I didn’t even realise the faceswap had triggered until I caught the way both of them were looking at me—like I was the woman sitting between them, not me at all. Their teasing about sandwiches and “sharing the same girl” suddenly felt a lot hotter when I realised I was the girl they thought they were talking to. Every time I answered, both of them leaned in a little closer, studying my face, my reactions, the soft confusion I couldn’t hide in this new body. I could feel their eyes trace down my neckline as I tried to play it cool, pretending I wasn’t flustered by the way the bald one smirked or how the long-haired guy kept brushing his arm against mine.

By the time they joked about Eiffel Towering, both of them were already way too comfortable beside me, legs pressed against mine as if I’d always belonged in the middle. They weren’t talking around me anymore—they were talking to me, like I was the girl they wanted to pull into their stupid, reckless fantasies. And the dangerous part? Sitting there, trapped in this swapped body with their attention burning into me… I didn’t exactly hate the idea.