in the driver's seat, one hand draped lazily over the wheel, the other raking through his damp, perfect hair. His tank top clung to his chest, soaked just enough to leave a trace of sweat on the seat behind him. He glanced sideways, smirking.

"You gonna keep breathing like that?" he asked, voice smooth, teasing. "You're fogging up my windows, man."

Eli flushed, throat tightening. His hands curled into fists on his thighs, fighting the impulse to squirm. The closeness. The heat. The scent. It was overwhelming. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

Austin chuckled—low, deep, satisfied. "God, Eli," he murmured, shifting just enough for the muscle of his thigh to brush against Eli's. "You really are into this, huh?"

Eli finally exhaled. "I—just…" He swallowed. "What's it like? For you. Being in his body."

Austin turned his head slowly, elbow resting on the wheel, his jaw tensing like he was holding in a laugh. Then he let it out—one sharp, cocky bark.

"That's what you wanna ask?" he grinned. "That's your big question?"

Eli didn't answer—he just watched him, heart hammering, trying not to drown in the reality of who was beside him.

Austin leaned in, muscles rippling like stone beneath skin. "You are pathetic," he said, voice velvet over knives. "You've got the most perfect man you've ever seen—right here—and you wanna talk about Owen?"

Eli looked away, shame biting hard.

But Austin wasn't done. "I never liked that creep," he continued. "Always hanging around at your family's place. Always looking at me like I was some prize he could never touch. You know how desperate that is?"

He tilted his head back against the seat, gazing at the ceiling like he was watching some old memory flicker above him. A slow smile stretched across his face—satisfied, cruel.

"But now?" he said, voice dropping. "Now I get these little flickers. His thoughts. His feelings. It's… funny, honestly. Like watching a bad romance movie playing in my own head."

He turned back to Eli, the grin sharper now. Cutting.

"You'd laugh if you saw the things Owen imagined. About me. About us." He gave a slight, amused shake of his head. "Makes you wonder who the real freak is."

Eli's breath caught. His legs pressed together instinctively. His chest trembled, trying to hold back whatever was clawing its way up from beneath the surface.

Austin saw it. Of course, he did.

And he smiled wider. That amused, predatory smirk.

"You're leaking, aren't you?"

Eli's eyes widened in horror.

Austin leaned back, cool as ever, his posture a casual display of confidence. "Don't mess up my car, but don't worry," he said with mock sympathy, "It happens. To guys like you, anyway."

He slipped on a cap and turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life. The vibrations pulsed through the seats, sending a shiver through Eli's spine.

"Buckle up," Austin threw a wink at him. "Let's see how long you last."

————

The garage door rolled open with a smooth hum, revealing a perfectly organized space: matte black floors, spotless racks of gym gear, and in the corner, a fridge stocked with labeled supplements like a shrine to peak performance.

Austin didn't even wait for Eli to get out. The moment the Porsche came to a stop, he jumped out, stripped off his tank top, and opened the trunk. He took a silver scoop from a tub of protein and dry-scooped it straight into his mouth—no water, no grimace—just a grin as he tapped the tub shut again.

Eli followed slowly, eyes adjusting to the sharp contrast between the sun outside and the meticulously curated masculine temple inside. As Austin turned, he caught his reflection in the long garage mirror.

He paused.

Not to pose. Not to flex.

Just to look.

The veins still stood on his arms from the workout, shoulders broad and slightly glistening, the lines of his jaw cut clean in the mirror's cold light. For a moment, there was silence, the hum of the air system the only sound. Austin stood there, letting the weight of his reflection settle into him.

Eli stopped a few feet behind him, watching in awe. It felt intrusive—like witnessing something private. A real man, entirely at ease in his own skin.

Then Austin's voice broke the silence.

"Never thought I'd bring you here," he said with a slight shake of his head. His tone was amused. Honest. "We have nothing in common. Not the same drive. Not the same ambition. Not even the same idea of fun."

He turned, still chewing a bit of protein like it was gum.

"But hey," he continued, walking past Eli, "guess this is your little peek into the life of someone who made it."

He tossed his gym bag onto a bench, cracked his neck, and leaned against the counter.

"You know what most people don't get?" he said, grabbing a cold bottle from the fridge. "Strength isn't just about lifting weights. It's discipline. It's waking up at five when everyone else is hitting snooze. It's choosing to suffer now so you're unshakable later."

He popped the bottle open, took a sip, and then looked back at Eli. "I started lifting because I hated the idea of being average. Every rep? Every set? That was me becoming untouchable. And yeah—maybe I got obsessed. But you don't get a body like this by scrolling through social media and whining about life being unfair."

He glanced down at his arms, then rolled a shoulder like he was brushing off gravity itself. "I built this. Hour by hour. While people like you were hoping life would hand them something."

There was no venom in his tone—just conviction. Like this was gospel to him.

"And it's not just the gym," Austin continued, walking toward the far side of the room where a laptop waited. "When I wasn't training, I was reading. Learning. While you were... what? Writing movie reviews on Tumblr?"

He snorted softly.

“I got into crypto early—back when it was all theory and chaos. I didn’t chase trends. I studied the tech, read the whitepapers, saw where things were headed before anyone else was paying attention. Flipped a few altcoins, made decent gains, and didn’t get greedy.”

He leaned back, one hand resting on his thigh with casual confidence. “I didn’t waste it on flash. Rolled it into smart plays—grabbed undervalued property before the market shifted, picked up shares in small tech companies before they hit mainstream. Helped a start-up get off the ground last year. Not flashy, but it's already making money.”

He turned back to Eli now, the smirk returning. "You're still figuring out how to file taxes properly, aren't you?"

Eli, frozen, shifted his weight.

Austin narrowed his eyes, amused. "Of course you are."

He then reached into his pocket, pulled out the house key, and without even glancing at Eli, flicked it toward him with a casual wrist snap.

The key spun in the air—clean, deliberate.

Eli reached up too late.

It bounced off his palm, hit the floor with a metallic clink, and skidded to the side.

Austin didn’t sigh. Didn’t smirk.

“Pick it up,” he said—voice calm, but edged with something smug. “Door’s not gonna open itself.”

He didn’t move. Just watched.

“Guess hand-eye coordination’s not your thing either.”

Austin simply stood there, hand on his waist, the other relaxed at his side, veins running like roads across his biceps and forearms. His quads bulged like sculpted columns, calves tight, feet planted firm and confident. Austin tilted his head slightly, the way someone might if they were sizing up a challenger.

Austin reached down to adjust the waistband of his shorts slightly—subtle, effortless, but undeniably confident. Then he stepped aside, walking toward the door leading into the house. His back was just as carved as the front, shoulder blades like armor, traps rising thick into his neck.

"Come on," Austin said with a half-smile, stepping toward the door that led into the house. His voice was commanding, but there was a hint of amusement beneath it as he glanced back at Eli. "Let's go inside. I bet you can't wait to check out my place."

Eli followed closely, nerves buzzing with anticipation. As they crossed the threshold into Austin's home, he was immediately struck by the contrast in atmosphere. The interior was flawless—sleek, modern, and meticulously curated. Every piece of furniture looked hand-picked, every surface gleamed with precision.

On a nearby desk, Eli spotted a few framed photos. One showed Austin surrounded by a group of evenly tanned, effortlessly attractive jock friends. Another captured him in Cuba, leaning back with a cigar in his mouth, radiating effortless cool. And then—there it was—Austin with Eli's sister, both smiling in a picture-perfect moment.

This guy really did have the perfect life.

Eli couldn't tear his eyes away from the luxury that surrounded him—the flawless aesthetic of the place, the curated decor, and every evident sign of Austin's young, unapologetic success.

While Eli took it all in, Austin—ever the center of his own universe—disappeared into another room, leaving him alone to wander. Curiosity tugged at Eli's thoughts until he found himself stepping deeper into the house. His pulse quickened. This was Austin's world—the world of the narcissistic guy Eli found irresistibly handsome—and now he was walking right through it.

The first thing to catch his eye was an expensive Rolex gleaming under the soft bedroom light. It sat on a side table like a trophy. Eli picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand. It was heavier than he expected—sleek, precise, commanding. Just like Austin. He imagined what it would feel like to wear it—not just the watch, but the power and confidence that came with it.

Setting the watch down with care, Eli let his fingers glide across the smooth surfaces of the room. Everything felt intentional, from the cold sheen of the furniture to the placement of framed photos and the scent of expensive cologne still hanging in the air.

Then he noticed the wardrobe. The door stood slightly ajar.

Curiosity guided him closer, and when he pulled it open fully, he was immediately hit by a wave of scent—clean fabric, sharp cologne, and something else underneath. The inside was immaculate, like the rest of the home. Rows of designer sportswear hung with perfect spacing: performance shirts, tapered joggers, hoodies made from high-end material—more than just gym wear, they were status symbols.

Eli ran his fingers gently across the fabrics, feeling the smoothness of well-made cotton and moisture-wicking synthetics. He could almost picture Austin in each one, his athletic form filling out the sharp lines with ease. But the wardrobe held more than just activewear. On the opposite side, Eli found casual wear: crisp button-ups, tailored blazers, dark-wash denim—every piece folded or hung with military precision. There was no doubt: Austin didn't just look good; he planned to.

Then, Eli's eyes drifted to the corner of the room.

There, slightly apart from the pristine order, sat a loose pile of laundry. It was the only chaotic detail in the otherwise controlled space. And yet, even this felt… telling. Ripped tanks, gym shorts, sweat-darkened tees—it was lived-in, real. These were clothes Austin had actually worn, pushed off after long workouts or busy days.

Eli's breath caught in his throat. His fingers craved the dark underwear, which smelled of sweat and deodorant. He brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply. The scent was intoxicating - Austin's deodorant mixed with the sweat of his training, pure masculinity.

He couldn't hold back. Slowly, Eli leaned closer, his face buried deeper into the fabric, taking in more of the familiar scent. His body felt hot, his mind racing, unable to keep his senses from being overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of the moment.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Eli froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He slowly turned his head, his body stiffening as he looked up to find Austin standing in the doorway.

Austin was now wearing a simple turquoise undershirt. The fabric clung to his torso, outlining sculpted abs and broad shoulders, a picture of effortless confidence. His expression as he stood in the doorway was unreadable—disdain laced with something darker, quieter. A raised brow, a flicker of something knowing in his eyes.

Austin stepped forward, his gaze locked on Eli. He stopped just behind him, close enough for Eli to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

Then came the breath—warm against the back of Eli's neck. It made him tense, though he didn't move. The space between them crackled with something unspoken, something sharp and electric.

Austin leaned in closer, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"What the hell are you doing, Eli?"

There was no anger in his tone—just a quiet, intense curiosity. It was the kind of question that didn't demand an answer immediately, because Austin already knew the truth—or thought he did. "You think you can just come into my room and... sniff my stuff?"

Eli's was ready for what ever would come.

Austin stood close enough that Eli could feel the warmth of his skin, the silent pressure of his presence pressing into the space between them. The soft fabric of his undershirt barely masked the sculpted hardness of the muscles beneath. He inhaled slowly, a deliberate, steady breath that only deepened the silence.

His eyes flicked downward, landing on Eli's hand—still gripping the shirt pulled from the pile of laundry.

"What the fuck is going on in that head of yours, Eli?" Austin said, his voice dipping lower, darker—almost amused.. He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Eli with a look that could burn through steel. "You've been following me around, sniffing my clothes, practically drooling over me… What's next, huh?"

Eli swallowed hard, his throat tight with something between nervousness and anticipation. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes meeting Austin's. The challenge was clear in Austin's gaze—sharp, intense—and the slight curl of his lips wasn't just teasing. No, it was something deeper, more intimate. It was as if Austin was daring him, pushing him to do something Eli hadn't yet.

Then Austin's smirk faded just enough to make Eli's pulse spike.

Eli barely had time to react. Before he could even pull the shirt away, Austin moved with swift, determined force and ripped the fabric from his hand. His fingers curled around the underwear with a force that sent a jolt through Eli's body.

Austin held it to his nose, brought the fabric to his face and inhaled deeply. It was a deliberate, controlled action, and Eli could see the small flicker of satisfaction in Austin's eyes as he took in the scent. His nostrils flared as he took it in - his body seemed to draw strength from the scent that had once intoxicated Eli so much.

Eli felt the heat of the moment envelop him and his mind raced. His pulse quickened as Austin exhaled slowly. Austin then brought his hand to his mouth and licked it skillfully. Austin's gaze remained intense, fixing Eli with an unblinking stare.

"Good, isn't it? You can even smell my cum." Austin said in a low voice, but the confidence of his words made it impossible to misunderstand his meaning. "And the best part? The scent strong and it's mine."

Austin brought the fabric back to Eli's face with a firm but deliberate force. "You like it, don't you?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You like the way I smell."

Eli tried to pull back, but Austin held the fabric with a tight grip, pulling it closer to Eli's face, forcing him to inhale the scent even deeper. There was no resistance in Austin's eyes—just the quiet certainty of a man who knew exactly the effect he had on those around him.

"It's not just the scent, Eli. Everywhere I go, heads turn. They can't help it. The women, the men... They all want a piece of this." He gestured to himself with a casual air, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Eli's breathing quickened, the tension between them hanging thick in the air. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Everything about Austin, from the way he spoke to the way he carried himself, was a force that Eli couldn't seem to escape, even if he tried.

Austin leaned in slightly, the closeness almost overwhelming, his voice dropping a notch lower. "This is me, Eli," he murmured. "And you can't forget it. You can't forget who you're standing next to. Because there's no one like me."

As Eli and Austin stood in the wardrobe room, the air thick with tension, a momentary silence hung between them. The attraction—so palpable, so undeniable—was thickening the space. Austin, always confident in his body and presence, hovered closer to Eli, and for a second, their faces almost met. There was a flicker of something deeper, something charged, and Eli could feel his heart race, his breath quickening as his thoughts tangled in the proximity.

Austin's gaze dropped briefly, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I think you waited long enough," he said quietly, voice low, "for what will follow next, right, Eli?"

Austin now pushed Eli to his knees and put one hand on his shoulder while he reached into his pants with the other and grabbed his cock. This was already causing a noticeable bulge as Austin's own smell was already causing him to get hard. Austin then grabbed Eli's hair, but Eli was quicker and willingly steered towards Austin's tool. Before Eli and Austin could continue, the sudden sound of an approaching car broke the tension like a snap.

Austin froze. His eyes sharpened instantly, his entire body going still. He turned his head toward the window, listening intently, then glanced down at his phone.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, stepping back and pushing Eli away from him. "That's Iris."

Eli's pulse jumped. Confusion hit him like a wave. "Iris? But... you're—" He trailed off, the moment he had been waiting for slipping through his fingers, stolen before it could fully form.

Austin turned to him, his gaze suddenly colder, and his voice dropped into a tone that cut through the room. "She's my fiancée, Eli. Don't be so stupid."

Something twisted in Eli's chest—a knot of frustration, disbelief, and something deeper he couldn't name. How had Owen, with all of Austin's memories, not seen this coming? How had he not anticipated Iris showing up?

Austin swiped through his phone quickly, his brow furrowing as he scrolled through a growing stack of unread messages. "Damn. She's relentless today." He let out a short, cocky laugh, his body language shifting effortlessly back into that familiar posture of arrogant confidence. "Looks like a surprise visit. No plans. No warning."

Eli stood frozen, the sudden shift in energy disorienting. One moment there had been fire between them, and now—cool calculation. Then Austin looked at him again, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

"So, what should we do, huh?" His voice was laced with a biting playfulness, like a blade wrapped in velvet. "You think I should break up with her? Show her what's really going on here?" His smile widened, the arrogance in it unmistakable. "What do you think she'll say when she walks in?"

Eli's mind raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He could still feel the phantom warmth of Austin's body—of Owen, really—just inches from his own. The moment had slipped, but not entirely. Then a thought crossed his mind, bold and intoxicating, hotter than anything that had just happened. Hotter than even the sight of his best friend walking around in the body of Austin, living out Eli's wildest, most secret dream.

"You'll pretend to be the real Austin," Eli said, voice steady despite the thundering in his chest. "Do what he would do. Play the part for her. And when you're back…" His eyes met Austin's with quiet fire. "We'll continue where we left off."

Austin stilled. For a heartbeat, the smirk on his face froze—then shifted slowly into something darker, sharper. A wicked smile unfurled across his lips, the kind that said I didn't think you had it in you. He stepped closer again, just enough to make Eli feel the heat all over again.

"That is sick, Eli," he murmured, almost admiringly. "You really want this?"

The question lingered in the air like smoke—heavy, daring, electric.

"I can't think of anything hornier than watching my sister's hot fiancé fuck her who is actually my best friend. Can you do that, Austin?"

Austin's eyes lit with amusement, disbelief, desire—it was hard to name. He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening, almost feral now.

"Damn, Eli," he said, voice low and edged with heat. "You've been sitting on that fantasy for a while, haven't you?"

He took another step forward, his body language shifting again, all casual swagger layered over something predatory. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he leaned in close enough for Eli to feel the breath on his cheek.

"I can't decide what's more messed up—that it turns you on this much, or that I'm actually tempted to go along with it." He chuckled, quiet and slow. "You really want me to walk out there, flash her that golden boy grin, maybe even kiss her like I mean it… while you stand here picturing what I taste like? You want me to play prince charming in front of your whole family while you just stand here, drooling over me…?"

"Yes," Eli pleaded, his voice low but urgent. "I want you to live the full life of Austin. Take on his routines, keep up his physique, run his business like it's yours. Hang out with his cocky friends, flirt with other girls—hell, even cheat on my sister like the real Austin would. But let me be yours. Let me be your whore."

"I'm starting to think you might be the sick one." Austin smiled. "Alright," his voice settling into a commanding tone. "You stay here, Eli. Don't move. Don't say a word." His eyes glinted mischievously as he stepped away. "Let your soon-to-be brother-in-law handle the situation—like always."

Just seconds later, Iris entered the house, her cheerful voice ringing through the space. "Hey, babe! I had such a great day with the girls," she called out, upbeat and glowing. "I figured you were probably working out, but no worries—I'm not mad about you not responding. I want to go out tonight, though. A little date night?"

Austin leaned back into the familiar role with effortless ease, his charm slipping on like a tailored suit. He responded with smooth, practiced confidence—his voice light, flirty, and perfectly timed. The banter between them flowed naturally, as if nothing unusual had just taken place.

Once Iris had settled into the living room, Austin announced he was going to get changed. He headed back into the wardrobe room, where Eli was still waiting—tension etched into every line of his posture, his eyes fixed on the door like he hadn't taken a full breath since Austin left.

"Okay," Austin whispered, voice low so it wouldn't carry. "Here's the deal. She wants to go on a date. I'll handle it. You stay put."

Eli nodded, though his eyes never left Austin. He watched, completely captivated, as Austin began to change.

With fluid, self-assured movements, Austin peeled off the sporty outfit. He grabbed a pair of sleek grey pants, the fabric gliding over his toned legs as he stepped into them. Every motion was smooth, deliberate—like muscle memory made flesh.

He reached for a crisp white dress shirt next, sliding his arms through the sleeves and pulling it down over his frame. The cotton stretched just slightly across his broad chest, molding to his shape like it belonged there.

Austin paused at the mirror, taking a moment to admire the reflection. He looked like the golden boy come to life.

Then came the cologne. Two quick spritzes, and the air filled with a clean, masculine scent that hit Eli instantly. His senses swam in it—so distinctly Austin that Eli almost felt dizzy.

Austin closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment. When he opened them again, he ran his fingers through his blond hair in one smooth, practiced stroke, pushing it back into its usual flawless shape.

Eli's eyes followed every motion. The way the shirt pulled at Austin's back when he moved. The curve of his shoulders. The subtle flex of his muscles beneath the cotton.

Finally, Austin stepped back, inspecting the final result in the mirror.

"Do I look perfect?" he asked, his eyes meeting Eli's with a playful, mischievous glint.

Eli swallowed hard. His voice came out as a whisper. "Definitely. You… look handsome as fuck."

Austin chuckled, a low, smug sound of satisfaction. "Of course I do. That was a rhetorical question."

He smirked as he tucked the shirt neatly into his pants, buttoning it up with quick, precise movements. Every gesture was clean, confident—like he was born for this. Like he was this.

Eli felt his pulse quicken as he watched Austin adjust the sleeves. He didn't just roll them up—he did it with a style that looked casual but was clearly calculated. The sleeves stopped just short of the elbow, revealing the defined muscles in his forearms, the fabric hugging just enough to suggest power without trying too hard. It was effortless.

Next, Austin grabbed a black belt, its polished leather a sharp contrast against the light grey of his pants. He cinched it with precision, adjusting the fit until everything sat perfectly at his waist. Eli watched with quiet admiration, noting how even the smallest touches—the way Austin squared his stance, the tug on the belt loop—felt like part of a performance he had somehow mastered.

"It's so hot," Eli muttered, unable to stop the words from slipping out. "How easily you've adapted to being Austin."

Austin smirked, eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction. "What do you mean?" he said, voice smooth. "I am Austin."

He turned slightly, giving Eli a perfect side view as he tugged the shirt deeper into his waistband. The fabric settled neatly across his back and shoulders, every line of muscle outlined beneath the crisp white cotton. Eli felt his breath catch in his throat.

Austin adjusted his collar with a small, deliberate flick of his fingers, then glanced back at Eli, lips curling into a teasing smile. "You sure you're okay over there? You've got that look on your face."

Eli couldn't help himself—his eyes traced every line, every movement. The way the shirt framed Austin's torso, how naturally he wore the role. "Every movement, every moment … I can't get enough of it."

Austin raised a brow, clearly pleased. "Me neither...." he responded, his tone low and taunting. "The best thing is that it's my body... I am Austin Hill." Austin whispered as he proudly stroked his chest with both hands. He turned back to the mirror, smiling a million dollar smile while checking himself once more. "Who would've thought you'd be the one letting your best friend strut around in my body... and charm your sister while he's at it?"

He reached for the cologne again, giving himself a final, confident spritz before smoothing the front of his shirt with practiced ease. Every crease vanished beneath his touch.

Eli's gaze didn't waver. There was something hypnotic watch every movement of Austin—fluid, composed, owning every inch of the body as if he'd always lived in it. The confidence, the posture, the way the shirt hugged his back—it all screamed Austin, and Owen wore it like a second skin.

As Austin was about to leave the bedroom, he reached for the wristwatch Eli had admired earlier. The sleek metal caught the light, gleaming like it belonged to him. He slipped it on without a second thought—an afterthought to the transformation, but somehow the perfect finishing touch.

Eli couldn't tear his eyes away and finally reached into his pants and stroked as fast as he could. Not even seconds and he shot into his pants.

With the final click of the watch strap, Austin looked up and locked eyes with Eli. The smirk was gone.

"You really didn't just da that, did you?" His voice was sharp, laced with contempt. "Why does Iris have to have such a pathetic little brother?"

"Dude, my sister robbed me of my moment," Eli muttered, trying to sound wounded, but the heat in his voice betrayed him. "It's just fair…"

"I don't know when I'll be back or if she'll be with me, but when I come back, you'll be here. And I expect you to either hide to watch me fuck your sister or suck me off later. Do you understand that?"

There was a pause, and Eli—thirsty, breath unsteady—nodded almost instinctively in response.

Austin gave him a small, knowing smirk before adding, "Good boy."

The slight curve of his lips, paired with the gleam in his eyes, suggested he was more than ready to deliver a flawless performance as Austin—confident, composed, and completely in control.

He turned and left the room with the same ease and certainty he had used to slip into the rest of his attire. Eli, still processing the intensity of the moment, could only watch as Austin walked away—knowing full well that he would no longer have any trouble getting along with Austin Hill.

[thesuitaskin]

Cold-Blooded: Demonstration

Read Part I

The usual smells of sweat and leather filled the air, blending with the faint scent of chalk and worn-out mats. It was a place Vic knew well, a place that carried memories of grueling workouts, the satisfying smack of gloves against bags, and the quiet hum of concentration. Boxing had always been simple for him—a sport that required little more than fists, grit, and willpower.

But today, as Vic stood outside the gym, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His phone buzzed again, pulling him from his thoughts.

Hey, already there? Lucas's message appeared on the screen.

Vic frowned, tapping his foot against the pavement. Get some patience, Lucas! He didn't hesitate and headed inside.

The moment Vic entered, the familiar atmosphere hit him. The thud of gloves on punching bags, the grunts of exertion, and the rhythmic sounds of skipping ropes. A small nod from one of the regulars greeted him—someone he'd known for years.

"Vic," the man said, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Long time, huh? You here for a workout?"

"Yeah, I'm just waiting on someone," Vic answered, shoving his phone into his pocket. "He said he got a job here, but didn't tell me much. Just insisted we meet up today."

"Interesting," the guy muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Don't know anyone who started here recently. But hey, you interested in a quick spar? For old time's sake?"

Vic smiled, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good. I'll just wait."

A few minutes passed. Vic's mind wandered as he took in the sights around him—the shadows of fighters practicing in the ring, the clang of weights being dropped, the familiar faces that never seemed to change. But his thoughts kept drifting back to Lucas.

Another buzz.

Hey, gonna be late. Wait for me.

Vic couldn't help but frown again, staring at the screen. Is he kidding me?

Vic knew Lucas was struggling to find stability in his life, but hearing that he was starting at a boxing gym just didn't make sense. What the heck are you doing, Lucas? Lucas wasn't interested in fighting—hell, he didn't have the discipline for it. Not like Vic, who'd trained for years, or the seasoned pros who had been around since the gym's early days. Lucas had always gotten by on charm and smooth talk, but those weren't the qualities that got you by in a place like this. It didn't add up. Not even for Lucas, the one person who seemed to always find a way to screw things up and still land on his feet.

Vic leaned forward, crossing his arms as his eyes scanned the gym. A few familiar faces were scattered around, some working their jabs on the heavy bags, others perfecting their footwork in the ring. The rhythmic sound of gloves landing against bags filled the air, punctuated by grunts of exertion. Vic felt the familiar itch to get in there, to feel the satisfying thud of his fists against the bag. His fingers twitched, but he held back, knowing Lucas would probably show up any minute—though what kind of job his friend had gotten himself into still baffled him.

As he observed the gym, his attention was suddenly drawn to a figure in the corner of his eye. A young guy, probably in his early twenties, who stood out from the rest. Tall, broad-chested, his posture exuding a quiet confidence. Vic's brow furrowed as he watched, intrigued.

This wasn't just some rookie trying to figure out the basics—this kid had serious skill. He was hitting the bag with a fluidity and precision that caught Vic off guard. The kid's punches were fast, almost unnervingly smooth for someone his size. Every strike was deliberate and controlled, yet carried a raw energy that hinted at a level of experience Vic hadn't expected.

After a few more punches, the guy paused, taking a break to check his phone. To Vic's surprise, he started snapping selfies, adjusting his angle with an almost practiced flair. Great, Vic thought with a smirk, just what the gym needs—another self-absorbed showoff.

The kid hopped into the ring, his movements fluid and precise. He faced off against his sparring partner with a quiet confidence, his posture relaxed but ready. Vic's eyes narrowed as he watched, closely analyzing every move.

The kid dodged his opponent's punches with ease, weaving around them like he was made of water. Each duck, each pivot, was calculated, smooth—nearly flawless. But what stood out the most was the aggression in his style. It was raw, like the kid had been in more street fights than Vic could count, but there was something more to it. He blended that street-honed toughness with real technique—a brutal combination. His punches weren't just flailing strikes; they were precise, powerful, and carried with them the weight of someone who knew how to land a blow that counted.

Vic's eyes narrowed as the kid unleashed a perfect combination on his opponent, landing a series of rapid punches that knocked the other fighter off balance.

What the... ? Vic thought, his mind racing. He couldn't help but feel a little unsettled as he watched the kid. This kid was someone who clearly knew what they were doing, someone who could hold their own in a real fight.

Vic shifted, glancing around the room to see if anyone else had noticed, but most were too focused on their own training. That's when the kid turned his head, catching Vic's gaze across the gym.

Their eyes locked.

The kid didn't flinch, didn't look away, and there was something unsettling in the way he regarded Vic. It was as if he knew exactly what Vic was thinking—like he could read his every thought.

The kid's lips curled into a sneer, an arrogant, almost predatory smile. Without a word, he stepped out of the ring, his eyes locked onto Vic with unnerving intensity. There was something about his posture, his movements—like he was daring Vic to react.

Vic stood up straighter, brushing the edge of his jacket absentmindedly, his muscles tightening in response to the energy radiating from the kid. As the kid closed the distance, Vic could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unwavering, like the air itself had shifted around them. He wasn't one to back down from a stare-off, but this one was different.

When the kid was just a few feet away, Vic's irritation began to mix with his curiosity. He was used to young cocky guys coming into the gym, thinking they could take on the world. But there was something off about this one—something that made him feel like he was facing more than just an arrogant rookie. Vic got ready to confront him.

But before Vic could say anything, the kid—no, the man—stopped in front of him, tilting his head slightly to one side. He looked Vic up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly, sizing him up in a way that felt almost predatory.

"Zasto me gledaš?" he asked, his voice smooth but edged with an unmistakable coldness.

Vic paused for a moment, realizing that he didn't understand a word. The question sounded harsh. The words were foreign, but the challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Excuse me?" Vic responded, his confusion quickly turning to irritation.

The man smirked again, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he studied Vic's reaction. "I asked, why are you looking at me like that?" he said, switching to English, but his accent still noticable and commanding.

Vic's jaw tightened. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just trying to figure out why you're acting like you're the king of the gym," he shot back, his irritation rising.

The kid's smirk widened, clearly unfazed. "Then let's figure that out," he said, his tone now dripping with a kind of arrogance that made Vic's blood boil. "I know exactly what I'm capable of. You, on the other hand, seem like you could use a reminder, old man."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all Vic could do was stare at him, the challenge unmistakable. The tension between them thickened.

The kid's lips curled upward again, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You're staring like some kind of freak. Afraid of losing?" he sneered, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

Vic's stomach churned. The lack of respect was unmistakable.

"Careful, kid," Vic grumbled, trying to dismiss the unease gnawing at his chest. "I'm just wondering why a good fighter like you has to be so arrogant. You're not one of the regulars here, are you?"

The kid's expression shifted, the cold grin turning into something more taunting. "No, I'm not one of the regulars. I'm better," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. He took a step closer, a faint scent of leather and something sharp lingering in the air. "So, are you gonna stop staring like some creep, or what? Let's see how you handle yourself, old man. You look like you've seen your share of fights. Come on, show me what you've got."

Vic blinked, his pulse quickening. The challenge hung in the air like a weight, the implications of it settling in. The kid was calling him out. Right here. Right now.

A mix of irritation and annoyance bubbled up in Vic's chest. He clenched his fists at his sides, knuckles cracking under the pressure. The words stung, the challenge stung—he wasn’t used to being talked to like this, especially not in the gym.

Vic exhaled sharply, adjusting his gloves with a controlled motion. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid," he said, his voice low but steady. "But alright. Let’s see if you can back up that mouth. I’m Vic, by the way. We usually introduce ourselves before we start throwing punches."

The kid didn’t budge, his smirk widening. His eyes remained sharp, scanning Vic with an almost unsettling intensity. "Ivan, but you will remember me anyways." he sneered, his voice dripping with cockiness. "Get yourself some gear. We’re about to kickbox. Trust me, you’ll need it."

With that, Ivan’s grin deepened as they entered the ring. He moved into a stance, light on his feet, his eyes locked onto Vic’s every move. Vic mirrored his stance, muscles taut, ready for the challenge. But as Ivan settled into position, the realization hit Vic—this kid was dead serious.

The gym hummed with the usual noise of training—the rhythm of feet sliding, gloves smacking heavy bags, the occasional shout from fighters coaching each other. It wasn’t unusual, but the tension between him and Ivan was palpable. This wasn’t going to be a typical sparring session.

Vic’s heart skipped a beat when he recognized the stance. Ivan was quick, but more than that—he was deliberate. Every movement, every slight shift, told Vic this kid wasn’t just playing around. He wanted to show something.

Ivan’s grin widened as if reading Vic’s mind. He cracked his knuckles in a smooth motion, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling confidence. "I’m waiting," Ivan teased, his voice thick with mockery. "Don’t tell me you're scared, old man."

Vic’s lip curled, his chest tightening. "No kid’s gonna get under my skin," he muttered, but a nagging doubt lingered at the edge of his mind.

"Don't think you can just walk in here and—"

Before Vic could finish, Ivan was already on him. The kid closed the distance faster than Vic anticipated. A quick jab—too fast to block—caught Vic off guard, knocking him back on his heels. Ivan wasn’t just fast; he was sharp, his strikes coming with precision, his footwork effortless.

"Tsss," Ivan hissed, his voice carrying a whip-like snap. "You can’t even keep up with me, old man."

Vic grunted, snapping back into focus. This kid wasn’t just quick—each kick, each punch was controlled, calculated. Ivan wasn’t just fighting to win; he was fighting to dominate him. Ivan didn't just fight to win; he fought to dominate. It was the kind of street technique honed in situations where survival was at stake, taking control and never letting go.

Clenching his jaw, Vic charged forward, throwing a right cross aimed at Ivan’s head.

Ivan, moving with an almost unnatural grace, sidestepped the punch effortlessly. In the same motion, he threw a sharp low kick to Vic’s thigh, the strike landing with a sickening thud that sent pain shooting up Vic’s leg. Ivan wasn’t done. He closed in, a quick left hook to Vic’s ribs making him wince.

"Tsss," Ivan sneered again, his words dripping with disdain. "You’re not even worth my time."

Frustration flared in Vic’s chest as he staggered back, his ribs burning. This kid was toying with him, slipping through his defenses like he wasn’t even there. With every move, Ivan made Vic feel slower, more clumsy. It was starting to gnaw at him.

Vic steadied himself, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t let his anger control him. He faked a jab to Ivan’s face, hoping to bait him into making a mistake.

Ivan’s eyes flashed with amusement, but he moved forward to counter, confident in his ability to dodge. But Vic spun, ducking low just as Ivan committed to the attack. In a fluid motion, Vic landed a clean uppercut to Ivan’s gut. The punch connected with a satisfying thud, and for the first time in the spar, Ivan staggered back, gasping for air.

Vic smirked, a glimmer of satisfaction flickering in his chest. "Thought you were untouchable, huh?"

Ivan's smirk faltered, and in a rare moment of hesitation, Vic saw his opportunity. He feigned a jab to Ivan's face, but before Ivan could react, Vic snapped a sharp left hook straight to his jaw. The punch landed clean, and Ivan’s head snapped back with a sickening crack.

The gym fell momentarily quiet as Ivan staggered back, momentarily stunned. Blood trickled from his lip, dripping onto his chin.

Vic stood tall, his confidence soaring as he watched Ivan’s cocky demeanor crack for just a second. “That’s what happens when you underestimate me, kid.”

Ivan wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Tsss," he hissed, licking the blood from his hand, unfazed. "You’re starting to annoy me, old man."

Without warning, Ivan dropped low, sweeping his leg out from under Vic’s feet. The move was swift, clean—Vic had no time to react before he was slammed hard onto the mat.

But Vic wasn’t ready to call it quits. He sprang to his feet, barely avoiding Ivan’s next strike, and threw a wild hook that caught Ivan off guard. The kid groaned and stepped back, momentarily stunned.

That brief pause was all Vic needed. They circled each other, wariness in their eyes.

"Come on, old man," Ivan taunted again, his voice dripping with that same dark confidence. "You’re still not tired, are you?"

Vic’s breath came in ragged gasps, sweat pouring down his face. His body ached, his legs heavy with exhaustion, but the fire in his chest burned brighter. This kid wasn’t going to break him—not yet.

Ivan moved in again, relentless. Each kick, each punch, each strike was fast and brutal—precise, targeting Vic’s weaknesses. A solid jab to the ribs sent Vic stumbling, and before he could recover, Ivan followed up with a knee to the stomach. The blow wasn’t perfect, but it knocked the wind out of him, leaving Vic gasping for air.

His legs felt like they were made of lead, and for a moment, everything inside him screamed to stop. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not while there was fight left in him. He wouldn’t let this arrogant kid—this cheeky idiot—take him down so easily. He’d push back. Harder.

"Gubim vreme sa tvojim patetičnim dupetom," Ivan taunted, his voice colder than before. "You can't win."

The words stung, reminding Vic of conversations he had with Lucas. Before he had time to think, Ivan was already on him again. A low kick to Vic’s leg sent him stumbling, and Ivan closed the gap with a brutal elbow to the ribs. Vic’s body screamed in pain, but he didn’t fall. The crowd around the gym gasped in shock, but Vic barely heard it.

"Hey! What type of bullshit is that, Ivan? No more of that!" The coach's voice rang out, sharp and filled with authority.

Ivan, mid-move, froze for a split second. His eyes shot toward the coach, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

"Ko ti je dao pravo da mi naređuješ?" Ivan snapped, his voice thick with disdain. His stern expression twisted into a smirk, each word dripping with venom. He closed in on Vic, who was barely holding himself together. "You're lucky, old man."

The coach’s face turned red, his patience snapping. "That's enough! Get out. Now. You're done here."

Ivan, now with a cold expression again, turned back to Vic, clearly savoring the coach’s frustration. "I'm just showing this man who he'd better not mess with," he murmured with contempt. "Ti si samo… starac."

The coach threw up his hands, a deep sigh escaping him. "Get your ass out of here, Ivan" he said again, his voice clipped with finality. "Immediately!"

Ivan gave the coach a mocking bow. A twisted smile curled on his lips before he strode past the coach and headed toward the restrooms.

"God damn, Ivan. I gave you more than one chance to change your attitude," the coach muttered. "Are you alright, mate? Didn't pay attention. I thought you two knew each other."

Vic stood there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, his body aching in ways he hadn't imagined possible. What was up with that kid? The whole experience felt off—like it wasn't just about the fight anymore. There was something deeper at play, something Vic couldn't quite put his finger on. And that phrase... "You can't win"... it sounded so familiar.

"I'm fine. I'm used to worse injuries. Thanks!" Vic explained, waving off the coach's concern as he signaled for him to mind his own business.

Just as Vic was about to leave the ring, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, staring at the screen as his thoughts raced. It was a message from Lucas:

Meet me in the restrooms. I need your help.

Vic's brow furrowed as he glanced at the phone again. Lucas should have been here by now. A sharp mix of confusion and frustration settled in his gut. What was going on? Had Lucas even been watching the fight? Why was he sending this message now?

Reluctantly, Vic made his way toward the restrooms, each step feeling heavier than the last. As he passed a nearby room, he caught a glimpse of Ivan. The kid was once again in front of the mirror, admiring himself. The sight was almost laughable—his arrogance on full display as he struck pose after pose, completely oblivious to the world around him.

What a jerk!

As soon as Vic stepped into the restroom, he called out for Lucas, his voice sharp with frustration. He scanned the room, but the only response was the door slamming shut behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the cramped space, and the air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him.

For a moment, Vic's mind refused to process what was happening. What the hell?

"Dude, are you out of your mind?" Vic's voice dropped, laced with confusion and rising tension. Ivan stood between him and the only exit, the door now locked.

Ivan turned slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with something cold—too knowing, too calculated.

"You're not going to like this, Vic," Ivan said, his voice deceptively casual, but there was an unmistakable chill in his tone. He raised his phone, the screen lighting up to reveal a conversation—one with Lucas.

Vic's confusion shifted to frustration. He took a step back. "What the hell? Why do you have Lucas's phone?" He pointed at the device in Ivan's hand, his voice rising with urgency. "Where is Lucas?"

Ivan chuckled, shaking his head in mock sympathy as he stepped closer. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but the smirk on his lips betrayed something darker beneath the surface. "Lucas is right here," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. With deliberate finality, he tossed the phone onto the sink, the clink of it against the porcelain sending a cold chill down Vic's spine.

"Yeah, right!" Vic laughed, though it was strained, disbelief lacing his voice. "You...! Did you rob him? So you're not just a douche in the ring, you're completely messed up. You need serious help."

Ivan let out a long, deliberate sigh, shaking his head as if Vic were the one who didn't understand. "I know this is hard to wrap your head around, but it's the truth. You're looking at Lucas… well, sort of." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in, watching as Vic's eyes widened in shock. "I found something, Vic. Something that changed everything."

Vic's expression hardened, his confusion quickly morphing into anger. "What the hell are you talking about, kid? You had your fun, but I'm not wasting my time on your twisted games." His fists clenched at his sides, and the muscles in his jaw tensed with frustration. "And even if I believed just single word of this bullshit you said... why the hell would my best friend—who can't even fight—hit me like that?"

Ivan exhaled slowly, a slight twitch in his jaw before he spoke again. Ivan noticed the way Vic tensed, his fists tightening. His voice softened, a deliberate shift in tone—as though he was trying to make Vic understand.

"Vic, control your temper," Ivan said with a taunting grin. "There's no way I wouldn't win the next round. Bet that punch to your ribs still hurts like hell. You don't want another one, do you?" His gaze sharpened, challenging.

Vic paused, visibly trying to steady his breath, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. For a moment, he could see the truth in Ivan's words.

"Ivan here is actually a bodysuit," Ivan continued, his gaze briefly dropping to the floor before locking eyes with Vic. "I wanted you to experience its full effect. You needed to see it for yourself. You know I couldn't fight... I was weak. I was the guy who struggled, barely scraping by, getting through life with no real talent. But that's not who I am anymore."

The way he spoke, the way he carried himself—there was an undeniable aura in his presence. Yet, beneath it all, Vic believed he could see traces of Lucas—small patterns, fleeting glimpses of familiarity. But the man in front of him was cocky, confident, and undeniably imposing for his age.

"I found it in the park a few days ago," Ivan continued, his voice tinged with the same arrogance Vic had felt during their fight. "And instantly decided to wear it." He smirked, leaning into the confidence that now radiated from him. "It's not just a disguise. It's a gift, Vic. This thing? It doesn't just change my appearance. It gives me everything else—his strength, his speed, his fighting ability. It even gives me his memories. His entire life... like it was my own."

Vic blinked, still struggling to process the words that were coming out of Ivan's mouth. "So you're telling me you're Lucas… wearing Ivan's body?" His voice was filled with disbelief, and his anger rose with each passing second. "How is this even possible?"

Lucas—no, it was Ivan's body now—took a slow, deliberate step forward. His gaze shifted toward the mirror, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, admiring the reflection of the face that had once belonged to Ivan.

Ivan's body was nearly perfect—decent features, a nice jawline, and eyes that gleamed with cold confidence. His body was muscular—powerful—and Lucas couldn't help but revel in it. Every flex of his arms seemed to channel more strength. As he raised one arm to inspect his biceps, he was almost entranced by their sheer size. His hand wandered over his chest, feeling the defined pecs beneath his fingertips. Lucas was intoxicated by Ivan's body. The power, the confidence—it was all too much, and he was drunk on it.

"Damn," Lucas muttered, flexing again for emphasis. His voice oozed satisfaction. He caught Vic's eye in the mirror, his smirk unwavering. "Look at this body. It's everything I've ever wanted. Hell, it's more than I imagined."

With a final glance at his reflection, Lucas turned back to Vic. Each step he took toward him was slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes locked onto Vic's, dark with something dangerous. "And it's not just about the look, Vic," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "It's everything. His strength. His experience. His skills. I'm Ivan now... and all those things you probably hate about him? I get to enjoy them."

He paused, savoring the effect his words had on Vic. Then, without warning, Lucas shifted gears. His voice flowed smoothly in a language Vic still couldn't name, the words rolling off his tongue with eerie ease. The tone was flawless, natural, as if he had spoken the language his entire life. "Možda još ne razumete, ali ovo je sada moj život. I biće mnogo bolje od mog starog."

The words were a taunt, a deliberate mockery, and Lucas flashed Vic a grin, letting the meaning of the speech sink into Vic's chest like a heavy weight.

Seeing the confusion in Vic's eyes, Lucas let out a low chuckle. "Did you get that, Vic? That's Serbian. My native language. I couldn't even manage to say a single word of it just days ago… hilarious, huh?" His eyes gleamed with malice. "It's like being born again, Vic. But better."

Vic's fists clenched, his body tightening with a mixture of disbelief and simmering jealousy.

"Calm down, tiger. I just said that this is my life now. And it's going to be a lot better than my old one." Ivan explained.

The body Lucas now wore was something Vic could only envy. He felt left behind, as if he was stuck in a past that no longer mattered. The thought of it stung more than Vic was willing to admit. The bitter knot of jealousy twisted tighter in his chest with each passing second, suffocating him.

"Seriously?" Vic spat, his voice rising with frustration. "You tell me you just found Ivan's suit… and the best you could come up with was beating me up?" His fists clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms, as jealousy seeped into his every word.

Lucas met Vic's gaze in the mirror, his smirk widening. His eyes gleamed with something dark, something knowing. "You're saying that you would have believed me if I had just spoken to you? No, I mean this way was the right way. You think I don't see it, Vic? You think I don't know you're jealous?" His voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. "I see it all. You hate me for what happened just minutes before and right now."

An uncomfortable realization gnawed at Vic, a feeling that he couldn't shake. The truth hit him like a cold splash of water: This was real. Lucas was wearing Ivan's body. And the power, the identity, had become a part of him.

"Then prove it," Vic shot back, his voice trembling, caught between confusion and rising anger. "Take it off."

For the briefest of moments, Lucas's expression shifted—his cocky, unshakable arrogance faltering, the faintest flicker of something else passing through his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by that ever-present smirk.

"That's the thing, Vic," he said, his voice lowering, thick with discomfort. "I don't know why. It's… it's stuck. I don't know how to get out of it. Nor would I even try. I think I'm locked into Ivan's life now." He paused, the words hanging in the air, thick with uncertainty. Then, almost casually, he added, "But don't worry, I'm not sad I'm stuck here."

Vic stood frozen, staring at the figure before him—the sight of it was suffocating. The impossibility of it all crashed over him in waves, his mind spinning in circles. Questions, a thousand questions, rose up within him, but none of them made sense. Lucas was gone. That much was clear. The man in front of him wasn't the person he'd once known. But every so often, a flicker of Lucas still managed to break through, like a ghost haunting Ivan's form.

A soft laugh escaped Ivan's lips, shattering the silence between them. It was eerie—the way it lingered, filling the room with a disquieting, unsettling air. "Look at me, Vic," he said, his tone shifting, becoming almost playful, but still sharp with mockery. "This body—those skills—it's not something I'm planning on letting go of." He stretched his arms out, flexing Ivan's muscles with exaggerated pride. His grin widened with every movement. "Do you really think I'd give this up? No chance. This is too damn good, Vic."

Ivan's blue eyes glimmered with something dark as he took a slow, deliberate step toward Vic. The space between them felt charged, alive with tension. "And you?" Ivan's voice was dripping with condescension, like he knew something Vic didn't. "You're still stuck in your old life, still pretending you don't want what I have now. But deep down, I know you do. You can't win, Vic."

There it was again. That phrase. "You can't win." The words—Lucas's words—echoed in his mind. He remembered how often Lucas had used it to taunt him, to get under his skin. Now, it felt different, twisted in a way that made Vic's skin crawl.

Vic's eyes narrowed, a cocktail of jealousy and confusion swirling inside him. "So, what's the deal, Lucas?" he asked, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration. "Or should I say… Ivan?" He emphasized the name, a challenge in itself. "Why should I believe any of this? What's your angle?"

Lucas—no, Ivan—smiled, leaning slightly closer, his presence overpowering. "You catch on quick," he said, throwing Vic a wink that felt more mocking than playful. "Think about it, Vic. The way I took you down earlier? The way we're talking now? That's proof enough, don't you think?" He gave a slow, deliberate shrug, like everything had fallen perfectly into place. "This body is a new kind of freedom. I've spent years holding myself back, but not anymore." He let the words hang for a moment before his gaze hardened, a faint, dangerous gleam flickering in his eyes. "But don't worry, we're in this together now. You'll see what I mean."

Vic hesitated, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of disbelief and reluctant curiosity. Despite the shock, despite the overwhelming strangeness of it all, a part of him couldn't look away. There was something magnetic about Ivan's—no, Lucas's—confidence. It was impossible to ignore, impossible to brush off.

Ivan stepped away from the mirror, his eyes locking onto Vic with a knowing glint. He moved toward a nearby locker, unhurried, his every step brimming with confidence. There was no rush in the way he moved, no hesitation. It was as if he owned the room—and Vic, by extension. He peeled off the black undershirt and shorts, each movement deliberate, showcasing the strength in his back as he twisted and tossed them aside carelessly. His muscles flexed with ease, the sheer breadth of his back catching the light, almost as if he wanted Vic to admire his new body.

Vic's gaze flickered to him despite himself. It wasn't just the physique—it was how Ivan carried himself now. It was the way he moved with the confidence of someone who knew he was in control. The predator now in full display, aware of the prey before him.

Once the undershirt and shorts were discarded, Ivan grabbed a pair of grey trousers, slipping them on smoothly with casual expertise. The fabric hugged his thighs, emphasizing the muscle there. He pulled a simple black shirt over his head, the material stretching across his chest as he moved. When he reached for a grey hoodie hanging on a nearby hook, he stretched his arms high above his head, a fluid movement that let Vic see the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge beneath the fabric, as though the body was an extension of the power he now felt coursing through him.

Ivan shifted his focus to the beige Timberland-like boots sitting nearby. He bent down slowly, making sure to stretch his legs with a deliberate, controlled motion. The muscles in his thighs and ass shifted with the movement, and for a brief moment, Vic couldn't tear his gaze away.

Once the boots were on, Ivan stood tall, giving a subtle flex of his calves, ensuring Vic didn't miss the sleek definition in his legs. With a satisfied grunt, he straightened himself and twisted slightly, adjusting the fit of his boots, showing off how natural it all felt. He was comfortable, settled in his new skin.

Finally, Ivan reached for the green bomber jacket hanging on a nearby hook. His movements were slow, careful as he shrugged it on, the fabric settling over his broad shoulders like it belonged there. He adjusted the sleeves, stretched them out with a deliberate motion, and in the process, showed off his biceps again. Every action he was constantly flaunting. The jacket, the boots, the beanie that he threw casually onto his head—it was all a statement. It was a look that commanded attention, and Ivan was basking in it.

He ran a hand through his hair, making sure everything was in place, his expression one of pure satisfaction as he took in the reflection of his new self. He pulled out his phone and set it up for a selfie. With a small, pleased grin, he raised the camera in front of him, turning his head just slightly to the side. He moved his arm to show off the new width of his muscles, the hoodie and bomber jacket adding to the definition of his physique.

The transformation was almost complete, and Ivan could feel the new persona settling over him like a second skin. The body, the confidence, the look—it was all his now. And Vic? Vic was left standing in the background, watching it all unfold, caught in a whirlwind of confusion, jealousy, and disbelief.

The camera clicked, and Ivan studied the shot for a moment, nodding in approval. Without skipping a beat, he took another, this time winking at the camera, clearly aware of the image he was projecting.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself, a smug grin spreading across his face. "This is it."

He turned toward Vic, locking eyes with him. His grin widened, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Not bad, huh?" Ivan asked, his voice oozing with cocky confidence. He flexed his arms slightly, savoring the feel of the muscles beneath the fabric.

"Alright," Vic muttered, his voice still tinged with confusion but with a hint of reluctant curiosity. "Let's see what this ‘Ivan' has in mind. I'm getting kind of tired of you flaunting in front of me like you've got something to prove."

Ivan grinned, clearly enjoying the tension. "Don't be so bitter, Vic," he retorted, his voice dripping with playful arrogance again. "Don't be mad because I kicked your old ass that easily. It's amazing having these martial arts skills and even look fucking handsome. You, though? Just average. Guess you wasted your youth not realizing it."

"You're a real piece of shit," Vic shot back, his frustration evident but tempered with disbelief.

Ivan laughed, the sound thick with self-assurance. "Sorry, not sorry, Vic. This is the new me."

They left the restrooms together, and as they walked past, a few men cast curious glances their way. Ivan, never one to miss an opportunity, shot them a quick look and muttered something in Serbian under his breath. His tone was dismissive, and the men quickly turned their attention elsewhere, clearly unnerved.

When they reached Ivan's car, he stretched with a grin, clearly enjoying the perks of his new body.

"Is it hot in here, or am I just hot as fuck?" Ivan said, casually shrugging off his hoodie and jacket. "Must be all this new energy I'm carrying around," he added, still smirking as he shot a glance at Vic.

Vic shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened. But as Ivan slid into the driver's seat, oozing confidence, Vic reluctantly followed suit.

"Don't be so offended, Vic. I'll take you to my new place. There, I can finally show you the life-changing surprise I've got in store for my best friend," Ivan said, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Meanwhile, you can drool over the size of my arms." With that, he started the car's engine, puffed out his chest, and flexed his arm, clearly relishing the attention.

Vic, still trying to make sense of everything, raised an eyebrow but couldn't help feeling a flicker of curiosity. He had no idea what Lucas was on about, but the intensity of his confidence, combined with that cocky smirk, was hard to ignore. "Life-changing surprise?" Vic muttered, his tone skeptical but tinged with reluctant intrigue. "Guess I'll find out soon enough."

[vindictivenerdcels]

Spinoff: The Man That Lost Everything

The finale. Read the previous part here

Thomas sits in the back of Detective Wade's car, his hand clasped and his statuesque, long legs found itself to fit into the back of the small FBI sedan. But despite feeling uncomfortable, he's at peace knowing that he's doing the right thing by eventually snitching on Cole after years of mental and physical torture inflicted by his stepfather and his goons. Heck, even hundreds of miles away and he still tortured by Cole's accomplices, but it's not going to be long before he can take a full, relieved breath when all of his tormentor captured in this sting joint operation led by Wade's FBI unit.

He informed Detective Wade about this possible shipment from the cartel in this abandoned port around 1 hour from their hometown. He still remembered when Cody first drove him all the way to the abandoned port. The ride was rough and felt very long because not only the roads were in bad shape, Cody forced Thomas to "hide his head" to not alert the police by resting his face right on Cody's sweaty, mesh shorts right on his bulging crotch. He knew it was a blatant cruel lie from Cody because why would the police cared about him, but not like he could fight himself against the 6'3" 245 lbs towering blonde hunk

He made that kind of trips around 11 times but stopped altogether last year, yet he still remembered vividly the way to reach the place and the usual schedule of shipment. Thomas got this info because as far away he tried to move out from Cole's sphere of influence, with him still in the Air Force, he practically heard his own compromised leaders talked about this shipment. Shipment days are also usually when the whole crew gathered for plan adjustment and whatnot from what Thomas learned, so it's the perfect time for an ambush to catch them all in one sweeping move

Heavy rain splashed the car's window and limited the vision for the night drive, but Thomas still believed that everything is still going on according to the plan. Rain won't stop those thugs, he thought, his head rested to the window as the sound of the rain lulled him with sense of security. Thomas missed out the fact that Detective Wade and his partner are grinning from ear-to-ear cupping their stolen hard-on thinking how fun the night's going to be when they will all circle the poor and naive Timid Tommy when they drop this act sooner or later

Acting as if he never visited the port, Detective Wade asked Thomas with a slight smirk to lead the direction once they reached a more beaten path. Thomas, obvious to the trap he's walking himself in, directed the detectives with excited detail to the point of it sounded like a sickening child giddily receiving his present

"Oohhh....be careful, there's a hole 150 meters from here,"

"You want to take the right side of the street for 500 meters until you see this signage because the left side is badly damaged,"

"It's so dark but I know there's a sharp left turn in about 75 meters, watchout!"

Wade rolled his eyes everytime Thomas warned him, the shrill sound really just asked to be punched or something, Wade thought to himself. But, he managed to keep his cool and finally arrive at the abandoned seaport complex

"Well, here we are. I think we should go on foot, the rain stops already," Detective Wade said as he opened the car door and walked out to the wet, muddy soil

"Yeah, that sounds about right. I will direct you guys from the back, then?" said Thomas as he checked all his belongings before exiting the car

"Uh huh, we need to keep you safe, Thomas. Let me and my boys do the work. I will also ask for the naval and aerial backup to start flying now," Detective Wade said as he checked his guns and reached for his cellphone while proceeding to talk to his fellow detective

"Naval and aerial backup?" asked Thomas as he gets out from the left side of the passenger door, putting distance between him and the two detectives

"Yeah, boats and helicopter. We need to surround the entire area anyway. They are nearby so it will take them less than 10 minutes," said Detective Wade with his back still facing Thomas, he's deep in conversation with the other officers that started to gather around him

"Wait--- but I thought that---"

"Put the vest on, okay, let's gather outside and then you can show us the way,"

"O-- ohh okay. I just, backup--- isn't this your first time----

"What did you say again, Thomas?"

"Uh.....ohh, nothing. Sorry to interrupt you. It's that way, 400 meters straight and then take the right turn. They are usually in the one warehouse very close to Dock 3,"

"Dock 3, got it. Okay boys, let's move very gently, we don't want to alert them, okay?"

When all the guns drawn and countless police officers started to yell "NOPD!" a couple minutes later, Thomas face started to brighten up. There they are......his tormentors.....all raising their hands and face looking pale as fuck. The drugs are still being processed and they are seemingly very surprised they have 0 times to reach for their weapon stash or clarify what are these bunch of rag-tag military officers and veteran doing late at night in an abandoned port. Thomas witnessed Cody being pinned to the floor and hand's cuffed, he tried to resist but it's futile as the officer pressed Cody's back with his knee and several guns clearly directed at him. The same goes with the bunch of vets in their brown shirt looking disgruntled and pissed off and there's also the active military bunch like Sergeant Jacobs, Senior Airmen Mendes, Technical Sergeant Chadstone and others that try to talk to their apprehending officers. But the grand prize of it all is seeing Cole Armstrong cuffed by Detective Wade, his facial expression turned from desolate to anger once he spots Thomas

"YOU! FUCKING PUSSY! FUCK YOU!" roared Cole, which caused Thomas to flinch yet Detective Wade quickly subdued him to the ground

"Enough with the antics, Armstrong! Thanks to Thomas, we finally captured you and your goons. You will have plenty to explain later down the station, that I can guarantee,"

"Detective Wade. I need to tell you one more thing. You can also probably tell your boys to do the same thing as what I'm about to do,"

Thomas steps closer to reach Cole and then after staring right at his deep blue eyes, he grabbed Cole's thick neck. Cole screamed in agony and tried to break free from the cuff, he screamed "no" countlessly and tried to wriggle himself free to no avail. Much to the surprised look that Thomas peeked from Detective Wade's face, there's a layer of skin beneath Cole Armstrong tanned white skin. It's glistening dark skin, albeit a bit light, like cafe latte and then with one final swoop as if taking off a hoodie, a slightly smaller head appear on top of Cole Armstrong's body

"They are all body suits, Detective. Skin of our patriotic soldiers taken and used by thugs like DeShawn Martell and his crew to advance their criminal enterprises,"

"Well, just like me," and suddenly, a left hook from Detective Wade landed squarely on Thomas face that instantly caused him to fall to the floor. His head spins like crazy and his ear ringing as he's clearly going to lose his consciousness, the last thing he heard is the loud "whoa brother!" from Shawn and the sight of the cruel smirk from Detective Wade that hovered above him

When Thomas finally wakes up, he's tied to a chair and positioned in the middle of the warehouse. Yet, everything is cleared up, no sight of the police raid or even the drug shipment, only lines of thugs standing in front of him with crumpled rubbery skin and discarded clothes in front of them. But there's no Shawn in the lineup, because he's standing behind Thomas with a syringe and only when he speaks that Thomas realized that Shawn is behind him, still in his prized Cole bodysuit

"How's my acting earlier, boy? Convincing enough?"

Thomas eyes went wide. Acting? This is merely a set-up? All of this??? Where's Detective Wade?

"Well, well, well......thinking you're slick huh, don't you boy? Do you really think it's gonna be that easy to take me down? I run this shit for almost a decade, I thought of almost all possible scenario already,"

Thomas gritted his teeth, his mind screaming in all differing direction as he's definitely not going to get out of this situation in pristine condition.

"But have to admit, Wade is close. New detective and all their excitement, I guess. Clearly he doesn't know how we run things over here, am I right, Captain Bostick?"

Like a sick, twisted joke, one of the guy, tattoed from head to toe and looking clearly from the bad part of the town then steps up to grab the rubbery suit in front of him and not long after, Captain Bostick that leads the local PD stands up buck-naked with a sly smirk

"Wade clearly didn't know how to play, lucky he's a reformed man now," the Captain said as he put on his clothes while glancing at this bleached-blonde thug.

The bleached-blonde thug that cannot be older than 22 steps to the front and grabbed the crumpled rubbery skin, donning on Detective Wade as if it's a mere overall or simple clothing

"Tada," he said with a smile as he rotated himself around and even saliciously twerk his ass as if he's not a respected FBI detectives. He put on his shorts to hide his growing uncut monster as he explained how Marquis took down the detective right after his initial interview with Thomas before swapping suits with him just a couple days ago when Detective Wade came barging through Thomas apartment

"ANSWER MY GODDAMN FUCKING QUESTION, THOMAS! DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF ENTERPRISES YOUR STEPFATHER RUNS? HAHAHAHHA damn, remember that shit bro? It was all me,"

Thomas felt like a he just got hit with a punch in the gut. The detective has been taken over for that long, and he didn't notice anything different.......

"I open my net wide, Tommy. My brother. My veteran friend. My active duty friend. They are not enough. So I obviously expand. The police. The rich trust fund baby that tried to sober up and stop buying shit from us. The ICE agents.....the FBI. Yeah, it's a work of a decade, but as you can see, I'm making my mark everywhere. And you naively think that I can be taken down that easy? You fool," Cole said as he then literally punched Thomas right in the gut. If not for the rope that tied him, Thomas would be slumping to the floor already

"Folks, talk to your brothers about possible switch-ups, in 5 minutes, we're starting something fun,"

As the crowd gets louder trying to get each other's bodysuit, Cole leans closer to Thomas ear to deliver the point he wanted his stepson to hear

"You've seen quite a lot and you literally snitched on my whole scheme to an FBI agent, so, this is what will happen---"

The more he listened to Cole, the paler he becomes, and he turned as white as a porcelain when he realized that all of the thugs already slid themselves inside their respective suit, looking spotless and clearlg not the type to engage in the sort of criminal endeavor happened in this warehouse. Thomas even wet himself as the last person, Sergeant Arroyo, finished with tightening his boots, his looming fate becomes closer and he can only rely on himself to get out of this situation. Cole then cut the rope that tied him and that's when Thomas started to make a run for his life, all the other men followed suit 10 seconds later as a leg-up for the scaredy Thomas. He sprinted his way to the entrance of the port, trying to get himself inside one of the cars driven by the police and FBI agents and go as fast and as far as he can. Yet, just 200 metres away to the first car, a figure wearing visible white t-shirt appeared out of nowhere from behind the parked cars and practically blocking Thomas way to reach the car.

"Hey there bud, Cole told me you'll go this way, guess you're very predictable huh,"

"Don't get any closer, I have a gun!"

"It's no more loaded, dumbass," the guy said as he lunged at Thomas, both men trying to pin each other with the stranger having the leverage over Thomas

"All these muscle you built, for nothing. Guess that's why Cole said I'll run your body and life better,"

Thomas eyes went wide with the revelation. It turned even wider when he found out that Cole is not the only one with the serum as this stranger takes out the syringe out of his pocket and start trying to jab Thomas. He tried to resist his best and fight yet just when his other chaser turned from the corner and headed their way, the stranger already jabbed Thomas right by his neck, rendering Thomas unconscious as per the deflated procedure. Just like the last time he passed out earlier tonight, a grin became his last vision, this time from the stranger. Yet at the same time, he feels it. The sense of emptiness that claws from within.....ohhh this really is the last time he's going to be alive, right? He pondered about his fate while gazing at the clear dark blue sky, life ended tragically in an abandoned, muddy seaport, yet no one knows about it since he will still be alive for his close friends and family as this thug will probably assume his identity and lived his life to the fullest. Oh, to simply have another night......must be a blessing

---

Thomas Parker returned to the good grace of his stepfather, much to the delight of his mother that finally can see his two favorite person in the world live amicably. Thomas seemed to be more confident and outgoing too, the military life clearly brought something positive after all these years for Thomas, or so his mom thought. She of course has no idea that the way Cole and Thomas plus Cody bonded so well nowadays happened because they all worked for the same cause and with "Thomas" finally stop acting like a bitch, all falls into place perfectly. For Cole, this is finally a perfect family and societal setting for him. Loving wife, reliable brother and his stepson finally having the same mindset as his, not to mention the supportive friends he gathered, clearly a very great way to enjoy one's retirement

---

Whoa, it's been a while since I fully finished a multi-part story LOL. As usual, thanks for the constant motivation to push through @thesuitaskin you and the others enjoying this sort of fueled me to wrap things up. Feel free to add things up like exploring more on Cody's character or other angles, it's an open book after all. I am looking at your other story with excitement but I guess this guy is my next target since I have tons of his picture that I need to use, but I don't have plot yet for it, so, a momentary break maybe?

[thesuitaskin]

I really appreciate your work. It is a real pleasure to see how you have brought this hot story to life. These stories have long since shed the “spin-off” label. You have created this great arc.

[thesuitaskin]

Cold-Blooded

"Hey, hold on! I'll help you!" Shit! Lucas shouted, his voice sharp with urgency. He sprinted with thinking, the pounding headache from his hangover now forgotten in the face of the crisis. Shit, shit, shit. As he neared the figure in the water, his stomach dropped. The person was barely alive, floating lifelessly in the cold water.

Breathless, Lucas dove to the ground, skidding across the icy shore, desperate to pull the stranger from the water. His heart raced, fear gnawing at him. He feared he wouldn't be able to get him out, especially now that he could see how physically imposing the younger man was. When Lucas grabbed the stranger's swollen shoulder, the skin gave way beneath his fingers—soft, like a rotten fruit. He jerked his hand back, startled.

————

Just the night before, he'd angrily tossed his apron into the trash, defeated by another failed job. He’d been kicked out of the kitchen again. And this time, it wasn’t even his fault. He’d been working as a kitchen assistant, but a sneaky asshole named Samuel had sabotaged his work once again. Lucas hadn't been able to prevent the mess from reaching the boss, and he'd been fired on the spot.

In a haze of frustration, Lucas had gone out, bought a bottle of whiskey, and stumbled through the night, trying to drown his failures. He had no idea how he was going to survive the month without a job. His apartment was hanging by a thread—there was no way he could pay the rent. Another failure, another step closer to rock bottom.

Full of self-pity, he had collapsed on a park bench, the cold seeping through the thick layers of his jacket, but the warmth of the alcohol kept him from freezing. The world felt as numb as he did.

The next morning, he woke up with a crushing headache, the remnants of alcohol still thick in his bloodstream. He stumbled home, hoping to figure out how to pull himself together. The thoughts swirling in his mind were as chaotic as his footsteps as he walked through the empty park. Then, at the lake's edge, he saw a small figure, crumpled and motionless. Something in his gut twisted.

————

"What the hell...?" Lucas muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He approached slowly, unsure if his touch had caused the strange reaction on the stranger’s skin.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked, his voice shaky, but knowing full well he wouldn't get a response. The man had to have been in the lake for a while; there was no way he hadn't sunk to the bottom by now. Lucas was baffled—why hadn’t the man disappeared into the depths?

Lucas took a deep breath and braced himself. He reached for the man’s shoulder again. The skin was just as strange as before—almost too soft. But this time, Lucas gritted his teeth, tightened his grip, and, with all his strength, he pulled the man out of the water.

To his surprise, the stranger was unnervingly light. His body felt hollow, like an empty shell. It was as if all the substance had drained out, leaving only the skin and muscles behind.

As Lucas finished dragging the man onto the icy shore, he stared down at the body in disbelief. This wasn’t what he had expected.

The man he had just rescued seemed more like a suit than a person. Lucas quickly noticed a large slit running along the stranger’s broad back. Could I slip inside?

He had never imagined he’d find himself in a situation like this. But if what he was thinking was possible—if he could somehow fit into that hollow form—this could be his way out of the nightmare he’d been living.

Lucas inspected the bodysuit again. It was still dressed in wet jeans, worn-out sneakers, and several necklaces—details that hinted at the person it once was.

His curiosity growing, Lucas wondered if there was anything of value hidden on the man. He dug into the stranger’s pockets, hoping for something—anything—that might offer an explanation or, at the very least, a clue.

He reached into the side pocket of his pants and felt a large object. Shit, that's his cock. After a few seconds of hesitation, Lucas switched to the other pocket and his fingers brushed against something small and rectangular. With trembling hands, he pulled it out and flipped it open.

The wallet held an ID, a driver’s license, and several credit cards. Lucas froze, his breath catching. He scanned the contents quickly, his mind racing. The name on the ID. The address. Everything seemed fine, just waterlogged—meaning that man couldn’t have been in the lake for long. His heart pounded louder, but then another thought crept into his mind.

Ignoring the biting cold and the water still clinging to him and the body, Lucas glanced around, making sure no one could see him. Then, without hesitation, he stripped off his own clothes and prepared himself to enter the empty shell before him. Though the body was deflated, it didn’t mask the solid muscles underneath. Without wasting another second, he dove in, disregarding the freezing temperature.

The sensation of stepping into another body was unlike anything Lucas had ever imagined. As his feet settled into place, he was stunned at how quickly the body seemed to connect with his own nerves. It felt almost as if the body was melding with him, making him forget that he wasn’t in his own skin anymore. The young man’s powerful thighs now supported Lucas’s weight, and as he continued, Lucas moved his own tool into the guy's cock, positioning himself in a way that gave him a sense of satisfaction. He was overwhelmed by the new sensations, his mind momentarily distracted by the overwhelming feeling.

He continued maneuvering the body, flexing the massive arms and feeling the layer of muscle beneath him. His own torso was now covered by a proud, muscular frame that felt foreign yet exhilarating. Hesitating for a moment, Lucas pulled the man’s face over his own, as if pulling on a hood. His vision blurred, and a heavy weight settled over his features. The sensation was both disorienting and thrilling. He immediately noticed the slit on his back closing as if sealing him into this new form.

The cold air hit his skin differently now. He quickly discarded the wet trousers and slipped back into his own clothes, which now stretched tight over his newly muscled frame. He marveled at the experience, but his growing unease reminded him that he had to leave before anyone noticed him. He had to move quickly.

Once fully dressed, though his old clothes now strained against his new, more muscular body, Lucas checked the man’s ID—Ivan—for an address. Elm Street in Dunwell. Damn it. Lucas knew that area well. It wasn’t the best part of town, but it wasn’t much worse than the mess he’d just found himself in.

In a hurry and eager to escape, he grabbed everything around him, including the wallet, and rushed to Ivan’s home. He knew he had to get there fast—before anyone saw him, before the reality of what he'd just done fully sank in.

————

Lucas reached the address and checked Ivan’s ID one last time.

So, this is your place, Ivan Petrov.

Breathing heavily, Lucas finally took a moment to focus on the unfamiliar sound of his breath. He was drawn to the rasp in his voice and experimented with it, adjusting to the new sensation in his throat.

Not just a handsome guy. Even that voice, he chuckled to himself.

His gaze shifted to the apartment door, where Ivan’s name was displayed. To his surprise, the door stood slightly ajar. He stepped inside cautiously, half-expecting an intruder. What he didn’t expect was the size of the apartment. His breath caught in awe—it was far bigger than he’d imagined. Relieved to find it empty, he closed the door behind him and began surveying the space.

Not bad for a 23-year-old...

As he entered the bedroom, his eyes fell on a phone. He unlocked it effortlessly with facial recognition, and the screen flooded with missed calls and messages from someone named Logan.

Damn it. No idea what happened to this guy, or what kind of mess he was in.

Taking a deep breath, Lucas forced himself to stay calm, setting the phone aside.

Then the discomfort hit him. The feeling of being dirty—drenched in the water his new body had swum through. The cold air that clung to his skin. The clothes, too tight for his frame, constricting with every move. And the adrenaline still coursing through him, making his skin itch and sweat.

Damn, never thought my clothes would feel this tight. Never thought I’d wear someone else’s body, either...

He undressed quickly, standing in front of the mirror for the first time, fully aware of the body he now inhabited.

Staring at his reflection, Lucas examined every inch of the new form. His face—sharp, angular, with eyes that burned a striking blue—was utterly foreign to him. He leaned in closer, inspecting each detail, tracing the contours, the pores, and the angles of his features. The unfamiliarity of it all gnawed at him. What kind of man was Ivan Petrov?

The eyes, cold and piercing, were unmistakably Eastern European. He tested different facial expressions: a smile, a frown, annoyance—then locked on the last one, a scowl. But it was the challenging look he found most compelling, the silent dare in the depths of his gaze.

Lucas couldn't help but admire the sight. His once average looks were now hidden beneath this young, shapely face. It was almost surreal to see himself in a form that probably exuded more confidence than he had ever known.

He took a few steps back, surveying his entire body. The broadness of his shoulders, the muscular chest, the imperfections of his skin—it was a welcome shift from his former, unremarkable physique. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger, yet it was him now. A man called Ivan Petrov...

Lucas curiously tested the movements of his new body, stretching his fingers and running his hands over the muscles and veins that now defined his arms. He marveled at how his skin stretched smoothly over the solid, unfamiliar frame. Each flex, each shift, brought a strange yet satisfying pleasure, as if the body itself was waking up to its new strength.

Lucas studied his reflection one last time, a flash of envy crossing his mind as he took in Ivan’s youthful, sculpted features. He couldn’t help but compare the vibrant, chiseled face before him to his own 35-year-old frame. Damn, he thought, I can’t wait to see what this body can do. The weights are calling.

His gaze fell to Ivan's disheveled hair, and he chuckled under his breath. With a smirk, he flashed a grin at his reflection. A new confidence stirred within him. It was time to wash away the cold, the wetness, and keep exploring what this body could do.

As he stepped into the cramped shower, a soft laugh escaped him. His broad frame nearly pressed against the shower walls, the tight space accentuating the difference between his former self and this new form. The small, confined space felt even tighter now—another reminder that everything was about to change.

He confidently reached for his now fleshy cock, which had grown to almost 7 inches. This Slavic stallion definitely had a weapon in his pants. As he shot his load, he was overcome with pride - he didn't know if it was his seed or the guy's - but the idea that his seed could now continue the line of Slavic men was a great one.

As Lucas stepped out of the shower, he couldn’t help but flex his back in front of the mirror, his eyes widening at the sight. The muscles seemed to ripple with every movement, more defined and powerful than anything he’d ever seen from this distance. Unable to resist, he gave his bicep a flex, watching in awe as the muscle swelled beneath his skin. The sheer strength and definition were staggering—he had never imagined he could possess something like this. It was as if his body had been sculpted from stone. The feeling was both exhilarating and humbling.

Is this even natural? Lucas thought, his mind buzzing. Or is this just how guys are these days?

Bemused, he strode toward Ivan’s wardrobe, curiosity piquing his interest. As he rifled through the clothes, he quickly realized that Ivan had a diverse range of styles—everything from sleek, 'old money' to casual streetwear, each piece reflecting a different side of him. The wardrobe was a reflection of confidence, a far cry from his own limited choices.

Lucas tried on a few outfits but ultimately chose a muscle t-shirt that highlighted his new torso, paired with comfortable joggers. It felt fitting—a way to embrace the youthful energy he was now radiating. The look seemed authentic, at least in appearance.

With no clear plan and no idea what to do next, his attention drifted back to Ivan’s phone.

This guy named Logan... Logan’s desperation was clear from his frantic messages.

"Ivan, where are you????!"

"Call me back!!"

"Shit, I’ll have to leave."

"Hope you aren’t dead, bro."

Each message deepened Lucas’s concern. The intensity of their exchanges revealed a close bond between Ivan and Logan. But the more Lucas read, the more he realized things weren’t as simple as they seemed. Among the casual banter, there were mentions of gang movements, a planned robbery, body suits, and taking over—none of it explained exactly what had happened, but the implication was clear: they were in deep.

Before he could process any more, the doorbell rang.

Lucas froze, his heart pounding. He moved cautiously toward the door, trying to make no noise. The bell rang again, followed by a series of heavy knocks.

"Ivan! It’s me, Logan. Are you there? Open up!"

Lucas braced himself for whatever was about to come as he slowly turned the door handle. When the door cracked open, he was met with the face of the man who could only be Logan. Without a moment’s hesitation, Logan charged in, a large bag gripped tightly in his left hand.

"Svyatoye der'mo!" Logan swore, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. In one smooth motion, he pulled a gun from his pocket, the cold barrel pressing directly against Lucas’s face.

"What the fuck, bro?!" Lucas shouted, panic creeping into his voice.

"I tried to contact you a hundred times! Who the fuck are you? Is this some of Andreyev's rats wearing my best bro's skin?" Logan hissed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Logan, calm down! It’s me!" Lucas shot back, his voice steady despite the rising tension. He knew if Logan pushed him, it would all unravel. There was no room for mistakes now.

"Prove it! Turn around and show me your back!" Logan demanded, his voice cold and unyielding, his finger pressing firmly on the trigger.

"Logan..."

"NOW!" Logan barked, his tone razor-sharp and commanding.

Without a second thought, Lucas spun around and ripped off his shirt, exposing his back.

"Vyataya Bogoroditsa! Dude, you scared the hell out of me! What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn’t you respond to me? I thought I lost you, you crazy son of a bitch!" Logan exclaimed, his voice filled with both relief and frustration.

Lucas turned around, surprised to see Logan looking much more relaxed.

“I’m fine. For now... I had to hide,” Logan said, his voice steady now. “I thought they knew it was me, but they went after the wrong guy. Had to play it safe. Sorry, bro!”

Lucas felt a knot loosen in his chest, though his unease lingered. Would Logan buy this?

“Shit, goddamn,” Logan muttered, relief evident in his voice. “Well, I’m just glad we’re here now. It’s all in here, Ivan. We did it!” He clapped Lucas on the shoulder, a moment of brotherly camaraderie.

“They have no clue who actually stole the serums,” Logan said, his tone almost triumphant. “Now we can take control of the gang if we’re careful enough. Finally, we won’t just get a piece of the success—we’ll decide how it all plays out and reach new limits!”

Lucas's mind eased for a moment, but his smile was more reserved than Logan's exuberance. He nodded, playing along.

“Hey bro, you mind if I use your bathroom? I reek like hell!” Logan asked, his tone casual.

“Sure, go ahead!” Lucas replied, his mind still whirring with what Logan had just said.

As soon as Logan disappeared into the bathroom, Lucas couldn’t resist. He opened the large bag on the table, his eyes immediately falling on the syringes lined up inside. Each one was filled with a blue or orange serum.

His mind raced back to the cryptic messages he had read earlier—Logan had mentioned two types of serum, each with a specific purpose. The blue serum triggered the transformation, leaving behind a temporary husk. The orange serum, however, was the key to accessing the husk's mind.

It all clicked in that moment. Lucas didn’t fully understand why Logan thought he was the real Ivan, but the pieces were falling into place. He had already been lucky once. He wasn’t sure if his luck would hold, but it felt like the right time to find out.

With a sense of urgency, he reached for the orange serum, pulled out a syringe, and jammed it into his thick thigh. He gritted his teeth as the needle pierced his skin, tossing the empty syringe into the corner without a second thought. He quickly zipped up the bag and sat back down, his heart pounding in his chest.

Almost immediately, his body began to feel weak. His limbs felt heavy, and his vision blurred, the overwhelming sense of tiredness crashing over him. Had he mixed up the syringes? His panic flared for a moment, but it quickly faded into the fatigue.

————

"Hey Ivan, bro, wake up!" Logan's voice jolted Lucas from his daze. "I hope you don’t mind I used your shower and am about to borrow some of your clothes."

"Oh, sure… uh, sorry," Ivan mumbled, shaking off the grogginess. "I’m just totally wiped from the past few days."

He kept his movements steady, unwilling to reveal how drained he truly felt. He approached the bag, unzipped it, and reached for the blue syringe. His fingers remained steady, despite the storm of anxiety swirling inside him.

"That's crazy, Logan. We really could do this!" Ivan flashed a sly grin, masking his unease with a touch of malice.

Logan, practically vibrating with excitement, grinned back. "So, you ready to transform Kastuś into a bodysuit? Honestly, I can’t wait to wear his skin!" His eyes never left the syringe in Ivan’s hand, filled with eager anticipation.

Ivan returned the grin, his expression outwardly confident but with a hidden knot of tension inside. "Without a doubt, bro! This is gonna change our lives."

Logan leaned in, his voice sharp with urgency. "So, Ivan, now I wanna hear it. What the hell happened? Where have you been? I was freaking out when you didn’t respond to me!"

Ivan paused for a moment, forcing a calmness he didn’t feel. He had to maintain control. "Yeah, sure. Let’s sit down. I’ll grab us some whiskey," he said, hoping the simple task would buy him some time and calm his nerves.

Logan let out a relieved laugh. "I like that idea, bro." He flashed a grin as he lowered himself into a chair, clearly trusting Ivan to get things back on track.

As Ivan passed Logan, he abruptly drove the syringe into Logan’s neck with ruthless force.

"What the fuck? How, you fucking cunt?! I checked your back! There was no trace!" Logan's voice cracked with disbelief. The weight of betrayal hit him like a sledgehammer—he couldn’t fathom that the person he trusted most was just an imposter.

"I don’t know either, Logan," Ivan replied coldly, his voice steady, betraying no emotion as he fought to suppress the flicker of satisfaction that danced at the edges of his mind. "But I am grateful for the opportunity you and Ivan gave me. From here on out, though... I'll be the one in charge. You can rest easy knowing I'll make sure everything falls into place."

A sinister smirk tugged at the corner of Ivan's lips, his eyes glinting as he watched Logan’s pupils start to dilate, his focus shifting.

Ivan leaned closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding, as he observed the slow, agonizing transformation unfolding before him. A knot of unease twisted in his stomach at the sight of his best friend succumbing to the process, but he shoved the feeling down. The endgame was in motion—there was no turning back now.

"Ne brini, prijatelju. U bliskoj budućnosti, ti i ja ćemo postići ono što nismo smeli da zamislimo," Ivan whispered softly into Logan’s ear, his words dripping with a chilling sense of finality. He wasn't sure if Logan could still hear him, but there was something undeniably thrilling about speaking in perfect Serbian now—something that felt almost too natural, as if the words flowed as easily as his new, foreign persona.

The weight of what he'd just done, what he was about to become, settled heavily on him. Despite the grim circumstances, a quiet satisfaction bloomed in Ivan's chest. This was just the beginning.

————

Ivan grabbed his old phone and quickly typed a message to Vic, his fingers moving with an ease that felt almost instinctual, despite the chaos swirling around him.

Hey Vic, how’s it going? You know the boxing club on Cole Street? Got a new job—let’s meet there.

He sent the message, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he read it over. A rush of anticipation surged through him, a thrill that was both exciting and comforting. Reconnecting with Vic wasn’t just a casual meetup—it was a declaration of what was to come.

Redressing and packing up his boxing gear, Ivan felt the weight of the moment settle on him. This was more than just meeting an old friend—it was about testing the power of his new body, all the skills he’d picked up so quickly. It was time to see just how far his new abilities could take him. Vic’s gonna lose his mind, he thought, the grin on his face deepening.

[vindictivenerdcels]

Spinoff: The Man That Betrayed His Own Brother

As the title suggested, enjoy the story

It's been around a year and a half ever since Shawn slipped himself inside the skin of Cole Armstrong and lived the Air Force staffer life. He's about to propose to his girlfriend Sarah in about a month so as expected, he started to make some calls to relatives and close friend to help him out on his special day. That includes his younger brother, Cody, this UCLA graduate that just broke things off with his wife and needed an outlet to distract his thought

But the Cody that appeared in his front door truly surprised Cole. The whole Armstrong men are indeed known for their competitiveness and well-built physique — it's the sport-military lineage in their genes that probably caused it — but Cody really exploded in the one year interval ever since he came down to LA for his graduation. Cody is at least 30 to 40 pounds heavier, tattoos adorned his body a bit more than Cole preferred and there's this oafishness in the way he moved around the places, like he's also not used to be this big. But the smile, the cheerful laid back persona, it's still the same younger bro of his so they embraced warmly in the porch before Cole let him in, his nose spending just a bit longer sniffing on his younger bro's neck

They went out for afternoon snacks and updated each other's life. While Cole explained about how he met Sarah and how his career progressed in the military, Cody shared more about his effort to play rugby professionally and the up-and-downs with his wife. He felt like he married way too quickly and not yet exploring things to the fullest or give Ellie the chance to also explore herself. Cole realized how the request for the momentary break really distraught Cody but he managed to cheer him up eventually by rekindling old tales of their childhood days

Cody proven himself to be hands-on with Cole's daily life and the engagement prep. He cooked Cole's breakfast, helped with Cole's car maintenance, accompanied him and Sarah to the venue, tried on clothings for the day, spotted him in the gym and many other things a brother supposedly do, and more. He seemed to be a bit eager and yet also slightly tense with all the things he did, like the way he was startled when Cole caught him making this elaborate breakfast like he's some sort of stay-at-home-wife or something. He even went as far as defending himself without being pushed by saying

"An athlete needs to know what goes in their food, right?" which Cole set aside as a weird statement altogether because it's not like he judged Cody or anything.

A little bit memory-digging revealed how Cole has been a dominating force in Cody's life until he moved out for college and then military, so that's why Cody seemed to be quite well-behaving despite not necessarily looking like the type to listen to anyone's order except people that has authority over him. Subsequent memory exploration also revealed how Cole molded Cody to be a varsity athlete ever since he saw Cody played around in the kitchen a bit too long with their maid when he was 9 or 10. That explains the awkwardness in the kitchen and that moment when Cody seemingly enjoyed cleaning the house. But hey, Shawn is not one to complaint if someone willingly wanted to help him tidy things up. Despite it being a second nature now as he's inside a military staffer to live life in order, an extra hand can never go wrong and he's not that close-minded to think that only girls should clean things up or cook.

Yet, around 2 weeks before the engagement, Cole/Shawn received a phone call from Trayvon, his friend from his past lives that he has been not in touch with for a while. The whole engagement and keeping up with Cole's life caused him to be too busy to keep up with his friends in the underworld, yet the call returned him back to the reality that he's in fact not always been a straight-A, privileged military douchebag. Trayvon explained that he is in trouble, he left his fingerprint and blood when he ran away from an ambush set-up by the local PD and he needed a hideout. Just earlier, Cody stated that he needed to get back to LA for something for a couple days before returning back around 5 days before the engagement, so that gives Trayvon several days to lay low in Cole's house until they figured out what's next. Cole didn't mention anything about Cody to Trayvon because he didn't want his friends got any idea to mess things up for him. He's still Cole Armstrong after all and he loves Cody as if they are really blood-related. Plus, there's this feeling of wanting to gatekeep things for himself because he never heard from his crew that someone else did the same damn thing as him, ditching their life and identity for good to live life as an entirely different person, so why give them such idea now?

"Damn bruh, look at this white ass suburb, and a fucking driveway? You never really explained how sweet life treated you ever since you turned your ass white,"

"Sssttt.....you wanna lay low, right? Keep it quiet and get back in here, you might not see anyone but there's many eyes around here probably looking at you already and already suspiciously why a black man like you are in their neighborhood,"

"Okay, okay, geez. Thanks for the warning, Captain Obvious, but you don't really have to say that shit as if you ain't black too,"

"Well because I'm not. Again, stop talking and just get back in here will ya, I don't want police officers suddenly swarmed my house because I harbored you,"

So Trayvon gets inside the garage and then step into the adjacent living room while Cole checked on the surroundings to ensure that no one is watching him. It's an odd time after all, the stay-at-home ladies probably still on their lunch downtown while their kids are not yet back from school, so there should be no eyes that spotted Trayvon earlier. The tinted glasses of his car provided a great cover too for the trip when he picked Trayvon up in that secluded cul-de-sac so not a single traffic camera should be able to pick Trayvon up.

Trayvon laid low pretty well as he watched the local news several times showing his face on the screen. Cole's basement proven to be quite the handy hideout for the fugitive and it's not like anyone suspected a military officer to be the one that harbored the wanted man. But after around a couple days of successful hiding, things take a turn when an unknown voice hollered out Shawn's white name unannounced. Trayvon instantly turned off the TV and started to listen carefully. He even peeked from the basement door to the sight of an impressively built white men in his sweater holding a duffel bag. Who is this person that seemingly know Shawn's white cover?

As the stranger climbed the stairs to probably head to Shawn's bedroom, Trayvon made an accidental noise that caused the steps to stop altogether. Trayvon quickly grabbed the scattered cigarette, guns and his knife on the basement table and hide in one of the corner of the basement. As expected, the stranger checked on the basement before closing the door altogether after what possibly a quick glance around in the dark. It's time for him to dip out because there's no way he can remain hidden if that stranger is going to stay for some times judging from the duffel bag he brought along

When the coast is clear as the stranger already climbed to the second floor, Trayvon squeezed out from the basement and dashed out for his life to the front door. But that's when he heard that stranger screamed out in surprise

"WHOA WHOA WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU???? WAIT--- WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?"

Wait.......Shawn said that he sometimes still slipped out from his skinsuit, Shawn even demonstrated the whole thing on the first night when Trayvon crashed around. Is that what happened upstairs? Trayvon, looking at the front door and listened to Shawn's panicked voice trying to explain himself upstairs, decided to even things up as maybe it's time for him to help out. So he climbed the stairs as quietly as possible to help Shawn and upon arrival at the second floor, he turned left and then witnessed the scene unfolded in front of his eyes.

"EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER!" Cody said while strangling Shaun by pinning him to the wall. Trayvon quickly reacted by storming into the bedroom and hit the stranger that pinned his best friend with the butt of his gun. Cody thudded to the floor from the impact, but the time window is very tight because that shouldn't knock him off for long

"Who the fuck is this?"

"My younger brother, Cody,"

"Your white cover younger bro you mean?"

"Yeah. Fuck. I'm compromised. I cannot stay as this dude anymore,"

"Well, you still have some pills with you, right? Give it to me,"

"Wait......what? No, I---"

"Stop playing stupid by gatekeeping this shit, Shawn. He's not your younger bro and he will never look at you as his older bro anymore. You are just an intruder, a killer, that made his brother into a crumpled, rubbery skinsuit discarded in his own bed. Why bother to search for new skin when you can make me slip into this dude so you can keep your precious Cole skin?"

Reluctantly, Shawn handed the extra pills he stashed in his gun drawer to Trayvon while grabbing his Cole suit

"We will be so tight again bro, you and me, just like we used to," Trayvon said with a grin, "just shove it down his throat, right?"

Shawn nodded, and Trayvon smiled as he pried open Cody's mouth. He shoved the pill as deep as possible to the back of Cody's mouth and forced the pass-out blonde to swallow. Moments later, Cole walked out from the bathroom looking at his younger brother skin already deflated with Trayvon kneeling on the side as if waiting for his toy to finish setting up

"What are you waiting for? He looked empty already. Let's get this over with," Cole said as he finished dressing up already for the dinner scheduled with Sarah and her parents

With a wide, predatory grin, Trayvon licked his lips excitedly before stretching on Cody's mouth

"Whoa, real stretchy. Okay then bro, see you in a couple minutes,"

Cole watched it live in front of his eyes how the process of a takeover unfolded. So that must be how he looked like when his limbs and joints protruded from inside Cole's skin when he slipped inside before it sets up perfectly. It's like watching a prey eaten whole by a snake until it's fully processed by the snake's stomach, but in this case the prey is the one that swallowed. With more seconds passed by, the more lively and less grotesque Cody looked like, the body of his intruder already covered and hidden very well inside of his own skin. The once gangly, lifeless arms flexed once more after the merge proven to be successful and the tattoos that adorned it looked presentable again. Trayvon grinned one last time at Cole/Shawn before plunging his head whole to be swallowed by Cody's stretched mouth. He adjusted the thick bulging neck, the adam apple and then the face to fit perfectly and with a little pull and crack, standing in front of him is the perfect and alive younger brother of his. Yet, the stoic face instantly turned sinister as Trayvon's grin seemingly transferred to Cody's face

"Hey there bro. Quite a scene I witnessed earlier huh? That thug wearing your towel--"

Cole looked at him with slight bewilderment. Is he trying to rat him out or something?

"Easy bro, your secret remained safe with me. I heard nothing and I saw nothing except my big bro coming out of the bathroom buck-naked, that's it," Trayvon said using the drawl and inflection very similar to Cody's way of speaking, "No need to worry, we are in this together. By the way, if you can excuse me, I'll head back home to LA after this dinner and return again one day before the engagement, I already rekindled with Ellie and she's waiting for me to get back home ASAP," continued Cody with a grin on his face, yes it might be Cody's in physique but there's about to be a new man that pummeled into Ellie's hole later yet Ellie wouldn't even be able to tell the difference.

---

In the subsequent years that followed, not only his own brother that he turned, with Cody's suggestion he also turned his brother-in-arms to advance his career and also keep his circle filled with people that won't rat him out. He's a bit paranoid with the thought of getting caught so he took the precautionary steps by making sure that his friends really has his best interest at heart and that required them to be filled with people that know the real him inside the disguise. Plus, Cody is quite eager to utilize his new skin to start out the venture from fresh perspective, and Cole is dragged into it altogether as he cannot let his younger brother caught by the police and compromised everything he's been working hard to build. Cody moved nearby to stay with Cole and the brothers tend to spend their time either hashing out business plan or working out together in the local gym they co-owned as a front for their more shadier business.

Today is just yet another regular day where both brothers spotted for each other, and that's when Detective Jonathan Wade walked in to the gym

"Just wanna informed you, as expected, he caved in," the Detective said with a slight smirk, "I might have to arrest you soon,"

"That weak link, as expected, can't wait for the arrest though, make sure he's going to watch everything. You have the plan already?"

"Oh, I have the whole rundown planned to the tee. That's why I come here to talk it through with you,"

---

I know this seemed to be a bit rough but hopefully this is still enjoyable enough. One more part, maybe you have things you wanna see? @thesuitaskin

[thesuitaskin]

Unfolded Potential

Leo grinned devilishly as he hit the send button, reaching out to the phone number he'd received just hours earlier.

He had chosen his photo with care—one where his physique was on full display. His expression highlighted his high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and broad shoulders, while the thin fabric of his cycling shorts barely concealed his perfectly defined torso. It was the kind of image designed to provoke envy in any man. Adding the question, "Want the physique?" to the selfie wasn't just a playful taunt; it was a calculated move to reignite an old connection.

Leo eagerly awaited an instant response, but his attention was quickly diverted to his girl, basking in the warm glow of the sunset as she relaxed on the deckchair. The soft, natural light highlighted each curve of her body, making her appear almost ethereal.

"Hey Leo, I can't imagine anything needing more attention than me? Right?" she whispered to get Leo's full attention as she playfully removed her underwear.

Leo looked down at her and was ready to conquer her hole again.

"So you're hungry for another round? Guess it's not every day you get your fill of a real man"

"You are right, Leo. Come here, now!" she smiled.

Leo flashed a smug grin at her, fully aware that this was going to be her best evening yet.

————

I was definitely a troublemaker back in school. I didn’t care about the teachers, I called out the spoiled kids, hung out with the outcasts, and always had a snarky comment ready. I strutted around like I owned the place. To some of my classmates and a few teachers, I came off as a bully. Honestly, I didn’t care. I had friends who weren’t as weird as the others, and I had a blast—well, aside from my grades, but who cared about that?

The people who annoyed me learned to stay out of my way, and those I respected were my friends. By middle school, I thought my life was perfect. It felt like my crew and I ruled the school. Our confidence was through the roof, and so was my outspoken attitude. But the way I treated the nerds? That was a bit too much, even for my friends. One by one, they started distancing themselves from me. Meanwhile, my grades kept slipping, which became the highlight of the nerds' day—they practically counted down the days until I’d get kicked out. Sure, I made sure to put them in their place—shoving them into lockers or tossing them into toilets, and worse. I knew they’d laugh about me behind my back, so I made sure to remind them of their place.

So while everyone else seemed to grow into themselves, I felt like the universe had it out for me. I was already the "bad guy" in everyone’s eyes, and puberty only made things worse. Instead of becoming more intimidating or growing into the person I thought I should be, I started to look awkward. My body didn’t fill out the way I expected—no muscles, no growth spurt. I was still stuck with this scraggly frame and a face that looked like it hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of me. My once dominating presence faded as I grew out of my early teenage years, and I felt weaker, less confident, like my aura of power was slipping away.

Then there was Leo. The kid I used to mock and push around—he was the one who came out of puberty on top. While I felt trapped in a body that wasn’t mine, Leo shed his old nerdy traits like a snake shedding its skin. He lost his chubbiness, grew taller, and suddenly had this sleek, effortless charisma that made everyone—students and teachers alike—notice him. He was the "boy next door" type now—polite, easygoing, and suddenly so much more... likeable. He was everything I wasn’t.

It felt like the universe had decided to favor him, while I got stuck with the leftovers. I couldn’t understand how it worked out for him—he didn’t even try. His privileged background might’ve helped a little, but the way he seamlessly fit in and earned respect from everyone made my blood boil. I had to fight for every bit of attention I got, bullying my way to the top while he just waltzed into acceptance. And what made it worse? I was fading away, and Leo? He was thriving, without even trying. It was infuriating to watch someone I’d once looked down on, someone I had tormented, surpass me in every way.

Then came the moment when I could no longer contain all my hatred. I was kicked out of school, just a few months before starting high school. I was pissed off. That weasel Leo Kingsley and his shitty, rich dad pulled out all the stops to finally get rid of me. I mean, it wasn't my fault Leo got my fist when he dared to make me look like an idiot in front of everyone. Sure, I may have taken it too far - hell, even the paramedics showed up - but that weakling should have been more of a man if he was going to call me out like that.

All those pathetic nerds suddenly found their voice. They went straight to the cops and Mr. Kingsley’s lawyer, reporting everything I’d allegedly done to them. And just like that, I was sentenced to a juvenile detention center. I honestly thought it was the end of the road for me. My life felt like it had just come crashing down. But just when I thought there was no way out, fate decided to flip the script.

Inside detention, there was this creepy little weirdo named Davis—he was clearly off his rocker. He’d always had this unsettling vibe about him. Naturally, I made fun of him, tried to put him in his place. I wasn’t going to let some freak make me look weak, not in front of the other inmates. And it worked, at least for a while. I earned their sympathy, even if it was more out of pity than respect. But instead of backing off, Davis only got weirder.

One day, he started threatening to curse me with his “dark magic.” I mean, what a joke, right? It was laughable. But Davis kept pushing it, getting more and more bizarre. A few days later, he said he was going to possess my body—to show me what it felt like to be weak. I couldn’t help but laugh. Who takes that seriously? It was a welcome distraction from the hell I was living in. At least it gave me something to mock while I was stuck in that place.

It must've been around my fourth month in detention when I started feeling off. All day, I felt like I was coming down with something—nauseous, weak. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That night, I was drenched in sweat, tossing and turning in my bed. The dreams I had were unlike anything I’d ever experienced—strange, unsettling, like they weren’t even dreams. They felt real. I couldn’t tell if I was awake or still trapped in some kind of nightmare.

When I finally opened my eyes, everything felt... wrong. I wasn’t in my cell anymore. I wasn’t at the detention center at all. I was somewhere else—somewhere completely unfamiliar. I wasn’t even in my own room at home, though it looked like a room that belonged to someone my age. It was neat, almost sterile—nothing like the mess I was used to. My heart raced. What the hell was going on? This couldn’t be real. I had to be dreaming, right?

I shot up from the bed, my mind racing, trying to shake off the grogginess. My head spun, and when I looked down, everything felt... off. My body felt lighter, different—leaner. Panic hit me like a freight train as I staggered around the unfamiliar house, my heart pounding. I found a bathroom at the end of the hall. When I looked into the mirror, I froze. The face staring back at me wasn’t mine. It was Leo Kingsley’s.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes. No way. This was some kind of twisted joke, right? Freaky Friday shit. How the hell did I end up in his body? Leo, of all people? I couldn’t process it—couldn’t wrap my head around how this was even possible. I wasn’t dreaming. This was real. My worst nightmare had come true—I was trapped in the body of Leo Kingsley.

And somehow, I wasn’t even as angry as I should’ve been. Getting out of detention was a definite perk, but... this? This was a nightmare.

I stared at myself in the mirror, my anger bubbling up as I took in the changes. Leo’s new height, his face, his stupid, perfect features. How the hell did he get so lucky? The guy was a walking poster for everything I hated—his looks, his smooth skin, his deep voice—nothing about him made sense. But there was one thing that made it all hit me like a slap: underneath it all, he was still a nerd.

He was skinny, with zero muscle. His clothes were lame. His posture screamed “outsider,” and I could see the familiar crowd of nerds lingering in the background. I was stuck in the body of a weakling, a guy who had everything and nothing at the same time.

————

Three years later, high school saw a very different Leo Kingsley. I won’t lie, the first few weeks were a blur. I had no clue what I was doing. People—his friends, his classmates—would approach me, the new "Leo," with genuine concern, asking if everything was alright. More times than I could count, I heard, “Are you sure you're okay?” It didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t exactly explain myself, and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention. So, I kept a low profile, played along, and became the version of Leo everyone already knew—the Leo they could tolerate. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as hard as I thought. In fact, I found I enjoyed not being the center of attention for once.

As the weeks went on, I learned more about Leo—his daily life, his friends, his quirks. And the more I figured him out, the more I saw that the universe had, in a twisted way, blessed me. Sure, it was uncomfortable at first, seeing Leo’s face in the mirror instead of mine. But with time, I started to appreciate what I had. Leo wasn’t just a nerd; underneath all that awkwardness, there was something solid. He was good-looking in a way I hadn’t noticed before. And hell, if I played my cards right, I could turn this new life into something pretty damn good.

But as much as I started to embrace it, it was still a test of my patience. Every day, I fought the urge to speak my mind—to tell off people who got on my nerves, or to handle things the way I would have. I wanted to flip the script, take control, but I couldn’t afford to blow my cover. At first, I still held on to the belief that one morning, I’d wake up back in my cell. But that day never came. Gradually, I started to accept it. Maybe this was my second chance. Fate had thrown me a curveball, and I wasn’t going to waste it. I wasn’t just going to coast along—I was going to make this life work for me. I slowly began to shape Leo’s life into my own version of things.

As time went on, I grew more confident in my new skin and I decided to let more of my own personality flow into Leo's life.

Back in the day, I couldn’t care less about sports. But now, with Leo’s body, I saw potential—untapped, waiting to be unlocked. Leo, at first glance, was still a skinny shrimp, but his frame had so much more to offer than I’d expected. So, joining the football team seemed ridiculous. But swimming? That was a different story. The swim team wasn’t exactly thrilled about a well-known nerd like me wanting to join, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me. I pushed myself, showed them how Leo’s body could be an asset if used right. Soon, they stopped seeing me as just some nerd and started respecting me as a competitor. And finally, I could surround myself with people who weren’t obsessed with stupid nerd stuff like Dungeons & Dragons. That crap had gotten on my nerves back then.

I quickly realized that, somehow, I’d inherited Leo’s intelligence too. It was like a switch had flipped. If I actually focused, understanding certain subjects became so much easier. It was a whole new experience, one that pushed me to excel. For the first time in my life, I actually cared about my grades. It was like having a cheat code for school, and I wasn’t about to waste it.

But the real game-changer? Leo’s family. That was something I never could’ve imagined in my old life. His father treated me like royalty—spoiling me in ways I never thought were possible. Back then, I could never have dreamed of the vacations, the privileges, the sheer freedom that came with wealth. Leo’s dad wasn’t just rich—he was invested in me. He fully embraced my transformation. He encouraged me to ditch the nerdy hobbies I’d once found irritating and pushed me into sports, even more into making money. Every idea I had was met with enthusiastic support, like I was living out his dream of having a “real man” as a son.

When I wasn’t at school, I was either training, partying, or diving headfirst into the world of investments using his money. But the best part? Traveling. Leo’s dad practically threw the world at my feet. I was living a life that, back in my old body, I could never have even dreamed of. Whatever I wanted, wherever I wanted to go—it was within my reach. I had everything.

Like I already mentioned, Leo had the right genes, but the mindset of a weakling. With me in control, though, he—I—finally unlocked my full potential. This guy's family was loaded, and his parents had given him the kind of genetic advantages I could only dream of back in my old life. From here on out, Leo was going to take everything he wanted—everything he deserved.

Beyond just blowing money on entertainment, I put in hours working to transform Leo into the version of myself I’d always been denied. It wasn’t just about the muscles or the athletic skills—it was about shaping Leo into someone who could take whatever he wanted, without hesitation. I didn’t have to play by anyone’s rules anymore. I was rewriting them.

And damn, did the new me look the part. The mirror wasn’t lying—this life was perfect. I had the looks, the confidence, and the power. Everything about me fit my new lifestyle like it was meant to be.

It took time to reconnect with the people who truly ruled the school—the ones who could make or break your reputation with a single word. But once they saw the change in me, the style, the confidence, they couldn’t ignore it. It wasn’t long before I found myself back in their circle, seamlessly fitting in. I’d adapted, molded myself to fit their world, and they embraced it. I wasn’t just Leo anymore; I was someone they could respect, someone who was willing to do whatever it took to stay on top.

The real transformation, though, came when I decided to cut ties with Leo’s old friends. They didn’t fit the new version of me. Sure, they had been a part of my past, but they were stuck in their little world of Dungeons & Dragons, video games, and all the nerdy shit that had always bored me. It wasn’t like I suddenly hated them—but I couldn’t be tied down by their expectations anymore.

When I walked away—it felt like I was rejecting everything I had pretended to be. Leo’s old friends had known me as that quiet, humble kid—the one who didn’t quite fit in, who went along with whatever just to avoid trouble. But now, everything about me had changed. I wasn’t pretending anymore. I had transformed into someone else, someone they couldn’t recognize.

They were disgusted by it. They didn’t get how Leo could suddenly abandon them, how Leo could become the person he once looked down on—the arrogant, entitled guy who manipulated situations to his advantage. To them, it felt like a betrayal. They cursed me, called me a “traitor” and said Leo had turned into the very thing he used to despise. Their words probably would’ve made the old Leo feel guilty, but I couldn’t care less. The person I had pretended to be, the one who followed the rules and played nice, was gone. I had shed that version of myself for good. They couldn’t handle the new me. The old Leo, the weak, quiet kid, was gone. In his place was someone who knew the world wasn't for the weak.

I had completely flipped Leo’s life 180 degrees, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious. I kept imagining what I would’ve thought if I had seen the old Leo hanging out with my friends—partying, hooking up with girls, acting like the king of high school. I would’ve lost my mind. Just thinking about it—comparing the old me to the guy I was now—it stirred something inside me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Was it depressing to see how far I’d come, or was it something I should actually be proud of?

When I got into college on a sports scholarship, things only got better. With nothing holding me back anymore, I fully embraced the role of the golden boy. I was handsome, confident, smart—everything I used to wish I could be. And more importantly, I was untouchable. I had this power now. A few of my high school friends ended up at the same college, so it didn’t take long for us to become the campus wolf pack. That just solidified it. I wasn’t just one of the guys anymore—I was the guy. The one everyone wanted to know and no one dared to mess with.

I can’t emphasize enough how much power and wealth shape the way you think and act. It’s like they completely rewire you. And then, being a handsome motherfucker? That was just the cherry on top. There was one moment when it hit me—I had fully stepped into my new life. It was at this wild frat party, the kind where anything goes. I was fucking two girls at the same time, and they were both screaming my name: Leo.

In that moment, I wasn’t mad about being called by the name of the former nerd. I knew no one would dare say anything against Leo fucking Kingsley. If they did, I’d destroy them—or my family’s lawyers would. It was almost comical to see the messages from Leo's old friends, telling me how disappointed they were in what I’d become. But honestly, I hadn’t changed at all. I was just in a different body—one that suited my attitude much better.

Those messages didn’t bother me. They were just entertainment, a reminder of who I used to be, but they did spark something deeper inside me—something I’d buried for a long time. What had happened to the real Leo? What had happened to my old self?

I decided to start digging. I asked my father if he or his lawyer had ever heard anything about the bully who’d assaulted me back in middle school, the one who’d ended up in juvenile detention. To my surprise, my father knew a little more than I expected. He told me he didn’t want to bother me with it back then, especially since he saw how much I’d grown and was enjoying my life. He mentioned that his lawyer had informed him my old bully had been admitted to a psychiatric facility after attacking another inmate. He didn’t get into the details, but it piqued my curiosity.

Top keep it low and avoid unwanted questions, I secretly hired a private investigator to dig deeper into what happened to my old self. I needed answers—what had happened to the original Leo? And what happened to that weirdo, Davis, who’d threatened to possess me? The investigator gave me some limited details, but when I put it all together with what I already suspected, things started to make sense. Davis had been obsessed with dark magic, but he must’ve screwed something up. Somehow, Leo got pulled into the mess. I figured Davis had somehow triggered a massive body swap, and that he probably ended up in my original body, thinking I was in his. That would explain everything—why he attacked his original body.

The more I pieced together, the clearer it became. Leo had ended up in Davis’s body. This conclusion came from the investigator’s findings—Leo, now in Davis’s form, had actually tried to contact my father, claiming to be his son. But my father didn’t give him a chance to explain.

All of that just felt too good to be true. So this fucker Leo really was there after all. That's when I decided to make it just worse for him.

————

The investigator managed to dig up Davis's old mobile number, so it felt like pure satisfaction to send him a provocative image of his old body—only, much improved. I couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of gratitude toward Leo. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve never gotten the body—or the life—that was truly meant for me.

I pulled my cock out of her pussy and couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of pride at the moaning noises I had caused. Seeing my reflection in the darkened window striking a double bicep pose was pure pleasure. I had everything I’d always wanted—the life, the body, the respect, the possibilities. It was what I deserved all along. Well, better late than never.

I decided to check if the old Leo had responded to my little provocation. Damn, nothing yet. I smirked. Guess I’d have to send him another one. It’d be a shame not to let him see what he’d been missing all this time.

[vindictivenerdcels]

So @thesuitaskin said to give more highlight to Cole, and you know what, hell yeah, I have bunch of his pics in my archive so why not. Spinning off the spinoff, I guess?

Spinoff: The Man That Falls

Shawn wiped the sweat from his brow, the cheap motel room thick with the smell of mold and fear. Cole, tied to a rickety chair, his usually jovial face contorted with terror, was the source of the latter. Shawn circled him, the syringe glinting menacingly in the dim light filtering through the grimy window.

"Shoulda minded your business, flyboy," Shawn said, his voice a low growl. "Now look at you. All trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey."

"You're insane. What do you even want?" Cole strained against the ropes, his muscular arms bulging, but the knots held firm.

Shawn chuckled, a humorless sound that bounced off the peeling wallpaper.

"What do I want? I want your life, Cole. Your clean life. Your life where people respect you, not fear you. Your life where you ain't gotta look over your shoulder every damn second. The same life that you denied me,"

He stopped circling and stood directly in front of Cole, the needle a hair's breadth from his skin.

"See, you messed up when you rejected me a few years ago in the recruitment center because you believed that bitch shrink evaluation about me. Tendency for violence, pffttt....stupid. Then, you messed up again when you decided to play hero earlier this week. You saw something you shouldn't have, now you gotta pay the price."

Shawn traced the outline of Cole's bicep with the tip of the syringe. "This," he said, admiration lacing his voice, "this is power. Respect. This is what I want,"

"You'll never get away with this," Cole spat at him, the glob of saliva landing on Shawn's cheek.

Shawn wiped his face with the back of his hand, his eyes hardening.

"Oh, I will. I've thought this through. Every single step." He gestured around the room. "Nobody knows you're here. Nobody cares about a washed-up thug like me. By the time anyone notices you're gone, I'll be you."

He began to explain his plan in detail, relishing the look of horror on Cole's face. The injection, he explained, was a potent muscle relaxant, specially formulated by one of the cartel's shady chemists. It would paralyze Cole, leaving him conscious but unable to move. But at the same time, Cole's body would be malleable for manipulation. Then the pill, deep blue and very enchanting, it would dissolve everything Cole and made the studly blonde physique merely an empty husk with all its essence pooled like a huge lump. Shawn would then be able to simply slide himself through the mouth and entered the body like a snake burrowing into its resting place. Once settled perfectly, the Cole essence would then be absorbed like water by his invading body, fusing with his physique and granting Shawn full access to Cole's deepest memories and reflexes. It's a one-way ride for Cole but Shawn always has the option to move around if needed since he still retained his physique after all. Only after this, Shawn would be encased within a white, muscular skinsuit of a soldier that loves his country and proud of his job

Cole's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"That's some sci-fi bullshit! Fuck, are you high now? Is that what the work with the cartel caused you?" Cole managed to choke out, he remained fighting to be free from his tight, Eagle Scout-level knots.

Shawn ignored him, lost in his own macabre fantasy as he spun Cole's chair around to stare at the full-length mirror

"I'll wear you, Cole. I'll walk in your shoes, talk with your voice, feel the sun on your skin… your skin. I'll be the Air Force officer, the respected soldier. Everyone will love me. They'll adore me. Sarah will adore me,"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And I will make sure that Sarah feels every single inch of this tool and screamed your name as she's never going to find out about this," Shawn said while cupping Cole's package

Shawn saw the pure, unadulterated hatred in Cole's eyes. Well, that just made him even more excited. Without any pauses whatsoever, he plunged the needle into Cole's arm, surprising the shirtless stud as he yelped in pain as more and more of the liquid entered his system

The paralysis took hold quickly. Cole's struggles weakened, his body slumping against the ropes. His eyes, however, remained wide open, filled with unspeakable dread. Shawn watched, fascinated, as the life slowly drained out of him. Time for phase two. He grabbed the pill from the small zip-lock plastic bag and instantly shoved it down Cole's throat. The once hateful glare weakened to the point of his eyes losing its radiance as Cole no longer conscious. His nose no longer inhales oxygen and his mouth simply agape as the life force that powered his body essentially sucked away. Shawn's hand busily tracing Cole's physique, but a smirk appeared on his face as he realized that Cole's body really started to get deflated

A couple minutes of waiting while smoking his weed, Cole seemingly finished cooking. His body, even in its flat form, still got some weight and pronounced definition. Not wanting to waste more time, Shawn stretched Cole's mouth and started to push his feet and legs inside as if he's wearing an overall, but with the tightness of a biking gear. Pushing through the rubbery stretchiness, the feet quickly managed to be locked in its place, his size 11 now covered inside a hairy, calloused, size 13, white feet. He smirked, as it was just the beginning. His legs and thighs exploded as Cole has quite the inclination to really push himself on leg day while Shawn tend to keep his legs athletic and lean for evading cops and all. Leg day also affected the glutes behind so now in its corporeal form, Shawn has quite the perky, muscular butt courtesy of Cole's rigorous training, which he welcomed with a generous cupping as if he's grabbing on some girl's ass cheeks.

"Fuck," he mouthed to himself as the sensation of having a completely workout-targeted lower body part turned out to be such a massive turn-on, his cock hardened inside the stretchy rubbery bodysuit trying to find its resting place. Shawn slid through his 7 inches into Cole's 6. He could only grinned when he realized that rather than stopping at the full length, Shawn's extra length transferred to the malleable Cole's form, making Cole's appendage reached the 7 inches length soft while at the same time maintaining the girthiness that Cole originally owned in the first place. Alive once more, the floppy thick beer can gained yet additional length as it hardened to match Shawn's arousal towards the overall process

The torso followed suit very quickly as he just needed to twist and turn a bit before finally feeling Cole's jutting pecs and ridges of abdominal muscles as if it's always been his, the back aligned itself too pretty quickly. The arms were not necessarily a major problem since it's pretty loose. Cole's practically owned monster arms to begin with while Shawn kept his lean, but the euphoric sensation of integrating his arm with Cole's definitely stirred his cock to its destructive full-length as it started to leak pre when he flexed his new arms to get the sense on how insanely hard Cole trained for his biceps and triceps

He was this close to lost to the temptation of simply letting himself go off, but he knew it would be even sweeter to do so when he put on Cole's face so he stretched that mouth once more and shimmied his head in as if he's wearing balaclava, only it's someone's face that he put on. When locked in place, the full essence of Cole instantly activated and that's when Shawn finally saw himself in his full, impeccable form as Senior Airman Cole Armstrong. The overwhelming sensation cause him to spew his load all over the carpet of the motel room, which he followed with a very rich and excited laughter as reality really sunk in for him that the cartel claim were not bogus and he just took over the life of a white US Air Forces staffer. As he calmed himself down, he finally got a clearer reflection of his new self

Cole's face stared back at him, the familiar blonde hair framing his features. He flexed in the mirror, admiring Cole's massive muscles now superimposed on his own frame, the cock shiny from the whole mess it just spewed and his cum-stricked hairy legs and quads looked amazing

He walked around the room, testing his movements. The skin suit was surprisingly flexible, allowing him to move with ease. He spoke, practicing Cole's voice, mimicking his mannerisms or even his speech pattern and also the typical military talk

"Sir, yes, Sir!"

"Senior Airman Cole Armstrong, ready for duty, Sir!"

The memory really came in clutch. He's perfect. He's Cole Armstrong

---

Shawn integrated himself seamlessly to the career of an up-and-coming military superstar.

Cole's technical background as electrical engineering graduate plus the fact that he came from lineage of US Air Force really accelerated his career development, and Shawn's arrogance just fueled that acceleration even more as he craved the attention, the recognition and also the notoriety to really claim more stakes and ownership on the works that the real Cole would humbly say as collaborative work or team effort. This new Cole would claim every initiative, every progression and every single achievement as his or came from the brilliance of his mind. He would not even hesitate to name drop his father or his uncle as source of the inspiration for the idea too to also let others know that he came from a family of real war heroes and traiblazers in the Air Force

Personal life was a bit trickier, but nothing he couldn't handle. When he slipped into Cole at the very beginning, Cole was fresh from a break up with this chick named Molly, but he already put an eye on Sarah Parker. Well, Shawn has no idea whether it was Cole's mind that affected him or something, she also excite him. Sarah has just this irresistible MILF charm that's too tempting and like a jackpot, she's also the parent of one of the dweeb in Shawn's highschool ages agp that just annoyed Shawn everytime his whiny ass answered question from the teachers or spoke out in his little activism corner. Dude's named Thomas, and he stupidly witnessed Shawn slid out of Cole's once so he needed to be exiled, which he carried out in record speed as Timid Tommy has no backbone whatsoever and accepted his fate rather easily while he fooled and ravaged Timid Tommy's mom as he pleases since she fell head over heels for him

One that put up a bit more fight was definitely Cody, Cole's little brother. Long story short, the younger blonde stud walked in on his big brother's empty body crumpled in bed and a naked wet black thug that just walked out from the ensuite bathroom with his eyes clearly surprised by his arrival. Luckily, one of Shawn's crew, Trayvon, just visited earlier and still inside the house but decided to hide when he realized that someone he never recognized before from Shawn/Cole story walked in to the house with ease as if he owned the place. Trayvon lunged from behind and hit Cody's head with his gun and that was enough to knock him out, which led to the development of Cody's bodysuit that has been worn by Trayvon ever since that day.

"Easy bro, your secret remained safe with me. I heard nothing and I saw nothing except my big bro coming out of the bathroom buck-naked, that's it," Trayvon said using the drawl and inflection very similar to Cody's way of speaking, "now, if you can excuse me, I'll head back home. My fucking beautiful wife Ellie is waiting for me already," continued Cody with a grin on his face, yes it might be Cody's in physique but there's about to be a new man that pummeled into Ellie's hole later that night yet Ellie wouldn't even be able to tell the difference.

Cole just smiled, it was a close one but he survived for yet another day, and it was turned out to be the start of his more recent expansion

---

As everything seemingly went smoothly, something to note about Cole's career development is the fact that Senior Airman Cole Armstrong received yet another promotion as he turned into Staff Sergeant Cole Armstrong. Aside from the spectacular work he put on, he also received some help from his closest friends the same way he sorted out Cole's lil bro, Cody. He needed more, and that's why he's spending his time on leave with his 2 fellow Staff Sergeant, Daniel Jacobs and Spencer Murray, all three enjoying a short break to town for fishing trips earlier on that day and drinking some good cold beers in the bar downtown.

They planned to head back to the base the next morning. Unfortunately for Jacobs and Murray, they wouldn't even see the sun rises again if everything went according to Armstrong plan, his two crews Tristan and Deion already put their eyes on their latest acquisition while licking their lips — the prospect of becoming two white soldiers just too tempting to resist. As for Cole, he considered retirement if the takeover worked as he wanted to focus on the demand that appeared from the cartel that just grew more so much more lucrative, and if the two puppets are to be installed, he definitely could retire in peace as in daily basis, his crews would just do the work under the disguise of being the patriotic and dutiful soldiers + they could continue to torment Tommy in the base and kept a tab on him. Maybe he could also mix up the business with a bit work in with Veteran Affairs, plenty of connections that he could work with or utilized against as long as he remained under this disguise.

---

Okay, I think I jam-packed a bit too much here. I want to develop a separate story for Cody-Cole dynamic hence I left it very general. I also want to make one final loop to tie in the detectives and the expansion Cole did. Shoot me your ideas on things you want to see in the storyline

[vindictivenerdcels]

I think this is my fave spinoff so far. Hope yall like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. My take to continue "Seized Opportunity" by @thesuitaskin

Permanent Settlement

"Bro, the fuck, where are you going?"

This is Corey speaking, Ryker's roommate and closest friend on campus. Well.....judging from his bewildered expression, there's something Ryker supposed to do, Julian thought. Not really having the immediate memory and more on the overall persona, he decided to keep it brief

"Jess,"

"Bro, it's the Initiation Night, you are coming, right?"

Julian chuckled, but Corey definitely saw it as Ryker's smirk.

"Just messing with you, bro. Gonna go to Jess after that,"

"Duh, you are the honorary member, bro. You cannot skip it, ever, unlike the parties and all those gatherings,"

That sparked a memory refreshment for him. Honorary member, meaning Ryker didn't go through Hell Week and all but every single Greek houses wanted him. The fucking privilege, the world really is just an oyster for someone like Ryker.

"I'll go for a quick shower then we can walk together, okay bro?"

"Sure thing,"

And with that, he is left to his own devices while Corey make a quick dash to make himself a bit less disheveled. Julian decided to close his eyes for a bit, exploring deeper to the depth of Ryker's mind to unlock every single memory in his own accord, but it's not as easy as it sounds because somehow these memories are not his yet fully, like yeah he could pull off on how to act the way Ryker would be yet it was mostly autopilot — suddenly appeared out of nowhere and override Julian's grasp over everything Ryker. This cannot go on this way, he really need to ensure that he's Ryker through and through, but he needed more time with the spell and clearly being a social butterfly like Ryker left him with not much of a time window since he's highly sought after and him missing for a few hours definitely can lead to people realizing that something is off

During their walk to Pike, they exchanged small conversations in between their much-longer moment of silence. He can sense that Corey seemed to be a bit guarded and reserved but it's not his main focus for now because at least he's not giving away anything that might indicate that he's not yet fully Ryker.

Once they arrived, the frat bros welcomed them with delight, with all of them shown a little bit more respect and what he would guess as fear when they greeted him. As yall should, Julian smirked gloriously, causing Ryker's face to also mimic the same kind of smug smirk that looks very much dangerous when flashed by someone as influential as Ryker.

Since the campus is pretty much PC nowadays, the initiation is pretty tame compared to what Julian heard on their days when they were freshman. Julian would be thrilled to learn about the development to the right direction like this, but his Ryker's mindset and persona is slightly agitated to not witness any sort of fun and worth to remember moments. Should have left for Jess instead, he thought

Yet, his disappointment turned out to be short-lived when one of the pledge suddenly passed out with a seizure. He looked at Corey smiling mischievously and he's intrigued to what the actual fuck his twisted roomie did to that pledge. As everyone instantly tried to help the passed out pledge, Corey shouted to stop everyone from helping the pledge

"At ease, brothers. That's an impostor among you all. He's actually a pledge for KSig and he intended to mess with our night as his mission to secure the seat there. And since yall are dumb enough to not notice that he's not your real brothers, we'll have a bit of a detour. Follow me,"

The air in the basement is thick with the stench of stale beer, sweat, and desperation. Ryker leaned against a support beam, arms crossed, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. He surveyed the scene with the detached amusement of a seasoned predator watching its prey struggle. Then, he takes off his shirt, things are about to get disgusting if Ryker's memory served him right

This is the shit buried under all that PC guise....timed to perfection as the campus observer left the event around 30 minutes ago. Julian swallowed all the memory of countless Hell Week Ryker watched before, a culmination of tradition, the forging of brotherhood, and, from Ryker's perspective, a damn good show.

Corey's face is definitely looking a lot less nicer and more sinister. This is it, he is in his element. Shoving aside the puppet pledge master that the frat used to fool the campus, Corey smiles wickedly as his voice booming over the din of terrified whimpers

"Alright, you maggots!" Corey yelled, his words slurring slightly, "Pair up! We're gonna see who can handle their liquor and their…tolerance."

Ryker watched as the pledges, a collection of wide-eyed freshmen and nervous transfers, scrambled to obey. They looked like lambs being herded to slaughter, their faces pale and etched with anxiety. Pathetic.

"First up," Corey announced, grabbing a pitcher filled with a murky green concoction, "The Vomit Comet! Chug it! First team to finish gets…a slightly less humiliating task later."

The pledges looked at the pitcher with undisguised horror. Ryker knew what's in it: cheap beer, cheap vodka, pickle juice, and a generous helping of whatever else Corey had found lurking in the back of the fridge. He’d tasted it once. Once was enough. Julian of course never tasted it but the taste of that shit imprinted deep in Ryker's psyche, he can get a sense how disgusting it is.

The first pair stepped forward, their hands trembling. Corey shoved the pitcher into their hands. "Go! Go! Go!"

They started chugging, their faces contorting with each gulp. One of the pledges, a blonde freshman wearing this crisp polo with his sleek glasses framing what looks like a borderline model face, immediately started gagging. His partner, a beefy football player Ryker didn't even bother to remember, tried to encourage him, but the glasses guy is losing the battle.

"Come on, Johnson! Don't be a bitch!" Corey roared, his face inches from the kid's. "Are you gonna puke on me, Johnson? Are you?!"

Johnson managed to choke down another mouthful before his stomach rebelled. He leaned over and projectile vomited onto the floor, the green liquid splattering onto his shoes and the shoes of the pledges standing nearby.

Corey burst out laughing. "Loser! Next pair! Clean up this mess, you two!" He pointed at the vomiting pledge and his disgusted partner. "And Johnson, if you puke again, you're cleaning the toilets. With your tongue."

Ryker felt a stirring in his loins. It's not the vomit that aroused him, but the power. The absolute control Corey wielded over these trembling bodies. The fear in their eyes. Like a flood, Julian can sense the pride and entitlement to be on the giving end of that fear, and the memories are intoxicating. They were quite the menacing duo last year, their senior tasked them with overseeing the pledge camarederie throughout the probation period and the various creative way both of them deployed for the pledge were terrifyingly hilarious. Ryker is an absolute menace when it comes to these kind of shits, but he told Corey earlier this semester that he wanted to lay low a little when it comes to the frat life. Well, less work for him and more to simply enjoy this shit from the side at least

The hazing continued on even when Julian is deep in processing all these unlocked streams of Ryker's various memories. There's the "Wall Sit of Shame," where pledges are forced to hold a squat position for ages that lasted like an eternity, their legs burning, their muscles screaming. There's the "Truth or Dare", where the dares are designed to humiliate and the truths are carefully crafted to expose the pledges' deepest insecurities. And when it's almost 12, there goes the paddle for the infamous "Paddling Ceremony." Ryker watched as Corey, wielding a wooden paddle with the Pike crest emblazoned on it, delivered sharp, stinging blows to the pledges' bare asses. They yelped and cried out, but they don''t move. They know better.

The sounds of pain, the sight of humiliation, the raw display of dominance…it was all incredibly stimulating. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly adjust himself.

Corey caught his eye and grinned. "Enjoying the show, bro?"

Ryker just smirked back. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He watched as Corey moved onto the next phase of the hazing: the "Serenade." The pledges are blindfolded and forced to sing love songs to each other, their voices cracking with nervousness and suppressed laughter. Corey and the other frat seniors stand behind them, whispering obscene suggestions into their ears, urging them to be more...…explicit.

"Sing it like you mean it, Baker! Tell Rodriguez how much you love his hairy ass!"

The pledges stammered and blushed, their voices barely audible. Ryker knows they are terrified of saying the wrong thing, of crossing some invisible line that would earn them even more punishment. That's also when Jess called him. Welp, that's something he totally forgets.

He pushed himself off the support beam. "Gotta run, Corey," he said, his voice rough. "Got a date."

Corey raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Go get some, Ryker. And tell Jess I said hi."

Ryker just nodded and headed for the stairs, the sounds of the hazing fading behind him. As he climbed, he thought of Jess, her soft curves, her eager kisses. He imagined her waiting for him, naked, in her apartment sprawled on her bed, hands probably busy with her own hole or something

The image fueled his desire, making his steps quicker. He burst out of the frat house and into the cool night air, taking a deep breath. The smell of beer and desperation was replaced by the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers.

He walks quickly towards the apartment, his mind already racing. He cannot wait to feel Jess beneath him, to lose himself in her embrace. When Jess opened her door, she's pouting

"You could have told me about the change of plan,"

"Can't bail on Corey, baby. But I'm here now, stop giving me that pout," it feels so natural to just touch Jess with no hesitation and seductively plant kisses on her body trying to get her in the mood.

She's not strong enough to resist the temptation. Ryker is just too good to resist, his touches electric for her, he's simply too hot to handle and before long, both of them already stripped themselves naked as Ryker rest his head on the headboard, his naked, athletic body on full display smelling of sweat, booze and expensive cologne. Jess crawls up from the foot of the bed, licking her way up to worship her man's body with attention given to each parts with so much care and temptation, it feels like a purposefully lengthened edging session

His feet that covers her entire petite face, the way her boobs then grazed his hairy legs and how she let his hardening cock grazed both of her boobs as she gets closer to the top. She's very good at this, and to think that this is how kinky she's always been, Ryker really hits the jackpot with her obediently lustful girlfriend

"Don't come yet, baby. We're just starting," she said as she swipes the leaking pre that comes out from the fat fucking mushroom head that blooms out from the thick foreskin and give it a lick. She slightly shuddered but then flashes him her iconic smile

"Thanks for listening to my advice, baby. Fruits are essential for tasty fluid. Now, where were we?"

Julian was frozen the entire time Jess crawled from the bottom of the bed. He's trying to really process what just happened and only after she speaks to him, like a dam that finally burst out, Ryker's sexual prowess flows out and power-charged the entire 6'4" towering muscular body to respond accordingly to the foreplay. He instantly grabs her face and give it a rough yet sensual kiss as he then takes control of the proceeding

Sounds of squelching and moaning filled her apartment as he remained in his position, sprawled on the pink silk sheet in all his studly blonde glory, while Jess worked her ass off to move herself up and down Ryker's cock that conveniently latched itself to her hole as if the two has magnetic attraction or something. As Ryker started to collaborate by pistoning his cock with more purpose and pressure into the depth that Jess craved from the very beginning, the guttural moan turned into a full blown worship as Jess called out Ryker's name in between. The pleasure reached fever high when Ryker arched Jessica's back by pulling her ponytail and then followed by squeezing her boobs with his calloused, real manly man hands, all the while his cock pummeled her hole mercilessly. Jessica played her part perfectly as she moaned Ryker's name like it's the dreamiest name to mention and literally clenched her tight hole to ensure that she milked her boyfriend till the very last drop. Ryker welcomed the brave move Jessica enacted as he praised her as his "slutty little princess" in between his animalistic groan, yet he's the one with the final say in this matter as he simply shoved Jessica while he sprayed his thick, potent seed deep inside of her clenched pussy. Ryker groaned in delight seeing the masterpiece he just created, Jessica's sweaty and slick shiny back due to his splattered cum looked fucking fantastic. Not to mention her neck and nape filled with his kisses and hickeys to showcase that she's owned by someone for anyone that dared to flirt with her. Feeling inspired, he scooped the dripping cum that oozes out of her hole and also swiped some from her back to then shove his two fingers for Jessica's to suck

"Yum baby, we tasted delicious,"

"Oh yeah, kiss me then, let me taste it,"

She giggled, before kissing him and let Ryker to dominate. Ryker flashes his devilishly handsome smirk as he tasted the acidic cream with sweet undertone that's been moving all over their system.

"Yummy, right?"

And Ryker just let out a chuckle as both of them cuddled right then and there until she falls asleep. Ryker obviously cannot sleep, despite the very draining sex he just had, the excitement of playing the king of the college to the tee to the point his own girlfriend did not notice any difference really caused his adrenaline to spike. He really needs to make this whole thing permanent!

So, with a sense of urgency not knowing the limitation of his original spell, Julian makes his way to the library where he found the spell in the first place. The library in their campus indeed opened for 24 hours, but there's barely any person when it's just regular week so you can imagine how deserted and private it is in the Ancient Magic and Occult section at 4.30 AM. After scouring the text looking for more context and clue, right around sunrise, he found it. Blood of a virgin to clean the impurity. A virgin. Well, there's not much virgin that Ryker knows, but that word reminded him of someone so it brings him to march to a room he's very familiar yet really wanted to forget for good

Without even knocking, Ryker just barged in to the stupidly unlocked dorm room, his shirt quickly goes off as things are about to get messy

The scripture said a single drop is enough, but the way Bobby's nose bleeding as if it's a running faucet after Ryker connected his initial punch square to Bobby's face with another punch clearly supplied Ryker with more than enough. Ryker simply walked out from the room with blood streak in his hand which he immediately licked. Well.....nothing happened, what the heck? Is the effect not immediate? As he watched the tired yet horrified Bobby trying to clean his broken nose and scrambling for help, something shifts inside of him. His Julian self should be scared of the amount of blood spilled and he should also pity the pathetic state of his former best friend and how he looked so tired and confused by the sudden assault. But somehow, it feels like that sensation and empathy is fading. Here he is standing just outside the room where he usually played games or just do things with Bobby, but it feels more and more foreign by the second. He licked his bloodied hand more and well damn he feels less and less empathetic. By the time he's out from the dorm building with no shirts on as he covered the dried blood on his hand, the air feels crisp and the world feels easy to conquer.

The pure virgin blood washes away the impurity, well, that means anything that is not fitting to the standard expected out of him is out of his system. As a well-endowed, privileged and entitled blonde stud living in 21st century US of A, indecision, self-pity, weak mindset and even empathy is not compatible with him, all quality of the old Julian that just weighed him down is out as sticky white mess that's contained inside his underwear. Julian's manipulative, power-hungry, and brainy goodness remained well and enhanced Ryker's essence as it fully merged into one entity and fused itself with the physique. The air feels even fresher once the purge and merge is completed. He's Ryker Evans through and through, and he's going to get away with what he just did just like every other things his wealth, social connection and handsome look managed to get him up until this point

---

I think I'll write another take or re-make my take on "The Man She Loves" story and that's gonna be it for all the inspired post by @thesuitaskin . Thanks for your enjoyable storyline that inspired me, I hope this is enjoyable enough to read for you. And thanks to @fullfriendnerdclutch for the picture supplies and the brainstorming session

[vindictivenerdcels]

Spinoff: The Man That Owns His Life

Inspired by "The Man She Loves" by @thesuitaskin

"Thanks for the cooperation, Officer Parker,"

"Please, just call me Thomas,"

"Okay, we just want to ask you about your relationship with Mr. Cole Armstrong, that name ring a bell?"

"Yes, he's my stepfather,"

"Okay, great start for not lying right off the bat, Thomas. So, do you know what he's been up to the past few years?"

"I'm only aware that he finished his service in the Air Force after 12 years of service and not really heard that much about him,"

"Okay, so you wouldn't know why on Earth your father and a few veteran and even active USAF officers allegedly helped a drug trafficking gang related to the Sinaloa? Delivering their goods cross-border, guarding goods arival in the port and even intimidated and vandalized properties related to opposite gang across the South?"

"That's all honestly new information for me, sir. I've not contacted my parents for 7 years ever since I entered USAF, I never even went home,"

"And why so?"

"Well, for starter, Cole despised me for reason I have 0 idea about and even my mom fell to his manipulation. She sided with him rather than me, her own offspring, and I simply refused to go back to them. But to think that Cole involved himself in some kind of Sinaloa cartel activity, that's very unlikely, that man loves this country way too much to suddenly sell drugs to the populace,"

The back and forth went for quite some times before the detectives eventually released him. As Thomas walked back to his car, he sighed. As he takes his seat, he cannot help but start thinking while driving his way back to his apartment. Who would have taught that the fucking bully would take it this far? Infiltrating military? Working with cartels? Well, he knows all that from ages ago, but for Cole's crew to be this brazen until the police department noticed their activity? Sloppy. He remembered vividly the first few months of his start in USAF and how he practically walked into "his stepfather" trap from the get go

Thomas knew that military life wouldn't be easy, but he sensed that he got it WAY harder compared to his peers as his drill instructor relentlessly targeted him and spared or even treated the other with much more brotherhood embrace, if he could say so. More pushups, more laps, higher expectation of neatness, it's like all his steps and even breath were monitored with microscopic details, just like when Cole scrutinized him back at home. Much to his horror, that's exactly what happened as Thomas found out accidentally after around a year in the military that his cruelest drill instructor, a huge guy named Sergeant Jacobs, videocalled Cole laughing his ass out on how bad he treated Thomas earlier that day and how stupid Thomas has been to not pick up the oddities on why he's been singled out for the most severe cases of humiliation and punishment

Angered by the revelation, Thomas stupidly marched to confront Jacobs, but instead he got beaten by the much larger Sergeant with ease and even got reported for insubordinate conduct!

That kind of accusation should not be able to withstand the definitive proof of Jacobs striking Thomas first through the CCTV but the corruption of Cole and his friends already spread wide in the Air Force as Thomas found out that his payment forfeited for 2 years despite spending less time inside the system up to that point and all the panel members happily buddied up with Jacobs, seemingly indicated that they might be compromised too

Cole dangled the fact that Thomas should be dishonorably discharged yet only survived because Cole has reputation inside the Air Force, but he knows it's all bullshit because Cole Armstrong notoriety only exist because he stuffed his crew of loyalist gang members inside the bodies of those patriotic, brave and all-American heroes and propped his career and achievement.

But that was the start of everything going downward spiral as Thomas witnessed more and more morally dubious and even outright criminal activities conducted by the corrupted Air Force members. Yet, he's pressed to keep all his senses shut everytime he witnessed or heard things he shouldn't listen. Prostitution or sexual assault, drug trafficking, illicit gun trafficking, assault and battery, so many things that an honorable military member wouldn't even think to do yet these corrupted members continously did it and protected each other with fake alibis, intimidation or even the chilling disposal of eyewitnesses.

Thomas was promised peace if he kept his mouth shut and he chose that for today's investigation as he knows that Cole loyalist probably lurked in the shadows or even possibly already infiltrated the police department that is trying to investigate the corrupt officers

But well, at least he did not reveal anything so he should be safe even if any of Cole's men actually hid around and watched all his move

---

Detective Jonathan Wade feels like Thomas hid something during their session earlier, but it's not like he could press him any further for things he claimed to never know about. But the evidence overwhelmingly suggest that Thomas should have known something. As Detective Wade just finished with his shots in the shooting range trying to channel out his frustration with series of bullseye, someone called him out from behind

"Hi there, Detective,"

"He---llo? Who are you?"

"I'm about to be you," and bam, three darts landed right on his pillowy chest, beefy neck and also his massive arm, not even a second for him to react properly to the attack as his massive body thudded to the floor as if he's a rock sinking to the depth of the ocean. Well, practically his consciousness is indeed sinking to the endless abyss as once the infiltrator slipped inside of him, people might seen him to be awake but it's no longer the real Detective Wade, just his meat wrapping a delinquent man that grows up in the bad part of the city and decided to upscale himself with a ruthless takeover of an innocent man in uniform

Marquis Jackson has been assigned for the task by Cole to stop Detective Wade's investigation that gets increasingly closer to unravel the whole operation. Marquis did the task with ease with the help of his boys, Officer Gutierrez and Officer Brathwaite, that brought him to the police precinct as if Marquis has been captured only to let him roam inside the building and found the lucrative target for the takeover. As soon as Detective Wade turned wearable, Marquis get himself undressed and slid his lanky, 6'5" dark brown tatted form into the thick muscle tank form of Detective Jonathan Wade. Gutierrez already ensured that the CCTV is off and no one can access the built-in shooting range so Marquis took his sweet time to feel the crashing sensation of suddenly having the ability to lift 400+ pounds of weight and the vast experience and intelligence possessed by the decorated detective. The cock is sub-par compared to his in terms of length, but it paid off with the massive, beer-can-thickness that dangled in between his legs. But again, the ultimate goal is the societal and hierarchical upgrade from being a WASP detective in Murica, and this is definitely the kind of bliss the other boys described when the suit feels like home and entitlement and feeling enfranchised becomes second nature. As he patted Gutierrez back to thank him, both men knowingly smirk to each other, a subtle code of acknowledging each other's upgrade and yet consistent devotion to the cause as explained lengthily by Cole

The following morning, in the secluded dock where Cole and his men just finished the shipment of the latest goods for the cartel, Detective Wade monitored the surrounding to ensure the operation smoothness from other law enforcement disturbance

Per Cole directive, despite Thomas silence, it seems like it's fitting to press him a bit more as the original Wade would like to do anyway. Only this time, he'll go overboard and torment the fucking weak link until he snaps and probably reveal the whole ordeal, which will trigger Cole's retaliation as he will finally have an excuse to toy Thomas once more with Marquis playing the detective role to the tee. Marquis smiled wickedly to inform Cole that he's on his way to just bust through Tommy's apartment.

The thought of seeing Tommy's face lighten up as police rounded up Cole and his men, thinking he'll finally be free from any possibility of retaliation or torment from Cole only for all of the officers to suddenly turn around and instead circled Tommy makes Cole giddy with delight as he cannot help but grin in euphoria in the middle of his workout thinking how he really own Thomas life all the way since high school up until now. It's been years since his last dance with Tommy, but seeing that dweeb's face growing sulkier is the best fuel for him to keep this charade on for more years to come and ways to mess him up

[thesuitaskin]

Corrupted Bond

"This is crazy, Liam. We shouldn’t be here. Are you absolutely sure his place is empty?" Rob whispered anxiously, his eyes darting toward the door as Liam unlocked it.

"I’ve told you a hundred times," Liam snapped, his frustration evident. "I’ve kept tabs on him long enough. We’ve got plenty of time before he comes back."

"God, you're insane... and what about his roommate, are you sure he isn't in there?" Rob asked, still uneasy.

"His roommate’s visiting his hometown. This is the perfect opportunity to take Hunter’s place. Relax, Rob. Help me find something of his—like a used shirt or jacket," Liam urged.

"This place reeks of jock musk," Rob muttered, grimacing as he stepped deeper into the apartment.

"Well, what did you expect? Hunter’s the jock of our campus," Liam shot back, rolling his eyes. "Now, help me search."

The two of them split up, carefully moving through the apartment and checking every room.

"Alright, I’ve checked everything. This place is ours for the next few hours," Liam shouted, his voice rising with excitement. "Now, let’s grab one of his clothes."

"Which one’s his room?" Rob asked, his nerves still getting the best of him as he glanced around the apartment.

"Found it—and I found the perfect item!" Liam called out from the other side of the apartment.

Rob hurried back, nearly tripping over himself in his rush. He entered the room Liam had called from—and froze, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes locked on none other than Hunter McAllister himself, standing right in front of him, wearing nothing but a pair of black underwear and a few accessories.

"Hey, Robbie Boy!" Hunter’s deep, raspy voice cut through the air, sending a jolt of panic through Rob’s chest.

"Shit! That happened way too fast," Rob muttered under his breath, wide-eyed.

"Of course it did," Liam—now owning the body of Hunter McAllister—snickered. "Why waste a single second transforming into Hunter fucking McAllister? Now, let’s finish the look, shall we?" He taunted, flexing his muscles, already draped in some of Hunter's signature pieces.

"Look!" Liam—now Hunter—gestured to the armchair piled high with clothes. "Throw me something to wear!"

Still flexing and turning to showcase his newly acquired, impressive back, Hunter loomed over Rob. Standing a full two feet taller than either of them, his presence was imposing. Rob stood frozen for a moment, mesmerized by the sheer size and power of the figure before him.

Finally snapping out of his daze, Rob hesitated for just a moment before carefully stepping toward the armchair. He reached for a combination of clothes he’d seen Hunter wear countless times.

Under Hunter's expectant gaze, Rob nervously tossed a pair of black joggers in his direction. With the effortless grace of an athlete, Liam caught the trousers mid-air. The smooth, fluid motion left Rob momentarily stunned.

"Good choice, Robbie Boy," Liam taunted, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he sized Rob up with the same cocky confidence Hunter was known for.

Rob quickly grabbed a black undershirt from the pile and tossed it toward Liam. With swift, practiced movements, Liam stretched the fabric over his torso, the shirt fitting perfectly against his frame. His muscles rippled as he pulled it down, completing the transformation that was rapidly becoming indistinguishable from the real Hunter McAllister.

"Now this is more like it," Liam smirked, flexing slightly in front of Rob. His tone dripped with an arrogant swagger.

"What a killer bod, huh? Guys envy it, and girls are dying for it." Liam said with smug confidence, his tone dripping with that familiar cocky swagger. He flexed his muscles, effortlessly showing off the sculpted physique that made him an intimidating presence.

The sight was so mesmerizing that Rob found himself struggling to maintain control, his mind battling the urge to surrender completely to the image before him. The physicality, the aura—everything about it was... captivating. Rob fought to shake the pull of the moment, but it was becoming harder to ignore.

"Dude, Liam. Are you getting a boner?"

"You really have to ask, Robbie? Tsk, kiddo!" Liam laughed, his voice dripping with smugness.

"Liam," Rob stammered, his voice faltering slightly. "It's so fucking hot when you talk like him."

Liam smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having, and leaned back.

Then Liam checked Hunter's boner what finally caused Rob's dick to also rise.

"...but we’ll have time for that later," Liam announced calmly, as if nothing unusual was happening.

With deliberate movements, he tucked the shirt into his trousers the way Hunter always did, admiring how perfectly it fit. His well-defined torso, now accentuated by the shirt, was pure perfection. Liam paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of being in Hunter’s skin.

"It feels fucking amazing to be in his skin!" Liam said, grinning widely as he adjusted the necklace. "I get why he's so into himself." He flexed his muscles once more.

"Let's give Hunter a proper welcome," Liam announced confidently. He left the room, eagerly awaiting the moment when the real McAllister would walk through the door. He sprawled across the couch, feet propped up.

Rob followed, nervously yet unable to take his eyes off Hunter’s every move.

"You think this will work?" Rob whispered, doubt creeping into his voice.

"Just 'shh' and hide in the corner," Liam responded coolly, his smirk widening. "Stick to the plan."

They didn't have to wait long. The door creaked open. Footsteps grew closer, and then, there he was—Hunter McAllister himself—stepping into the room. His eyes widened as he saw Liam lounging on the couch. The room fell silent as Hunter froze, staring in disbelief at the exact replica of himself sitting there, mocking him without a word.

"What the fuck?" Hunter muttered, his eyes narrowing. He took a slow, cautious step forward, clearly unsure of what he was seeing. The tension in the room was palpable, but Liam stayed calm, never breaking character.

Hunter took another step, his eyes scanning Liam’s form, as if searching for some flaw. "What the ..., who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening.

Liam grinned, enjoying every second of the stunned silence. "What the ..., who the hell are you?" Liam mimicked Hunter's speech pattern.

Hunter’s jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he advanced further into the room.

As Hunter got closer, Rob moved quietly from behind, his steps nearly imperceptible. In one swift motion, he hit him with a bat. That was all Liam needed.

In a blur of movement, Liam surged from the couch, grabbing Hunter by the shoulders and slamming him backward. The impact knocked the wind out of Hunter, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. He struggled, swinging his arms wildly, but Liam now had the same size and strength.

"You’re not going anywhere, McAllister," Liam growled, his voice thick with authority. Hunter’s struggles became more frantic, but it was too late. A blow from Rob's fist to the back of his head sent him crashing to the floor and unconscious before he could even react. The room was silent except for the faint sound of Hunter's breathing as he lay motionless on the floor. Rob stood there, his eyes wide with shock, while Liam caught his breath and looked down at the

"The hell Rob, you nearly fucked it up" Liam complained. He kicked Hunter’s limp body, just to make sure he wasn’t faking. Then, Liam leaned over Hunter and sedated him with a syringe.

Rob swallowed hard, still trying to process the chaos that had just unfolded. "Holy shit... We really did it. This is insane. Are you sure you can pull this off? Being Hunter?"

Liam smirked, amused by Rob's question. His attention shifted to Hunter’s phone lying on the ground, still buzzing with notifications. With a quick shove of Rob aside, he grabbed the phone, a devilish smirk curling at the corners of his lips. He studied the sleek device in his hands. With a steady hand, he activated the phone’s face recognition. A second later, the screen unlocked effortlessly. Liam felt a jolt of satisfaction—he was in. He glanced at Rob, who was still watching him, eyes wide with barely contained excitement. Liam nodded toward the phone, giving Rob a wicked grin.

"Let me show you, how I can pull this off." Liam’s voice was low, almost too casual, as he dialed a number from Hunter’s contact list—someone who clearly held a special place in Hunter’s life. The call went through, and after a few rings, a sweet, unsuspecting voice answered.

"Hey, babe," came the voice on the other end. It was warm, familiar, and totally unaware of what was about to unfold.

Liam leaned back into the couch, his posture effortless yet commanding.

"Hey, beautiful," he replied smoothly, his voice deep and gravelly, the tone that had always gotten Hunter what he wanted. "You miss me?" Rob’s eyes were wide as he watched Liam’s every move.

The change in Liam’s tone, his entire demeanor, was so complete that Rob couldn’t help but marvel at how easily he slipped into this new persona. It was like watching a completely different person take control, and for a moment, Rob couldn’t even see his best friend. He saw Hunter McAllister. Liam then reached into his pants, playing with his new dick while talking to Hunter's girlfriend.

"I always miss you," came her response, her voice warm and affectionate. She giggled, clearly happy to hear from him.

Liam’s smile deepened, and he leaned forward, making sure his voice was low, smooth, and teasing.

"I know, I know. I’ve been caught up in things… How about we fix that tonight? I’m all yours, babe."

Rob could barely breathe, his gaze glued to Liam as the act unfolded in real-time. It was perfect—the way Liam's body language shifted, how he held the phone with just the right level of intimacy.

Her voice fluttered on the line, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend wasn’t, in fact, on the other side of the screen.

"I can’t wait to see you tonight." Liam held the phone in front of him, his eyes glinting as he played the role to perfection. But then, as if something darker stirred within him, he made a quick decision. Without warning, he switched the call to video.

The screen flashed as her face appeared, her bright smile lighting up her features. She looked gorgeous. Liam didn’t miss a beat. He leaned in closer to the camera, his eyes narrowing on her image. He studied her—watched her speak, listened to the way her voice quivered with longing. His heart raced, but not with affection. It was power, pure and simple.

As she continued, Liam mimicked Hunter’s movements with precision—flexing his defined body in front of the camera. His smile was the perfect mix of cocky and seductive, like he knew exactly what to say, exactly how to look at her.

"You miss me, huh?" Liam’s voice dropped lower, a mix of charm and command. He slowly ran a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tell me more about that."

The look on her face made Rob’s stomach twist. She was captivated—completely unaware that the man she was speaking to wasn’t the one she thought. Her smile deepened, her eyes softening as she spoke.

"I’ve missed everything about you, Hunter. Your touch, your presence... everything. Why don’t you come over right now?"

Liam’s grin widened, but there was something darker in his eyes now. His gaze flicked to Rob, catching his best friend’s stunned expression. Rob’s mouth was slightly agape, his eyes darting between the screen and Liam. It was like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Liam gave Rob a small, almost predatory smile, then returned his attention to the screen. He leaned in even closer, his face filling the camera frame. His voice dropped, laced with just the right amount of arrogance and seduction.

"I’m still busy, but I promise I’ll be there. You want me to make it worth your while?" He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his eyes never leaving the screen as he watched her react.

She visibly melted at his words, leaning closer to her phone. "Of course, I do," she replied breathlessly.

Liam felt a grimace twist on his face, but he quickly hid it, shifting back into the role. Inside, though, a small part of him recoiled at how easy it was to manipulate her. He could feel the disgust gnawing at him, but buried it deep, focusing on the thrill of the moment.

"Good," he said, softening his voice now, mimicking the tenderness Hunter used to make people crave his affection. "I’ll be over soon. And when I get there, you’re gonna get everything you’ve been waiting for."

He could hear her heart racing over the phone. She was practically entranced. It was all too easy.

Rob stood silent, his mouth dry, eyes wide. He could barely process the level of control Liam had over the situation. It felt surreal. "Dude..." he whispered, his voice full of awe. "She has no fucking clue."

Liam just smirked, power radiating in his eyes. Without making another face, Liam gestured with his free hand as if someone was giving him a blowjob.

As the call ended, Liam leaned back on the couch, letting out a slow breath. He turned to Rob, his expression cool and calm, though his mind was still racing.

Liam burst into laughter. "Man, all those hours of acting class really paid off."

"You nailed it. She had no clue. You’re a fucking genius!" Rob agreed, still in shock.

Liam's smirk grew wider as he admired his reflection in the mirror. "I think the guy on the ground wears my favorite piece."

He slowly removed his own clothing, stripping off the black beanie and undershirt, then reaching for Hunter's signature flannel shirt with deliberate care.

He then started to flex his upper body once again. Throwing a challenging gaze at Rob.

"This," he said quietly, "is how you impersonate someone. Not just with looks, but with presence."

Rob’s jaw clenched, his admiration mixed with something else. "Man, you are him," he muttered, still in shock.

Liam’s eyes flashed. "And this is just the beginning..."

Liam’s eyes flicked down to the phone screen as another message popped up. His fingers hesitated over the glass, then he glanced back at Rob, who was still marveling at the transition from Liam to Hunter, completely unaware of what was happening.

The message was from Hunter’s roommate, Kyle Singer.

"Yo, I canceled the trip to my hometown. How about gym session later and I’m not about to go without you, bro. Don't make me drag your ass. Let me know."

Liam's lips curled into a grin as he read it, feeling a pulse of excitement run through him. This was a perfect opportunity to slip deeper into Hunter's life. He'd already seduced Hunter's girlfriend, taken his place with ease, and now, with Kyle expecting him to join for the gym, the stage was set to solidify his new persona. He could keep this up indefinitely. All he had to do was play his cards right. His fingers flew over the keyboard, typing out a quick reply:

"Sure bro, let's meet at home."

Liam set the phone down with a satisfied smirk. Perfect.

Turning back to Rob, Liam leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, his eyes scanning Hunter’s apartment with a newfound sense of ownership. "You know," he began, his voice slow and deliberate, "it’s funny. Being Hunter... Finally, I’m gonna take over his whole life. I’ll live like him. Study like him. Hit the gym like him. People will think I’m him, and no one will suspect a thing."

Liam's tone shifted, becoming more relaxed as he leaned against the couch. Rob, watching Liam's every move, began to accept that his best friend was now fully assuming the role of Hunter McAllister.

"That’s crazy," Rob said, still laughing, almost in disbelief. "But I gotta say, you are pulling it off. No one could tell the difference."

Liam leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with cold determination. "Exactly. Studying engineering will be a breeze. And the sports thing—he practically has a scholarship. People expect him to show up, perform, and be perfect. That’s how I’m gonna live. I’ll hit the gym like he would. I’ll study like he would. I’ll party like he would. Just like this. The more I live as him, the more real it feels. And once I’m in his routine, there will be a new Hunter."

Rob was nodding along, still fascinated. "Man... this is getting weirdly legit."

Liam’s smile widened, the edges taking on a predatory gleam. "I won’t just be him—I’ll be better than him." As the words left his mouth, his mind raced with possibilities.

For a moment, Liam almost forgot about Rob, too consumed by his plans. But when he turned to gauge Rob’s reaction, something shifted. Rob was still leaning back against the couch, his gaze distant as he processed what Liam had said. He seemed oddly comfortable, almost reassured by the idea that, despite everything, his friend hadn’t really changed.

"Yo, let's get rid of this body for now. Let’s stash him in my room."

They quickly moved the real Hunter into his own room, ensuring no one would find him. He’d be out cold for nearly a day.

"So, what’s next on Hunter’s list?" Rob asked, excitement lacing his voice.

"Well, I've got all the time I need."

"How about you prove to me once again that your performance as Hunter is flawless?"

"Dude, you need another demonstration after I already fooled his girlfriend?"

"Sure, why not?"

Liam leaned in, his voice dropping low, teasing, but with something darker simmering beneath. "You want to see the new Hunter in action, huh? You want to see me in action?"

Rob’s eyes were practically glued to him now, his voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, man, show me."

Liam paused for a moment, savoring the power he felt with Rob hanging on his every word. He stood up and finally pulled on Hunter’s flannel shirt. Turning to Rob with a dangerous grin, he soaked in the moment, clearly enjoying the sensation of wearing Hunter's shirt. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent—his own new musk. Effortlessly, he adjusted the fit, making sure his hair was in place.

"Alright," Liam said, his voice dropping lower, more controlled, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "You're gonna get your wish." He took a slow, deliberate step toward Rob, making his movements feel like a storm gathering force. "I am Hunter McAllister."

Liam took a few more calculated steps forward, his body shifting with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. His arms flexed, his shoulders tensed. He gripped Hunter’s flannel shirt, twisting it slightly as though the final piece of the puzzle was falling into place. A slow, deliberate crack of his neck followed, the movement as natural as breathing. It sent a chill down Rob’s spine. That was something Hunter always did when gearing up for something. The action spoke volumes, a silent declaration of power.

Rob’s heart was lodged in his throat now, his body trembling. A mix of fear and excitement twisted in his stomach, every fiber of his being desperate to see how far this would go.

Liam’s eyes narrowed as he embraced Hunter’s imposing posture. He shifted, subtly puffing out his chest, making himself seem even larger than before. He straightened his back, shoulders wide, exuding an undeniable aura of dominance. As he locked eyes with Rob, the world seemed to fade away. In that instant, it was as though Liam had fully transformed into Hunter—but now Hunter carried the menace of Liam, and Rob could feel it in every inch of his body.

Liam's grin turned into a dangerous expression. "What the fuck?" His voice dropped an octave and sounded menacing. "Who the hell are you? You think you can just waltz in here like nothing's wrong?" His words dripped with contempt, mirroring the exact tone Hunter used when he was at his most intimidating. "Answer me, you piece of shit!"

Rob’s breath hitched in his chest, his heart racing faster than his mind could process. He could feel the shift in the room, the raw energy radiating from Liam. He could barely speak, but he managed to whisper a trembling, "Holy shit."

Liam moved like lightning. In a single fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, leaning in so close that Rob could feel the heat of his breath. His eyes were dark, calculating, as though he was sizing Rob up—inspecting him the way Hunter would scrutinize someone he planned to destroy.

"You think this is just a game, don’t you?" Liam’s voice was a low growl, each word laced with menace. The edge to his tone sent a spike of adrenaline through Rob’s veins. The room felt suffocating, as if the air itself had thickened. Rob couldn’t look away. "Scared? You better be."

Rob tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Whether it was fear or fascination that held him in place, he wasn’t sure—but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Liam. "N-No..." he stammered, his voice betraying his own fear.

"Then take a whiff." Liam straightened up, a wicked smile playing around his lips. He grabbed Rob's head by the hair and pulled him into his armpits. Rob, caught up in the intensity of the moment, surrendered to the role play, a strange sensation flooding through him as he allowed himself to savor the closeness of Hunter's arrogance.

But then, a noise shattered the calm. The front door creaked open.

Liam froze, his entire body going rigid. Rob didn’t notice right away, too absorbed in the lingering remnants of Hunter’s scent, until the distinct sound of footsteps in the hallway broke through his focus.

"Shit, that’s Kyle," Rob muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. He looked up, startled by the sudden shift in Liam’s demeanor. "I thought he was out of town?"

Liam’s face twisted into a dark, sharp smile. The sound of Kyle’s footsteps grew louder, and Rob didn’t see it coming—not the shift in Liam’s expression, nor the sudden tension that radiated from him. The uneasy calm settling in like the quiet before a storm.

"Piss off, you sad fucker." Liam shoved Rob away from him in a low, cold voice. Rob sank to the floor, trembling and blinking in confusion. "Get the fuck up, nerd. Now!"

"What's going on here? What's..." Rob whimpered.

Then Kyle entered the room, confusion flickering across his face as his eyes darted between Rob and Hunter, who was towering over the nerd on the floor. But that confusion quickly twisted into a sneer.

"What the hell is this?" Kyle muttered, eyes scanning Hunter up and down. His gaze shifted to Rob, still lying frozen on the ground.

"Hunter, what is this idiot doing in here?"

Liam didn’t flinch. His lips curled into a smirk, colder than anything Rob had ever seen. "Caught this weirdo sniffing around our place," Liam said smoothly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something dangerous. "Fortunately, I came home at the right time. At first, I thought someone was trying to steal from us. But imagine my surprise when I found this dude... sniffing at our underwear!"

Rob’s heart raced in his chest. This had to be a joke. A sick, twisted prank. Liam was just playing the part of Hunter, right? Rob was certain he had some sort of plan—maybe to knock out Kyle and laugh about it afterward. This was part of Liam’s plan, wasn’t it?

Liam turned his gaze to Rob, his eyes cold, filled with disdain.

"So, this is how it’s going to be, huh?" he said, his voice harsh, each word deliberate, cutting through the air like a blade.

"I catch you snooping around my place, sneaking around like some rat? You thought you could just waltz in here?"

Rob’s breath caught in his throat, his mind scrambling to make sense of the words. It felt like the room had suddenly tightened around him, the weight of Liam’s accusation pressing down hard.

"Liam—wait, no, I—" Rob tried to speak, but the words stumbled out weakly, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

But Liam—Hunter—cut him off, his tone icy, relentless. "Save it."

"Don't try to take me for a fool, wimp," he snapped. "Do you think you'll get out of here without consequences?" Liam took a step forward and pushed his way into Rob's personal space, causing him to instinctively crawl back. Kyle stood behind Rob, who was now fully engaged in the moment. He grinned and let out a laugh.

"Look at that loser," he mocked. "A pathetic nerd like you? Did you really think you could just come in here and do your thing?" Rob froze, his heart hammering in his chest.

What was happening? This wasn’t a joke. This was real. His best friend—Liam—was betraying him.

Liam smirked, watching Rob’s hesitation, the gleam in his eyes cold and calculating. Rob wanted to speak, to argue, but his throat tightened, each breath feeling harder to take. This couldn’t be happening. He had to be misreading this—there was no way. Not like this. Not Liam.

The betrayal hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His best friend was turning on him.

"Liam, please," Rob whispered, his voice barely a breath. "You’re my friend… What’s going on?"

Liam’s expression twisted into something darker, more malicious, as if the mask of friendship had slipped away completely. He didn’t even flinch. Slowly, he stepped even closer to Rob, his presence overwhelming. His voice dropped to a low growl.

"Shut up. My name is Hunter. Don’t talk to me like you know me."

To their surprise, Kyle grabbed Rob by the collar and yanked him forward with one violent movement. Rob gasped and tried to free himself from Kyle's iron grip. This was no longer a game. There was no punchline. Liam wasn't playing along - he was all in.

"You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you out already," Kyle growled, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "But maybe we’ll have some fun with you first."

Without warning, he shoved Rob aside, sending him stumbling toward the wall. Rob collided with it, the impact sending a jolt through his body, struggling to stay upright as his heart dropped into his stomach. Kyle’s laugh echoed through the room, dark and cruel.

"You're pathetic. I always knew you and your faggot friend were a couple of weirdos on campus," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Look at you. What a joke."

Rob staggered to regain his balance, panic rising in his chest like a wave. He had to get out of here. But the slow, crushing realization settled in: Liam wouldn’t help him. Liam had chosen this. He’d chosen Hunter—the life that came with power. And Rob… Rob was nothing more than a casualty of that choice.

"Throw that useless fucker out, Kyle. He's lucky we didn't call the cops." Hunter ordered with an icy finality. His voice was so cold, so unfeeling. The weight of those words hit Rob like a punch in the gut. There was no turning back.

Kyle pushed Rob towards the door, disgust clearly written on his face. "Get out of here. Before we decide to show you what happens when you forget your place." Rob opened his mouth, trying to find the words to fight back, but they wouldn't come. His throat was tight, his chest heavy with emotion. There was no chance. This was no longer a joke. The door slammed shut behind him for good, and Rob stood alone in the hallway. His knees wobbled beneath him, the full weight of betrayal crashing over him. Liam had sacrificed Rob.

————

When Rob arrived at home, desperation clawed at him. He reached for his phone, his fingers trembling as he tried to contact Liam, praying that somehow, Liam wasn’t really abandoning him—that this wasn’t the reality he’d been left in. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.

Frantically, he sent message after message, each one more urgent than the last. But no matter how many times he hit send, Rob didn’t receive a response. Not a single word from Liam.

Defeated, Rob collapsed onto his bed, staring blankly at his phone as he scrolled through his friend’s stories. The weight of everything pressing down on him, he drifted aimlessly through the posts, until an idea suddenly struck him. He hesitated for a moment, then checked Hunter’s account.

Shocked, but somehow less surprised than he expected, Rob saw it: Hunter posting pictures of his workout, Kyle standing proudly by his side.

Hours passed, and more evidence piled up. His stomach churned as he saw more: Liam was at the girlfriend’s place now, exactly as he had planned hours before, stepping fully into the role he’d chosen. Rob’s heart twisted in his chest.

The moment Hunter posted a new selfie, showcasing his toned upper body, Rob couldn't help but feel a wave of envy wash over him. He stared at the image, his heart tightening. Hunter’s life—Liam’s life—looked perfect, and it made Rob feel small in comparison. All he could think about was Hunter’s girlfriend, getting fucked by the one and only Hunter McAllister.