#064

04/03/2026

[ID: An animated gif of Megumi Fushiguro standing while wiggling their fingers and thinking of when Gojo Satoru did the same thing with a dumb expression. The second image is in a chibi style of Gojo lying on a table and looking confused as Megumi welcomes him back while wiggling their fingers. /End ID]

Another couple served.

The guys they wanted to slip in really were something.

One of them actually lived in the same building as the, did. So I basically payed him a visit with a little... surprise in hand.

,The other one they knew from the gym - or rather they saw him there. It took a while until I found him but I wasn'tas lucky as getting aa good opportunity right there. So I followed him home. Fortunately he took the publics.

In the end I was so hyped that I stuck the syringe in his neck right when he stuck the key into his flats door.

I immediately sent an invite to my awaiting friends, assuming they wouldn't mind seeinh how he lived.

When they arrived though they only had eyes for that hollowed out hunk I presented right when I opened the door, getting well excited, feeling him while making out heavily.

They decided not to slip in yet, though. They wanted to do both simultaniously. And I understoof that very good.

So we headed on to that other guys flat where I had stored him as there was no need to take him out of the house.

My lucky couple started to undress immediately, making out while I took care of those suits, helping them getting in, getting a good feel while that skin wrapped around their body, making sure it fit well, you know, especially after pulling over the mask and seal those suits, feeling them even more as there is rarely a feeling more exciting than those bodies getting adjusted, merging with those suits until they were fully transformed, making out the whole time while I injoyed my premium view with some heavy handling.

064

CW/TW: BBU/WRU (with all attendant warnings), medical whump, sickness, vomit mention, organ trafficking

I didn’t need another character to complicate my plot lines. But I needed to write this.

He would count the days down to his end, if there were days. If he could count.

There’s only white walls and the constant cold white light overhead. There’s the needle in his arm, taped down, giving him the necessary nutrients and hydration.

It drips drugs into him, to make him docile, to make him forget, to make him into the perfect product for sale.

Sometimes there’s a Handler, who makes him walk around the room for exercise, for blood circulation and muscle tone. Sometimes there’s a medic, to refresh the bags hanging on a stand, to check his vitals or take his blood.

It breaks up the monotony, the waiting, the isolation. He almost welcomes their visits. He only dreads the shots. They hardly hurt, a quick prick into an arm or thigh.

But always later he’s feverish, bones and body aching. Sometimes his throat is raw, and he’s glad they don’t feed him because even throwing up the little bile in his stomach hurts. Sometimes his body covers itself with itchy bumps he cannot scratch. Sometimes he sees things, or hears things.

No one comes to comfort him. Somehow he thinks someone should come, to wipe away the sweat, to put a cool cloth on his forehead.

When the sickness passes, they take more blood, checking for “antigens”.

Soon, someone said. He’s almost ready. The buyer wants him.

In other parts of the Facility, parts he failed out of, a buyer, an owner means purpose, love, a way out of cold white rooms.

That’s not for him.

When he’s ready, they will take him out to a larger white room, with brighter white lights overhead. They will put him to sleep and take what they want out of him. He won’t wake up.

He is only spare parts.

Detailed explanation of textures available are below the cut.