Chapter Text
The sound of the alarm on his phone was, unsurprisingly, the first noise that Oliver Newt heard. It was a quiet, synth-y tune, reminiscent of an old video game. Oliver’s eyes fluttered open as his ringtone played.
Ugh... I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night. Oliver flipped over on his bed, and looked around his dorm as he listened to the alarm for a few more moments. Sunlight streamed in through beige curtains, bathing his room in a golden glow. A stray beam illuminated his closet, as if it were a sign from the universe to start getting ready for the day. He picked up the phone to turn off his alarm and see the time, 8:06 AM. Just about an hour before his first class.
Degree isn't gonna earn itself, Oliver thought. He sat up and pulled himself out of bed before grasping at the nightstand next to him to find his round-rimmed glasses. He stumbles over to the bathroom to brush his teeth, fix his curly black hair, and get dressed. Rummaging through his closet, Oliver eventually decided on his usual attire: A white button-down shirt and some black pants. And as he steps back in the bathroom to adjust his collar, he takes stock of the man staring back at him.
Oliver was, most noticeably, a rather chubby fellow. He had a crop of curly black hair that went down just past the tips of his ears and framed his soft face. His glasses, big and round as they were, dominated most of his visage, but a set of faint freckles could be seen on the pale skin beneath. As his eyes traveled downwards to his body, he was met with a familiar portly frame. His weight was distributed relatively evenly across all 5 feet and 8 inches of him. A doughy gut protruded in front of him, pressing gently against the buttons of his shirt. A pair of thighs, grown soft from a lack of exercise, supported the modest butt that stuck out behind him. His clothes do well to flatter him, they're not overly tight or baggy anywhere. He's learned how to dress for someone at his size, given that he's always been on the heavier side. Last time he weighed himself he was somewhere around the 250's, though he's never tracked his weight to an extensive degree. Some would say he looks like the purest form of a 'nerd,' and it would be hard to deny. But that's simply who he was.
Oliver stepped back out into his dorm room, and scanned to see if anything was out of place. The room itself was neatly composed. It would be rare to see trash or dirty laundry simply left on the floor, and sure enough there was none to be seen. His walls were sparsely decorated, an old store display for Pikmin, a game he cherished in his childhood, and a poster of the Periodic Table. The poster hung above a desk sitting in the corner of his room, its surface littered with scientific glassware, research notes, and other assorted equipment. This was the set and setting of last night's obsession.
We’re getting pretty close. Couple more checks, give it another week, and we’ll see if this project bears any fruit, he thought. Oliver smiled fondly as he looked at the chemistry set, at the possibilities that lay on that desk. Behind that excitement, there was something less sweet. A nebulous anxiety, but directed at what? Oliver couldn’t put his finger on it, and he only had 45 minutes to get to class now. So he picked up his laptop bag and began to walk out of the room. But not before receiving a text. Oliver glanced down at his phone to see a new message from Jackie Mitchell.
“hey. idk if you're still using the biotech textbook, but I kiiiinda need it for something tomorrow, so if you get the chance could you drop it off at my dorm? thx!” was the text that stared back up at him. His eyes scanned across the room, looking for where he left it, before landing upon the desk with his recreational experiments. 'Biotechnology, Plant Mutagenesis, and Sustainability' was a rather hefty grey textbook. It was surprising that it was required reading for Jackie's course, given how niche it was, until you noticed that one of the authors on the cover was also the Professor for that class. That's when it all made sense. It did have some good knowledge to give up to Oliver, but it had since then exhausted its usefulness. Nonetheless, Oliver hoisted the thick book into his bag and went along his way.
Walking across the campus of RTI, Oliver took in the sights and sounds of college life that surrounded him. Students sipping on iced coffees under shaded trees, cramming before an exam later in the day. People rushing this way and that to get the day started. A group of young men in Letterman jackets tossing a football back and forth while yelling jokes at each other. Ryan was likely to be somewhere in that group, but Oliver didn't have the time or energy to try and find him. Not to say that Oliver didn't appreciate Ryan as a friend, it's just... meeting Ryan's other friends makes Oliver uncomfortable. A strange sense of alienation washes over him when he’s around them, and it makes him think about how and when people change. If friendships can always endure that change.
“That's not an 8 AM kinda thought, Oliver,” he whispered to himself as he shunted the idea to the back of his mind. He stopped by the coffee shop on campus, picking up his usual order of chamomile tea and a blueberry muffin. He barely exchanged a word with the barista, despite the dozens, if not hundreds of times he had come here. And today was no different. But Oliver made his way to his first class of the day, taking his usual seat in Professor Donahue's lecture hall. As he pulled out his laptop and got his system for note-taking ready, a familiar face plopped down next to him.
“Hey Ollie...” Maddie Schafer grumbled out. The sleep had barely been rubbed out of her eyes, but she still managed to arrive to class with a fashion-forward outfit. In all the years that Oliver has known her, the care and attention she’s put into her appearance has been a constant in Oliver’s social circle.
“Oh, hey Maddie. Guess you didn't sleep too well?” Oliver turned his body to face her, his head supported by an arm resting on the desk in front of them.
“Nope. I don't know how you do classes at 9 in the morning, cause this is not fun. Like did you get any sleep?”
A smile formed on his face, a gentle exhale from the nose before saying, “I tried to warn you, morning classes aren't for the faint of heart. But I did not sleep super well either. I was uhh... studying pretty hard.”
“Oliver Newt? Studying!? How'd ya find the time to do that in between all the frat parties you go to?” Maddie softly punched Oliver's shoulder and the two of them shared a chuckle. “Nah, but seriously, do you ever let yourself do anything fun? Like, things that you do just for YOU.”
Oliver looked half bemused, half offended at that statement. He let out a laugh and said, “Studying is fun to me! And I do other stuff too! I play video games, I watch stuff.”
Maddie sighed, “Yeahhh, but like, do you talk to anyone here? Aside from me and Ryan?”
A slight blush crept onto Oliver's face, it was embarrassing to have his asocial tendencies put on blast like this. He sighed before speaking again. “I... I mean kinda, but you know me! I'm just not the kind of person to go up to random people and start talking to them.”
“Well... Why don't you try it? You never know, you might meet someone cool.”
“Y-yeah, I guess you're not wrong.” Fears and doubts lingered in Oliver's mind. As they would for anyone else, he assumed. The mere act of talking to someone and sussing out what their personality was, what you should say to not come off as a weirdo, it was all incredibly exhausting for him. Just then, Professor Donahue walked in and loudly began her lesson, as she had always done. But the thoughts continued to stir in Oliver's brain. Maddie wasn't wrong. It's not like he couldn't try it. Even he had to admit that he felt like his time at RTI had been all work, no play. He was planning on going to the library after class to do some real studying, perhaps he'd make an attempt to talk to someone interesting then.
Quinn's alarm blared, startling them awake and causing them to slide off the bed they had flopped onto last night. Their fall was, thankfully, broken by a few days worth of dirty laundry that had collected on the ground. Bleary-eyed, Quinn Yeong pawed at their nightstand to stop the klaxon that was Eyeless by Slipknot. Their phone clattered into the gap between the bed and the night stand, and Quinn grunted in annoyance as they strained and reached to grab it. Once they could finally silence the device, they looked at the time
12:18 PM. Pretty early for me, all things considered, they thought. Quinn picked themselves up and continued looking at their phone, skimming through the dozen or so messages that were sent in their group chat. Tara and Matteo were sending each other random images they found on the internet, most of them barely holding any humor other than pure absurdity.
“why were you losers up until 4am posting this shit,” Quinn typed.
Matteo responded a moment later, “cuz we were still high and it was funny at the time. ur just mad that you fell asleep first lol.”
“true... yall are still losers tho :)“ With that, Quinn threw the phone onto their bed and started getting presentable. They pulled on a band tee, a hoodie, some black jeans, and a pair of leather boots. They grabbed a handful of bracelets and necklaces from a dish on their dresser, putting on whatever they picked up as they walked into the common area.
Their roommate was probably already out, given what time it was, so they had free reign to use the bathroom and get ready. Quinn glanced at the mirror briefly, giving their orange hair a brush so that it sat right on their head. They sloppily applied some eyeliner to their hooded eyes before looking over the rest of their outfit to make sure it looked somewhat passable. Their jeans hugged tightly around their pudgy legs, but their shirt and hoodie adequately covered everything upstairs. They were around 280 pounds when they first came to college, but they could tell that number was out of date from how snug their clothes felt, how there was always just a bit more of them to pinch. It didn't bother them much, aside from the hassle of finding clothes that fit, it was merely a result of the free-living college lifestyle to them. But it was something worth noticing.
They stepped out into the kitchen, throwing a tray of pizza bagels into the microwave while looking over their class schedule. As their eyes scanned down, they remarked on how they didn't have much except for... the chemistry exam... that they forgot to study for.
Shit. God damned gen-ed classes. What are they even good for? Knowing about the Periodic Table is never going to help me write a Python program, they thought. Should probably try to cram a little bit before the class though. With a begrudging acceptance of reality, they scarfed down a few of their pizza bagels before making their way to the library.
RTI's on-campus library was a beautiful building for those with the eyes to see it. One of the older buildings on school grounds, it had an exterior of ruddy bricks carved and placed with care. Arched windows, small touches of texture, columns and buttresses all worked as pieces in the puzzle of a building that held a lot of visual interest. As one stepped inside, they first saw the high vaulted ceiling, then the rich varnished teak walls that extended from it. The rooms were lit with yellowed incandescent bulbs and the whole space was composed with a keen eye and a great deal of craftsmanship.
Oliver found the whole experience to be quite inspiring in his pursuits of knowledge. The sights, the sounds of ambient academia, the smell of aged books, it was all the perfect set dressing for him to focus up and study. And for a short time they did, until someone entered the library that caught his attention.
Their fiery orange hair was initially what attracted Oliver's eyes to them, cut in a shag mullet that fell around their androgynous face. His eyes followed the path of their eyeliner, even as messy as it was, with awe. Looking downwards, he stared at the assortment of grunge-y necklaces they wore. Crosses, padlocks, charms of various shapes and sizes all hung from thick chains that wrapped around their wide neck. His eyes traced the rest of their outfit, their body, to take in the visual interest of their appearance. Their face felt familiar, someone Oliver had seen in the hallways and talking to mutual friends of friends, but they had never formally met or exchanged names.
Quinn's mind was singular as they sat down at one of the longer tables. Alright, just gotta pump my brain full of as much knowledge as I can by tomorrow morning, they told themselves. But once they had the worksheets in front of them, it may as well have been in Ancient Greek. It wasn't even an issue with the math, which was what most of their classmates complained about, it was just forgetting the fundamental terms because their mind was elsewhere. They got ready to pull out their laptop and google something, but then they glanced at the tubby nerd sitting a few chairs to their left and got an idea.
“Hey, are you uhh, like good at chemistry?” they asked.
Oliver jumped a bit as the voice called out to them, his trance-like state disturbed by the sudden noise. He looked around for a moment, before looking back at the orange-haired person staring at them. He wordlessly pointed at himself, with an expression on his face that read as 'Who, me?'
“Yeah, you.” Quinn shrugged their shoulders, as if to say 'Who else?'
“I'm actually majoring in chemistry, so I'd like to think so.” Oliver gave a nervous chuckle and walked over to Quinn, taking a seat just to their right. Quinn, upon getting a closer look at Oliver, thought to themselves, He's kinda cute. It only lingered in their mind for the briefest of moments, something they simply took note of as an objective fact before talking.
“Oh, ok. I need to study up for a test tomorrow, and there's just like fundamental stuff that I need to hear verbalized so I can pound it into my brain.” Quinn's eyes scrolled through the worksheet in front of them, trying to find an example of what they meant. “Like, ok, Polar and Non-polar bonds. I know it's some shit about exchanging electrons, but what's the difference?“ Oliver nodded as Quinn spoke. He stifled a chuckle when he saw what they were struggling with. Not as if he looked down on people who knew less than him, he just found it a bit funny that he was overqualified to answer the question.
“Ahh, I see. Ok, so, when atoms share electrons, they form covalent bonds, but they can share them in different ways. If they're shared equally, both atoms have the same number of electrons, and so they're Non-polar. But if they're unequally shared, like with Water, one of the atoms has a negative charge and the other ones have a comparatively positive charge, and those are Polar bonds.” Quinn nodded slowly, trying with a noticeable amount of effort to digest what they were being told.
“Oooook... So is there like an opposites attract thing with polar bonds? Kinda like how it is with magnets?” Oliver's eyes lit up just a touch as they started to get it.
“Yeah! Exactly like that. The opposite charges attract, and that's also why water like, clings to itself really well, because the positive ends of the molecules stick to the negative ends of different ones! That’s what hydrogen bonding is, and it’s really neat because…” Quinn's face twisted back into confusion for a moment, and Oliver was struck with a wave of embarrassment over nerding out. ”...Or something like that, I don't know, I’m sorry.“ Quinn at first snickered as Oliver geeked out, but then their smile subtly eroded into a frown.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“Oh, uhh... I don't know. But you don't wanna hear me jabber about this stuff, right?” Quinn squinted their eyes at that line and stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words to deal with that nugget of self pity. It felt odd and depressing to watch the boy smother his excitement so quickly, and Quinn's own reaction was equally surprising. They were never one to pay such mind to the emotions of others, not out of malice or disregard but mere ignorance. People were almost universally hard to read, so Quinn stopped trying, but this only had the effect of making them come off as rude or aloof most times.
“Listen, uhh.. sorry I didn't catch your name earlier.”
“Oh, Oliver.”
“Oliver, ok. Quinn, by the way.” Oliver nodded gently as he listened intently as the person spoke. “I mean...I don't...really care? In a nice way. It's not like you ruined my day by yapping about science. Especially if that's your major. That's the whole reason you're here. You kinda have to nerd out about that stuff. Like, my roommate, Jackie, is doing biology. I don't understand 80% of what she says when she complains about homework, but it's just kinda like 'Hell yeah, that's something you're excited about.'“ Oliver tried his best to internalize what Quinn was saying to him, to make it feel true in his own mind, but then he was sidetracked.
“Wait, you're roommates with Jackie? Jackie Mitchell?”
“...Uhh yeah?”
“Oh! Cool, I need to give you a textbook. I was supposed to get it back to her for a test but I’m all the way in Oak Hall and I don't think I'll have the-” Suddenly, an alarm went off and the dulcet tones of 'The Giant Enemy Spider' emanated from Oliver's phone at a disruptive volume. His face went beet red as he scrambled to mute it, ultimately succeeding but not before a few souls looked over in his direction. Quinn stifled a laugh at the whole situation.
“Are you uhh... a really big Jerma fan?”
“I... I gotta go. I'm already about to be late to class, but I hope your exam goes well Quinn!” Oliver gathered his things and ran off before he could hear Quinn's last comment.
“Hey, you forgot to... give me the... textbook.” Their voice trailed off as they watched him leave the library. Their eyes lingered on him for a moment more, inexplicably focusing on the way he jiggled. Shame he forgot to leave the book, Jackie probably won’t be happy with him if she needed it that badly. Though he did mention something about Oak Hall, one of the fancier dorms on campus. Maybe I'll swing by to pick it up tonight, they thought. Surely that was the most practical reason. But perhaps there was a curious part of Quinn that wanted to talk to Oliver more.
Oliver shuffled back into his dorm room as the clock was about to strike 7 pm. Brand new knowledge of stoichiometry should've been what occupied his mind, but he could only think of the things Maddie said and the things he did in front of Quinn. Why am I like this? he thought to himself. It's just a pattern that keeps repeating. I get all annoying and nerdy when someone brings up something I'm passionate about, then they obviously react weirdly to it, so I either stop talking or apologize for it and make myself seem even more unlikable. Does the problem lie in being myself or NOT being myself!?
He flopped down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling which was now dimly lit by the orange-tinted light of his lamp. He played both conversations back in his head. What are you apologizing for? Do you ever let yourself do anything fun? What are you apologizing for? Do you ever let yourself do anything fun?
What are you apologizing for?
Oliver could not think of an answer to that question to save his life, at least not right now. But that moment he shared in the library with Quinn was the first time that his apology felt truly unnecessary. They told him it didn't matter, not to brush it off in annoyance or to smother him in pity, but just as a mere fact of life. It was so... direct, so straight to the point. Is that just how Quinn is? Or is it so plain to see that I need to just grow up and stop caring about what people think of me. The thought repeated in his mind. It was so easy to say, but putting into practice felt like an insurmountable task, one that went against every defense mechanism and trauma response he had ever taught himself.
Do you ever let yourself do anything fun?
Hearing those words for a third time, he sat up in his bed. He looked over at his desk, at the chemistry equipment which was still set up, still dirty from the previous night's use. And in the middle of it all, he looked at the simple glass vial. A vial which, upon first examination, simply contained 15 milliliters of a dark purple liquid. Oliver stood up and held it in his hands, shook it around and watched the syrupy substance coat the interior, slowly dripping down along the walls of its enclosure. For almost 15 years he'd been thinking about something like this. Hoping something like it would come along, then finding the resolve to make it himself. This was the reason he majored in chemistry. And now it was sitting right here in his hands, a single piece of cork the only thing left between him and his dreams. But what did he feel? Apprehension. Fear. Doubt. All of it crept in, his brain mired in hesitation as he thought about the 'What-Ifs.' 'What if the math was wrong, what if it’s not like I imagined it to be? What if it didn’t work? What if it did?' But it was here! Why should he wait another week? Why shouldn't he let himself do something fun?
Oliver took a deep breath, and decided to stop overthinking things. It was the only way he knew how to operate, but in this matter it simply was not necessary. He gently placed the vial back down, and began to make preparations. The smaller bits of furniture were moved against the walls, creating a relatively wide space at the center of the room. A translucent drop cloth was placed on the floor, it was slightly too big for the room and the excess material was draped over the bed and bunched up at the doorways leading out of the bedroom. Oliver looked down at his clothes, asking himself a quite important question. Do I want to burst out of these? The sentence itself made him blush as it echoed in his mind. Ultimately, he decided that the experience of it all would be worth the money he lost on an outfit.
There was nothing left to do, nothing to lose and everything to gain. Oliver walked back over to the desk, placed his phone down upon it, and picked up the vial again. As he uncorked the top, a sweet, fruity scent flooded his nostrils. A distinct scent of blueberries, one that he knew well from his daily blueberry muffin, yet so utterly distilled and concentrated. As he brought it to his lips, he went over the plan in his head once more. Once the change finishes, I get 30 minutes before the chemical clock triggers and I go back to normal. 30 minutes. He took another deep breath, tipped the vial back, and drank the sweet ichor that flowed from it. The flavor of blueberries graced his tongue with such richness, such vibrant complexity, that even if it was a dud, the taste still would have been worth it. But soon it was gone, and Oliver waited with bated breath.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited. He gave a disappointed sigh, thinking to himself, Maybe I should've given it a few more weeks. Maybe I should've ran some tests. Until he glanced at a mirror hanging from the door of his closet and saw it.
A small blue spot, no larger than a fingerprint, sat on the tip of his nose. He walked up to the mirror to get a closer look. He might've just smudged the serum on his face, so he had to be sure that what he was seeing was real. He swiped his thumb over the spot, confirming that it was not spilled product, but something sitting beneath the skin. As he stared back at his own face, he watched the spot slowly spreading out, gaining more ground on his face. First, thin streaks of blue would run down his capillaries, then the pale skin in between would change to a deep, violet hue. And staring in that mirror, watching his face turn purple, Oliver’s mind, body, and soul were ignited with elation. It was an overture of the senses, and as the blue discoloration traveled down his neck, filtering through his torso and his arms, he felt in his heart that this was right. All the fear and uncertainty that clouded his mind melted away; he was now in a situation he deeply, innately understood, thought about, fantasized about, and it felt like home. As the noise of his self-conscious nature quieted, he could only look down and wait for what happened next.
The purple spread throughout his skin, down his legs and off the fingers and toes until he was blue from top to bottom. His new coloring brought a unique, tingly feeling with it. It was almost like pins and needles, though it was dulled and undercut by... something else. Oliver did not have long to ponder its cause, however, as a tightness arose around his midsection. The waistband of his pants felt more snug than it did a moment ago, and the sensation only grew sharper as the moment passed. He looked down in glee to see his stomach bloating outwards, pressing against his clothes as a low gurgle radiated from his belly. It took every bit of restraint within Oliver to not say some corny line he rehearsed over and over in his head, but he watched in silent wonder as he began to swell up. As the juice began to fill him out.
Quinn walked into the common area of Oak Hall nonchalantly, hands tucked deep in their pockets as they thought of how to figure out where exactly Oliver was. There was an RA sitting on a couch, dispassionately flipping through a magazine to pass the time. A few hallways led out of the commons, but nothing gave an indication as to where Quinn could find their target.
Part of them felt like somewhat of a creep, going into a random dormitory and asking where someone lived, but a stronger side of themself swept the thought away. I'll probably never see these people again, so what does it matter? I just gotta grab the textbook and maybe talk to Oliver a bit. Oliver. They walked over to a vending machine to stall and grab a snack as they thought more about Oliver.
The name lingered on their mind's tongue, it brought images of a round face obscured by round glasses, of an impassioned smile that wilted to a subdued frown when they looked at it. These thoughts, for Quinn, felt disconcerting and out of place. They hardly gave their real friends this much thought, let alone someone they spoke with for less than 2 minutes. And yet there was something about Oliver that made Quinn curious. For a brief moment, Quinn felt like they saw a glimpse of a real person hidden behind a mask. A person that Quinn might want to meet and appreciate.
They then became conscious of the fact that they had been staring at the candy bar they wanted, locked in their imagination for a moment too long. They pulled a few crumpled bills out of their wallet and loaded them into the machine. They looked around on the walls for a floor plan or a tenant list of some kind, but had no such luck. Guess I'll ask the RA then, no other choice, they thought. They bent down to grab their snack before walking over to the man splayed out of the sofa.
“Hey, do you know where I can find Oliver's room? I was supposed to grab a textbook from him but I forg-”
“Name tags are on the doors, you can go look for yourself.”
“I-... Ok. Thanks... dick,” they muttered to themselves as they started pacing through the hallways.
Nora, Jane, Nixon, Elias, Newton, April, read the names as they leisurely scanned the doors. Until eventually they arrived at Newt, Oliver. They gave the door a firm knock and awaited a response.
Oliver held his breath as he watched his belly expand in front of him. A tentative finger poked into his gut, the physical properties of his juice-logged flesh proved to be unique. Not quite as soft as the fat that usually lined his waist, it gave slightly more resistance while it continued to grow. Removing his finger, he could hear a gentle slosh coming from his stomach as the juice moved through him. The filling sensation spread down through his legs and up to his chest and arms. Oliver leaned his head to the side to see his thighs filling out his pants, eventually pulling the seams taut as pressure gradually began building up. The buttons of his shirt were pulled across his torso, the gaps between them stretching and acting as small windows to the soft, blue flesh beneath. His moobs had a similar effect on his shirt as they puffed up. But through the fabric, some faint blue stains were starting to bleed through at his nipples. Even his arms were starting to take up all the free space in his sleeves as they swelled like sponges.
Oliver's attention was drawn back to his midsection, however, as the belt wrapped around his waist grew tighter tighter. Quickly it crossed the threshold between kinky constraint and painful binding. He fumbled to loosen it, using one hand to hold his ballooning belly out of the way and the other to unbuckle it. This proved to be a more difficult task than Oliver might've realized, as his hands had become ever-so-slightly plumper and lost a measurable amount of dexterity. But just as the belt felt like it was cutting him in half, he managed to release the latch. The belt swung open with considerable force, followed up a moment later by the button of his slacks bursting open. With far less hindrance than it had a moment ago, his belly billowed out like a busted can of biscuits which caused Oliver to assess his condition.
He was swelling much faster than he had initially anticipated, it almost made it hard to take everything in and enjoy the transformation. 'Almost' was the key word however, as his mind was still flooded with pleasure. The moment he looked in the mirror again, saw his body expanding outwards in every direction, he felt such a potent sense of euphoria that he couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. Throughout every inch of his body, every ounce of juice he was filled with, he felt emotions that were beyond reckoning. It was as if he had lived his whole life with a cast on, and could now, for the first time, take it off. The joy and relief that you feel in that moment. The ability to move freely, exactly as you want to, and be your most authentic self. He did, however, make a mental note to try and delay the reaction in future iterations of the serum.
Then, Oliver heard a loud RIIIP behind him and another release of pressure. He tried his best to look over his shoulder, and his breath hitched in his throat as he saw that the seat of his pants had split open. His butt had doubled, no, tripled in size, and it only kept growing as he stared at it. His attention was drawn to the front once more, The buttons of his shirt could take no more abuse and popped one by one as he blew up. His shirt hung open, allowing him to poke and prod and squeeze the sloshing ocean of flesh before him. It took him noticeably more effort, however, as his arms had fattened to the point that they were beginning to get difficult to move. They rested on his love handles, sticking outward at a 45 degree angle as he expanded, but they were beginning to rise as he rounded out.
The juice continued to pump through Oliver's body, but it was becoming clear that it was running out of places to go. Oliver felt his cheeks filling with the sweet substance, accentuating his double chin and giving him an even more cherubic appearance. His arms and legs were becoming more conical by the second, before eventually being subsumed into his body. He stumbled backwards a bit as his legs became useless, falling on to his enormous, globular ass. To his surprise, Oliver did not plop down with a loud thud, but merely rolled backwards gently. Only his hands and sneakers still stuck out from his form, flapping and kicking as he adjusted to the strange sensation of balancing on his own bloated frame.
Pressure started to build at the edges of Oliver's perception. He felt full in the most substantial meaning of the word, and for a brief moment, the fears began mounting again. What if I did my math wrong? Am I going to pop? Fuck. Fuck. This was a mistake. I'm going to get myself killed for my fucking fetish. But as he held his breath, the gurgling and sloshing slowly died down, the pressure evened out across his body, and he was left as a giant swollen blueberry in the middle of his room.
Oliver let out a heavy sigh of relief when he realized that it had all worked out. He tested the limits of his new body, seeing if any combination of kicking, swaying, and nodding his head had any effect on his situation. He was just barely able to roll himself back into an upright position, which put him at eye level with the mirror once more. From where his head was now, a sunken divot at the apex of his body, he could just barely see it. He studied his inflated form; it was less spherical than he expected, like a water balloon or a heavy wad of dough that had been dyed a deep, dark blue. The remnants of his shirt, now stained purple from the juice that seeped out of his pores, hung around his arms. His pants had all but entirely burst off of him, and a pair of thinly stretched underwear was all that kept him modest.
As the blueberry took stock of himself, he tried to think back to the plans he had made when this serum was created. He knew there was something he wanted to try or keep track of once he had finished growing, but it became incredibly difficult to recall. In fact, all conscious thought took much more effort than the blueberry realized. A haze had descended on his mind, a strange high that only allowed him to think about how nice this all was, to savor the moment. I wonder if all that juice is going to my head, he thought. The idea made him blush, which showed as a mulberry tone on his violet skin. But that was one of the last thoughts the blueberry could force himself to think. All notions of panic, or embarrassment, or modesty faded away with the sound of flowing juice within him, like waves crashing against a beach. The sweet taste of blueberries that lingered on his tongue. Sheer appreciation of how full he felt and how large he had become. Time slipped away from the blueberry as this feeling sank in, and he could exist without thought.
And then there was a knock at the door. The blueberry, no, Oliver awoke at the sound. He held his breath for a moment, hoping that he had merely imagined things, that he started drifting to sleep and his senses were tricked. But then there was another knock. Through the door, Oliver could hear a voice, their voice.
“Hey, uhh, Oliver? It's Quinn, from the library. You mentioned that you had one of Jackie's textbooks, and I just wanted to see if I could pick it up.” Quinn idly kicked their feet across the ground as they lingered in front of the door. They figured Oliver was out doing something, but it didn't bother them to wait a moment longer. Inside the dormitory, Oliver was panicking. His mind ran at Mach 3 trying to figure out what to do. His eyes flew to the clock, thinking maybe he only had a few more minutes until he deflated and he could come out to speak to Quinn. But then he saw the time, 8:47 PM. Almost 2 hours!? Why hasn't the swelling gone down? Something's wrong, I need help. God this is going to be embarrassing. Quinn heard a muffled voice speak through the door, much to their surprise.
“Q-Quinn? Are you there? I... I uhh... need a hand in here.”
“Is everything good?” Quinn thought to ask if they could open the door, but the panic in Oliver's voice meant that courtesy took a bit of a backseat. The door creaked open, and Quinn saw a sight before them that defied explanation. In the middle of an otherwise neat and tidy room, there was a blue orb, about 6 feet tall and 6 and a half feet wide. The tattered remains of some clothes hang off of it, clothes that Quinn recognizes. They were clinging to the plump frame of Oliver in the library. The whole room smelled like a perfume store, the air was dominated by the sweet, fruity scent of blueberries. But as Quinn's eyes darted to the top of the orb, they saw that familiar head of curly black hair.
“Quinn, thank god you're here!! I-I was... working on an experiment and.... things went really, REALLY wrong!” Oliver cursed to himself internally, was that the best lie he could come up with? Hopefully the shock of it all would make Quinn believe it.
The voice that came from the orb was muffled, maybe ever-so-slightly deeper than the voice of the boy they talked to in the library. The orb wobbled a bit as it spoke, a faint sloshing sound could be heard. The sight of it all was a lot to take in, Quinn couldn't fully comprehend what they were looking at. It was terrifying, it was strange, it was... a third thing that Quinn couldn't put their finger on. But Quinn looked back at the clothes, the hair, and it was all unmistakably Oliver, and they were first and foremost concerned about his well-being.
“Oliver!? What... the hell. Are you like... ok? Does it hurt?” Quinn took a nervous step forward towards Oliver, realizing the scale of it all.
“It uhh...” Don't tell them the truth. Don't tell them the truth. “...It doesn't hurt, it just feels... funny.” Good enough.
“Wha... How did you say this happened?” Quinn wanted to reach out a hand to poke the blob in front of them, mostly out of sheer curiosity, but also to gauge its consistency and figure out what to do. They thought to themself, What the hell is he filled with? They pulled their hand back, however, as they realized they should ask an important question. “Is it like, contagious or anything?”
“I was... umm... working on food additives, just as a little side project. Chemicals that can replicate flavors inside the body. Figured I'd try blueberries first cause I... like blueberry muffins. But the juice didn’t stop replicating and I just kinda... blew up into one... somehow.” Oliver was glad that he couldn't see Quinn's face right now. The disgust they probably felt, the horror, the confusion at his nonsensical alibi. At least it was Quinn, not Maddie or Ryan, who found him like this. Somehow, them being a near-stranger made things better. “Shouldn't be contagious, cause the reaction only has a certain amount of precursor, eventually it all gets used up.” That part was largely true, but he'd have to figure out why the juice hadn't begun to dissolve once he got back to normal. Quinn took another step forward, and poked a gentle finger into what was once Oliver's belly. The tip of their finger sank in only slightly, and Oliver rocked backwards slowly from the impact as Quinn let go. For Oliver, that brief moment of touch startled him with pleasure; he did the best he could to stifle a gasp, but Quinn could still hear his breathing pick up.
“Oh shit, I'm sorry, did that hurt?”
“N-no, it's just... It's fine, don't worry.” His face burned with shame at every word he spoke, every emotion he felt. So quickly had this dreamlike experience turned into a nightmare. Quinn circled Oliver's body, wearing only an expression of awe and concern. They glanced at the doorway, then back at Oliver.
“Should we... like, call 911? I mean, it doesn't really look like you'd fit through the door, and... I don't know if they'd know what to do about this.” Oliver silently agreed. The only thing that could make this worse is if the paramedics make a huge deal about it, he thought. But there was one idea that popped into his head. A mortifying idea to propose, but one that might work nonetheless.
“The uh... the paper I based this off mentioned something. Objects that get saturated with juice don't... hold on to it super well under pressure. So I... I think if you can find a way to squeeze me...” Oliver's voice trailed off, both out of embarrassment and because the act of thinking was exhausting in this condition.
“...Then all the stuff should come out... Alright. I'm gonna try something, let me know if it hurts or anything like that.” Quinn kicked their shoes off to the side, past the border of the translucent tarp. The tarp that Quinn had only just become consciously aware of. Did Oliver know this was a possibility with what he was doing? He's on a different level of smart to prepare this kind of contingency. Quinn returned to Oliver, stood in front of Oliver's belly button, and gently pushed the blue boy backwards. He rolled slowly at first, but then it grew easier as the gallons upon gallons of juice within him picked up momentum. He was brought to rest on his back, his midsection facing the sky and his head laid back horizontally. Quinn looked over at Oliver, seeing his swollen face clearly for the first time. He was blushing up to his ears, and quickly looked away when Quinn's eyes met his.
“You doing okay down there?”
“Y-yeah, s'just... an insane situation to be in.” You could say that again. But with Oliver on his back, Quinn saw how they were going to proceed. They first tried to jump on top of him from the ground, but quickly realized how impossible that would be given that Oliver was a foot taller than Quinn in his current state. They looked around for something to stand on, eventually settling on a few cardboard boxes. They shakily stood on the tower they had constructed, and sprang up to the peak of Oliver's bloated physique.
As they fell on top of him, a purple liquid oozed from several places in Oliver's body. From most of his pores, it came to the surface like water being squeezed from a sponge, but most notably there were two thick streams which erupted from his chest. Oliver let out a soft moan which he could not suppress. It humiliated him that this process felt as good as it did, but he tried his best to focus on the fact that there was juice coming out of him now. Quinn, hearing that moan as a cry of pain, quickly scrambled off of Oliver.
“Did that hurt, are you alright?”
“N-n-no... I think it's working. K-keep going.” Quinn gave a moment's consideration to where the juice was going. A small bit of it soaked into their clothes, but the rest pattered onto the drop cloth on the floor.
Quinn cocked their head as they readied to jump again. They had mentally removed themselves from the moment, concerned only with helping their new friend out of this uncomfortable, potentially dangerous state. They attempted to shunt the feelings that arose out of their mind. The pity, the sympathy, but also the intrigue, and the fascination. Oliver had undergone such a dramatic transformation, somehow entirely by accident, and Quinn thought up half a dozen questions they might ask him if time allowed it. It did not, however, cross their mind to ask why they found these circumstances fascinating.
Once more, Quinn jumped upon Oliver, throwing their considerable weight atop the blueberry. Just as it had before, the juice squeezed out from his skin and his engorged moobs. And just as it had before, a wave of pleasure overtook Oliver. As the tides came and went, Oliver got better and better at fortifying himself, smothering the gasps and little ecstatic breaths, but the experience did not sour in his mind anymore than it already had. In fact, the embarrassment softened. Oliver would occasionally look up to see Quinn's face, not a face of revulsion, but of compassion and duty.
These actions were repeated again and again over the course of the next 15 minutes. Eventually, Oliver became small enough to stand on his own power, at which point Quinn pressed his flabby body against the wall to extract more juice. Juice that flooded the tarp beneath their feet, that threatened to spill out into the kitchen or the bathroom if another few gallons came out. But fortunately, or rather unfortunately, they never came. Oliver stood against the wall, still blue, still plumper than he should've been. Quinn pressed against stomach, and nothing happened. They furrowed their brow, and tried pressing harder. But nothing happened. They tried squeezing his arms, his legs, his chest. But nothing happened. Oliver stood, largely exhausted from the whole endeavor, draped with a towel Quinn retrieved once he was small enough to cover himself with it.
“...Shit. Shit! It's not working anymore. I can't get anything to come out.” They slammed their hands against the wall and stood to think. “We gotta get the rest out of you before... I don't know, what happens if we don't get it all out? Is this gonna happen again?” Oliver lazily looked down at his hands, the skin stained a shade of violet. The gears in his head turned as he saw Quinn frustrated beside him.
“I'm... I'm still blue?” A curious hand pressed into his belly. No longer could he feel the juice flowing beneath the skin, the pressure it created. His skin was sticky from the sugary residue, and his body was merely coated with soft, pliable fat. His breathing accelerated, he looked around wildly before deciding to go into the bathroom, putting his hands under running water to see if the discoloration could be washed off now. But the scrubbing was to no avail. Much like Quinn's clothes, Oliver's skin was stained. The boy was still blue. His eyes sank down to look at his body, noticing that he looked about 50 pounds heavier than he did before he drank the serum. Quinn stood at the door of the bathroom, watching Oliver. “No, no... This wasn't supposed to happen,” he muttered to himself. Quinn cocked their head at that comment. It sounded like a somewhat redundant thing to say, if all of this was a mistake of science. But they thought nothing of it.
“Does... that mean this is permanent?” Quinn asked. Oliver's breath hitched in his throat with that word. Permanent. He stared in the mirror, his body a culmination of everything he worked towards, but with one flaw. One perfectly destructive flaw. This wasn't something he could practice quietly in his dorm room, he would have to go outside like this. Go to class like this. Would people put the puzzle pieces together? Or would he simply be a freak show, further sabotaging his efforts of ever making true human connections on campus. And to think midterms were starting tomorrow.
“Oh... fuck. Midterms start tomorrow!!” Oliver crumpled into a ball on the bathroom floor. Not quite breaking into a sob, but close. Quinn watched him for a moment, unsure of how they should proceed, what they needed to do to help him feel better. They thought to reassure him that it didn't look all that bad, that this shade of blue actually matched him quite well. But they figured he might not appreciate hearing that right now. So they walked over to Oliver and knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Oliver jumped at the physical contact at first, but did not shy away when Quinn insisted.
“I'm sure you'll figure something out. You're a smart guy.” Oliver tilted his head in Quinn's direction as they spoke. He couldn't think of a response, couldn't look them in the eye, he merely continued to listen. “You just gotta take stuff one day at a time. Something my appa used to say.” Oliver cracked the slightest smile, yet still could not look up at them.
“I'll try to. And thanks, by the way, for the help and everything. I kinda thought you were just going to run away when you saw... all that.”
“I mean, I'm sure most people would. But I don't know, I just figured if I left, I didn't know who else was gonna help you. Whatever that was, whatever this is, seems like a crazy thing to deal with all by yourself.”
“Yeah. You should get going though, it's getting late and I'm gonna be up all night cleaning up.” Oliver thought of the drop cloth in the other room. What the hell am I gonna do with all that juice?
“Nah. You've had a really rough day. You should get a shower and some rest. I'll deal with the uhh...” They looked down at their stained clothes, thinking for the first time about what exactly came out of Oliver. ”What uhh... did you say this stuff was? Like is it just chemicals? Blood? Something...else?“
“J-juice, or at least it should be. That's what the... reaction is supposed to replicate, blueberry juice.” Quinn nodded. “Also, you don't have to do that. You've already helped a bunch.”
“I know I don't. But I still want to. Trust me, it's pretty damn hard to get me to do things that I don't want to do. So it's really no problem.” Oliver looked up at them gratefully, a saddened smile plastered on his face as he got ready to take a shower.
“Th-thank you, Quinn, you don't know how much it means to me.”
“Don't mention it.” Quinn stepped out of the bathroom; the ruffling of plastic could be heard from the living room, but it was quickly drowned out by the hot water flowing from the shower head. The warm water loosened Oliver, helped him calm down. He watched it run down into the drain. First, an opaque blue color, like the first rinse after one had dyed their hair, but slowly it became more and more clear. And of the whole joyous, embarrassing, pleasurable, mortifying affair, Oliver found himself thinking only of the new friend he made. How he wouldn't need to face this all alone.