{based on the Reddit story by u/rookyfurrx3 but swapped to skinsuit instead of possession}

Every time your sister annoyed you, a dark impulse grew inside you. The skinsuit had become your secret outlet for revenge—her body transformed into a perfect vessel you could wear, her form entirely under your control. You remembered the first time you tried it: taking a few daring videos, her body on display, and sending them into the void of the internet, a subtle yet burning retaliation that left her none the wiser. The thrill of control, of turning irritation into power, was intoxicating.

Today, however, she pushed every boundary. Her voice, her laughter, her teasing—it all grated against you like nails on a chalkboard. You decided it was time to escalate. The skinsuit gun in your hands felt alive, humming with potential, and you didn’t hesitate. In an instant, she was gone—the vibrant, laughing person you knew reduced to a husk. Her body, the vessel of her former self, lay ready to be reshaped, to be claimed.

Now, standing before her lifeless form, the temptation is irresistible. To step inside, to wear her, to feel her skin and move as she once did—it’s an intoxicating mix of power and intimacy. To don her identity, even temporarily, is to fuse your existence with hers, to walk in her shoes, see through her eyes, and wield the life she left behind as your own. The thrill is complete, and the line between yourself and her begins to blur, leaving only the perfect, controllable form you’ve always desired.