Kokomi

"It's okay. It's okay." Sae's voice is a lull on a boat, having cradled you night after night — relaxing to that low baritone has become more instinctual than you realized. "Listen to me. Close your eyes. Do not turn around. He only wants me."

"You make it a habit to lie to the girls you see?" The knife in Bunny's hand twirls easily between his fingers. Practiced, known.

Despite everything — the fear that crawls up your spine, your fast-beating heart — you close your eyes, squeezing them shut further as cold metal meets your neck, the sharp end of the blade sliding over your skin, just shy from a death-dipped waterfall.

"Who says I don't want her, hm?" Bunny plays with you, the sharp tip making its way down your neck, between your collarbones. You calm your breath, afraid your pulse might jump and catch onto the blade. "She's a pretty one, you've always had good taste."

"She can't confirm it's you. If you let her go, the DA won't rule in our favor. Without direct confirmation, the case is still too vague to put units on you."

"Oh?" Bunny uses the knife to spread your shirt open a little more, cold sweat shimmering off your skin. "So you do like her that much?"

Sae frowns. "It's our duty to ensure others aren't caught in the crossfire."

"Duty, responsibility. Is that all you care about?" The back of Bunny's hand brushes against your cheek, a caress, much too gentle for a man you know has committed horrors.

"Care is irrelevant. It's an obligation." Sae's words have always leaned on the side of frostbitten.

"Hear that, pretty thing?" You feel Bunny's breath over your neck, a ghost of mint, a bad omen. "You're just an obligation. Awh, you're gonna make her cry, Sae. You sure this is how you want her to go out? Thinking you don't care about her?"

Sae has to be lying, you think. He has to be, doesn't he? After all those nights —

"— spent in your apartment together. You think I wouldn't notice?" Bunny's voice fills back into your concurring thoughts. "And how long did it take you, to open up like that? Bet you're regretting that now, aren't you?"

//

Sae remembers, in his chrysalis of treasured memories, your arrival at his front door in the middle of the night. Just over four years after Bunny's so-called death, the deep breath he heard you take as he slid open the door.

(Funny how you both started defining your life around Bunny and his actions. The years before, the years after. Sometimes you think that might be the hardest part about being with Sae — that there's always a third person in the relationship.)

Sae's question is silent. What are you doing here in his deadpan voice is something between an assumption and a hallucination at this type of night.

"I think we should fix this."

Your voice comes through both shaky and strong, like a fawn that does its best to show its mother how well it can stand, trying to prove that it can walk. He doesn't do you the disservice of asking what this is. Maybe he should've. Should've denied you completely, made you spit out the words, asked you to leave.

Maybe he's tired of running.

The door slides open a little further, and he does what he hasn't done for anyone in the last four years.

He lets you in.

~

To say Sae is paranoid is an understatement. He makes you wait until you're both in what looks like a home office to talk, where the signal in your phone drops entirely. It's almost soundproofed, your presumption from the way silence drops like a curtain.

"You built this?" Your hands slide into your back pockets. "Because of him?"

He lets out a quiet sigh that almost sounds like admittance, taps his fingers against the wood of the table silently. "I'm sorry, about getting so.. comfortable, with you. I overstepped. This can't happen."

"You don't get to say that."

"Your career —"

"No, this is not about either of our careers and you know it." There's something laced in your voice. Like anger, frustration, something so sweet it sticks to the roof of your mouth — like care. "You don't let anyone in because you think the moment you do, he'll come back."

Sae has had this conversation tens of times, with tens of officers. "You don't have to believe me."

"I believe you." You affirm quickly. Sae is brilliant and bright, a division-labeled genius. One case doesn't change that. "I believe it's possible he's not dead— look, that's not the point. Even if I didn't believe you, it wouldn't matter. What matters is that you believe it, and you're… walled off. Understandably, but — God, Sae. You don't even talk to your own brother anymore, you made him move out of the country and then have cops roll past his house to this day."

"He's safe." He says cautiously, sure.

"And what about you?" You press, words sticky with worry. "Do you intend to live the next 10 years like this? Having daily sweeps of your house for bugs, tracking pharmacy robberies in the off-chance it's Bunny stealing antidepressants?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Alone?" Your hands swing in the empty air, much like your words, lets you realize Sae's acceptance of what his life has become. "I like you. I do. I can stand here and admit it."

Sae is careful with his words, punctuated. "This can't happen. It's a bad idea. For your life, your safety."

"I think you're tired of all this." You take a step towards him, and he doesn't pull away.

"It's necessary." His body opens up to you instinctively, like he was always meant to have you this close.

"It's exhausting." This close, you can feel his warmth. "God, Sae, I feel exhausted just looking at you."

"Of course, I'm tired." Sae is quiet, almost entirely still, like the spill would make less of an impact the less he moves. It feels foreign the moment he says it. (You do that to him, make him feel like he can say things he shouldn't.)

"I have a proposition." You hold your hands together in the cold, akin to a begging prayer. "Let him come."

"Absolutely not." Sae snaps, and at that, he pulls away.

"That's the one thing you haven't tried, isn't it?"

"He has, as far as we have concluded, 56 murders under his belt." Everything about Sae seems cold, but you know the truth — his protection is warm. "There's a reason no one has come near this. He's already been labeled as deceased, there's no glory in catching him now."

"This isn't about glory, this is about you." Concern dips in the space between your eyebrows. "About feeling safe, being able to live your life."

"I don't care about that. This is your life we're talking about." You've never really seen Sae mad before, but you think this might come close. "You want me to approve putting your life on the line for a killer that no one else is tracking but me? No. That's not happening."

"Just listen to my plan. Just hear me out."

//

"Come on, Sae," Bunny negotiates, moonlit metal reflecting across the table, equipment that has sweat rolling down the back of Sae's neck despite the cool air. "We both know there isn't a way out of this. For either of us."

"You're wanted for 56 counts of murder."

"I know, the police are so slow. It's 72, by the way. But still — A lifetime in jail. A death sentence. It's all so — boring. I might as well cut you both into bits and feed you to the fishes." He flashes a quicksilver grin. "At least that'll be a half more entertaining."

You feel the knife slide over your clavicle, clicking over the thin threads of each button, the fall echoed in the abandoned building.

"What are you doing." It's as close to breathless as Sae might get.

"What's it to you? You don't care about her."

"You're a murderer, not a rapist."

Bunny laughs. "You think that's my line? That I've got some imaginary ethical boundary? Murder is okay but rape isn't?"

"Rape is trivial, easy." Sae's voice is measured, reining himself in gets harder when he’s bargaining for your life. "We both know you like mind games much more than just a simple over-powering of a woman half your size. The gratification of a well-done murder that you get away with is much more satisfying."

"How do you think you're going to save her at this rate?"

"She hasn't seen your face."

"Mm, I can't be too sure, can I?"

"She hasn't. Blindfold her, throw her out onto the street."

"And you? What shall I do with you?"

Sae takes a slow breath in. "Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want? My, my. You really know how to get a man going."Bunny slices a sleeve off your shirt, covers your shut-eyes with the fabric. A favor, perhaps, for how well Sae has been behaving. His heavy footfalls bring him to the table in front of Sae again, carefully pulling out a needle, flicking twice against the tube until water drips down the length.

"You have nothing to worry about, little Sae." Bunny can feel Sae's heavy gaze, like intent to kill. "I want to fuck her too. Everything here is clean, I wouldn't risk her health. Besides, you know my crime scenes are always clean, aside from the mess I make. All artists need a blank slate, don't they?"

You jerk as Bunny's warm palm holds your arm, methodical. "Don't move," he threatens. "I don't want the needle to break inside of you."

It's a cocktail of something that makes your head go whoozy, your legs weak. You think you hear Bunny flipping both you and Sae's chairs around. So Sae can watch, you think, with what little sanity starts to slip.

He's patient, as he slices your work pants off, like a simple chore, an undoing. "It's funny, isn't it, Sae? When I was in the military, they praised me for murder. Now, I'm a threat." The cold air brushes against your skin, the blunt end of Bunny's knife slides up your leg, all the way up to your hip. Your skin starts to prickle with oversensitivity, it almost —

It almost feels good.

"Do you think she'll get wet during this?" Bunny pries your thighs open further, huge, heated palms that force you to expose yourself. "She dove head-first into a dangerous situation with you, after all. They say some detectives get off on this sort of thing. That's why they can stomach the murders, the horrible things that the worst people in the world are capable of doing. Ah, don't worry, we both know you're nothing like that. But her? Do you know her well enough to know?"

You can feel the blunt end of the knife right at your inner thigh, the slide of it at the sensitive junction. Your breath comes short, unwillingly, head fogged and heavy.

"Bunny." Sae pulls on the restraints, so hard that you can the rope slide, bound to have caused marks on his skin. "Listen to me. She's not —."

"Not anything to you?" Bunny gropes at your breast, thumbing at your nipple that starts to harden as the temperature drops, a gasp leaving your mouth. He cuts off your bra at some point, throws it in the pile of the strips of clothing he's been tearing off of you. "I've heard that lie already, Sae. Don't you want to try a different approach?"

Your nipples stand erect when he lets go, brushing against the material of your tank top, sore and waiting.

"This isn't your MO." Sae exhales.

"Not my MO, not my design," Bunny taps the flat of the blade against your clothed cunt, where wetness has started to seep into the fabric. "You've changed me, Sae. Isn't that romantic?"

In the silence that fills like a flood, you feel Bunny's mouth over your neck, moving down it until he reaches a point that has him sucking a little harder, making a mark. And it's in this moment that you realize maybe Sae wasn't being paranoid, that Bunny really had been watching you both. Because how else could he know this was where Sae left a mark on you every time? His large palm moves down the front of your body, his eyes on Sae as he cups your heat, the breadth of his hand forcing your legs open.

"Wow, she really is getting wet." Your head falls onto Bunny's shoulder behind you as his thumb circles over your clit, your thighs tensing.

"How long have you been watching us?" Sae comes to the same conclusion as you, swallows down how sick he feels if it means Bunny will focus on him instead.

Bunny's smile is lopsided. "Well, Sae, in all the years I've known you, I'd never seen you fuck before. You had to color me curious."

You can hear Sae's jaw click. "That was private."

"You like when she's sitting on top of you, don't you?" You take a sharp inhale as Bunny presses down on your clit again. "You like to tease her, make her desperate. Is that a control thing for you?" As if to punctuate, Bunny slides two of his fingers up either side of your slit, avoiding your clit on purpose this time. "It was surprising to me, you know. Realizing you like to talk in bed. You like the build-up, don't you? The anticipation, telling her what you're going to do to her before you do it, making her wait. You and I are very much alike."

You've started to lean into Bunny's forearm, chasing the feeling, and he rewards you for it, pressing his palm to your clit just-so, making it so you have to lean forward just to feel the sensation, the friction and the warmth. Making it so obvious to Sae that someone else has their hands on you. That maybe, just maybe, you want this.

"They say those who are dominant in bed struggle for control in their real life." Bunny's voice is low next to your ear, reverberations in his chest behind your back. "Do you feel out of control as a detective?" The drugs must be getting to you moreso now, or maybe Bunny is just making you feel that good, because there's a part of you that feels you might just be close. Even as Sae focuses his gaze on Bunny, strikes him from the satisfaction of being affected by you.

It only makes Bunny smile. "Do you feel out of control with me?"

Bunny cuts your restraints and lifts your limp, ragdoll figure, placing you in Sae's lap. Bunny's hand runs between both your bodies, his knuckles against the front of Sae's pants as his fingers work circles over your clit. You fall into Sae like a safety net, the smell of his body soap your only tether to this earth, fogged mind heady. Your whines get more desperate through the gag. Sae knows your body, knows even with how muffled your voice is that you're close, from the way your thighs tighten around his to the heaving in your chest. He even knows that you're trying to hold back, but Bunny's hands are ruthless against you, not a hint of mercy even as you try your best to shift in his hold.

Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, moaning into the gag. And with your face in Sae's shoulder and the blindfold over your eyes, you can almost pretend that this is a normal night between you both. His body warmth, his heartbeat. The only thing that breaks the daydream is Bunny's hands, fingers much too thick to be Sae's, working you through it until Sae swears he can feel your wetness over his own pants. Bunny's fingers are harsh against your thigh as you come down, wiping the excess of your fluids onto your skin.

What you don't see is the way Sae looks at Bunny over your shoulder, eyes narrowed, the kind of look that has a death knell attached, that has Bunny grinning and his dick hard.

"Want to kill me now, pretty boy?"

~

"Fuck, she feels good."

Bunny lets out a low chuckle as he bottoms out inside of you. It’s wretched and wicked and it’s made him all the more harder, watching your slick coat his cock despite the circumstances.

"Ah, you come easily, do you?" He presses a kiss to your cheek, some chaste and sweet thing that could never convince you. "Can feel you squeezing around me."

You want to tell him you don’t. That Sae spoils you, that he’s the only one who’s ever been able to give you that sort of pleasure. But you’re so fucked out against the sheets that all that comes out of your mouth is a whine.

"Awh, do you wanna ask your pretty little husband if he can let you come?" He lifts you up by the chin, forces you to stare right where Sae is sitting.

Sae only narrows his eyes at him.

"Oh, I see how it is. Only he gets to see it? But I've already seen it in the video. She looks so pretty when she cums. Won't you let her show me?" His thrusts are heavy, pressing you down into the bed, leaving you no room for anything but the way his cock slams into you over and over.

"Or is it more like —"

His cock presses deeper into you this time, until the head hits your cervix, hard enough to make you choke.

"Is it more like his cock is the only one you've ever cummed around?"

Sae is careful not to react. Careful to keep his posture relaxed, his fingers barely tapping against the arm rest. But something must give, because Bunny grows a cheshire grin.

"Oh, I hit it right on the money, didn't I?"

The way his voice is almost unaffected by how tightly you're squeezing around him is almost irritating, but the friction of his cock against the inside of your cunt makes every thought dissipate, leaving just the heat and warmth of his body and the dread in your gut.

"Awh, poor baby. I’m getting closer, don’t you worry. Just hold on for a bit, okay?"

He pinches your clit for good measure and you jolt under his touch, his boisterous laugh filling the air like a war-soaked prophecy.

"Ah, are you close already? Tsk, we both know how Sae feels about you cumming around me."

"N-no," you sputter out, even with how your toes curl with the incoming orgasm you force your body to relax and stave off. "No, I can take it."

"You sure? Let me slow down a bit for you, yeah? That’s better, isn’t it?"

And you don’t want to say it but it is. It’s a relief to not have to hold your orgasm back so tightly, to not have to distract yourself and force your body to relax when all you want is to give in to the pleasure.

"But if I go slow, this’ll take longer, hm?"

You think of Sae's stamina, his ironclad control, his ability to make you feel

"Maybe she’s just not tight enough."

The look Sae gives him is lethal. You feel stuffed so full even squeezing down feels like a feat, an uncontrollable thing that almost has his cock slipping out.

"She gets tighter the closer she gets, doesn’t she? Maybe you should just let her come."

~

You've been edged over and over again so much so that time has slipped from your mind completely. You wonder if it's been hours. You wonder if it only feels that way because you can feel your control slip that much further with each edge, how your orgasm always feels so close, like it's right between your teeth.

"Awh, baby." It's sickening, the way he coos at you even after the hours of onslaught "Look at her, Sae. Look what you've done."

You don't realize it until he points it out but you’re crying. You’re crying into the bed, sobbing into the sheets. You know Sae better than most. His eyes only widen, but the alarm feels potent, how just your tears eclipses even a situation like this.

"I- I can take it," you reassure, but the hiccup in your voice betrays you.

"Awh," Bunny's voice is laced with faux pity, "Your girl is so strong. Look how strong she’s being." Bunny pulls your teary face up for Sae to look at up close,

"You know, Sae." And Sae already knows what Bunny's about to say, but he lets the words fall from Bunny's mouth anyways in a desperate hope that it'll be anything else. "I bet if I feel her come around me, I'll come too."

Bunny presses another tight circle around your clit, making you cry out with a smirk. "You want this to be over, don’t you?"

There’s so much slick between your thighs that it drips down your asscrack, splayed all over bunny’s own thighs.

"What will it be, hm? It’s cruel to let her suffer like this, no?" Bunny's mouth ticks up into a cocksure grin, with the knowing that he's pressed the buttons just right.

For the first time in the ordeal, Sae stands.

"Baby."

Sae's voice is a soft, sure thing. Vulnerability is etched into the syllables, the careful crackle of a flame just before it eats at the firewood, something Bunny's never heard from him.

"No. No, Sae," Your arms reach out for him immediately, your pillar, your safety net. He has stabilized you at every turn. This moment is no different.

"You’ve been so good for me." He presses a kiss to your forehead, another to your cheek. "So good. it’s okay."

"Sae, please."

"I know. I know." His thumbs trace over your cheeks, wiping your tears, love for you in every molecule, every movement he makes. Bunny might only see Sae's neutrality but you know him best, feel his pain like his soul links with yours, something more than a wedding ring could ever show.

"I’m sorry." Your vision goes blurry but Sae's eyes meet yours with so much hearr regardless, the seaglass color that you would know with your eyes closed, you could pick it out from memory alone.

He musters as much conviction as he could have, the love that that is the least you deserve. "You did nothing wrong."

"I’m-" You try to say, but then Bunny's fingers circle around your clit again, so precise in the way they build up your impending orgasm, how quickly you start to squeeze around his heavy cock.

"No, no no please don’t- please don’t do this."

"He’s letting you," Bunny eggs patronizingly, "It’s okay."

"Sae. Sae Sae Sae —"

Your mouth is muffled almost immediately by Bunny's hand, a clear order, that this orgasm doesn't involve him at all. Bunny chases his own pleasure, his thick cock plummeting into you so much harder than before, until it kisses your cervix and empties your mind.

And even through it, Sae smiles softly at you. Runs his hands through your hair. he crouches down, leans his forehead against yours.

"It’s okay. baby, it’s okay." It’s a whisper. a soft, gentle thing. You think of your wedding night, the gentle cradle of his hold, the tenderness of his gaze. How he looked at you like you held the world in your palm.

"I love you." He utters, just for you.

It's said with reverence, like a prayer in a hospital room: something you utter when you wish so badly things were different, when you have to come to terms with the fated cards you were dealt.

Sae has come to terms with losing the things he loves to Bunny a long time ago.

"Come for me."

Your body responds in an instant, and it’s only as your back is arched in a silent scream that bunny releases his hand from your mouth. You sob into another apology, through your orgasm. After so much teasing and edging, the release feels so much sweeter, even as your stomach feels filled with the heavy stone of dread, even as it wrecks through you, finally able to relax. Bunny, true to his word, comes with you, a swear on his lips and a sick, satisfied grin.

And what does it say about Sae that he can practically feel the way your pussy squeezes around Bunny's cock himself, the phantom feeling he knows so intimately. He peppers kisses over your face as you come down, as cries from your orgasm turn into crystalline pain, into whimpers of a thing cracked open and broken.

Sae is so, so gentle as he carries you off Bunny's now-limp cock, your body curling into itself, into him and his familiar scent and the warmth you have slept next to for so many years. He cradles you in his arms, squeezing you tighter with each step he takes to the bathroom. You barely register the cold of the tub, the perfect temperature of the water as Sae starts to fill the hole in your heart back up.

"I'm sorry," it's a hushed sound that you make, an attempt to put the stained glass pieces back together. "I didn't want to. I tried-"

"You did your best." Something about the way he says it makes you think of the clattering of a plate as it falls to the ground, an echo as soap drips from the bottle and into your bath.

You can't help but feel that's not good enough.

"Sae- "

"I have to see him out." His thumb runs over your hairline, still sticky with sweat, the devotion in his touch soothing your fraying nerves that comes with the thought of not having him even for a moment. "But I will come back."

He takes your soapy hand out of the bath, kisses the knuckles of your fingers. "I will come back. I just have to make sure he leaves. Okay?"

"Okay."

~

"Get out." The bathroom door is not slammed, barely makes a noise as it closes, but Bunny swears he sees the doorframe shake.

"Geez, Sae. Give a man a minute." The clink of his belt almost sounds like a lock, a saftening of a fate changed. The thumbdrive he pulls out of his pocket clatters haphazardly onto the beside table.

"The only copy," he confirms, "as per our signed contract." Fully dressed, he searches through the duvet, throwing the blanket up until he finds your panties, stark and spoiled with your slick against the white sheets.

"I'll take these, though." A trophy, salt in the wound, grating Sae's agitation.

But he can't stand the idea of you wearing something you wore to fuck someone else. So he says, "Do what you want."

it's kind of hard to get sae in a truly very soft vulnerable state, but where reader essentially kind of gets assaulted and pays the price for a mutual decision you both made will do that to him. this took all the light out of me lmfao i cried writing this ahaha emptied me of all the hope and love in my heart. anyways that's on writing dark content babey. if you need a palate cleanser i have this loving sae fic and this funny fic of you and sae w a teenage daughter

The dread was instantly replaced by a grim sense of purpose. “I’ll take the part,” you said. “And I want to be at the male lead auditions. To assess chemistry.”

On the day of the auditions, you watch the candidates cycle through, a strange mix of hope and trepidation in your gut. Your eyes scan the hopefuls. Maybe it’s the one with dusty rose hair and striking teal eyes, Itoshi Sae, who carries himself with an aloof grace. Or perhaps the handsome brunet, Yukimiya Kenyu, whose modeling experience is obvious in his every pose. There’s even a tall, lanky man with pale lavender hair and an intriguing cross-shaped scar, and you find yourself momentarily captivated.

Then you see him. Michael Kaiser. You immediately write him off as a silver-spoon nepo baby, an assumption solidified by the way his puppy of a manager—a man with a two-toned purple ponytail—caters to his every whim. He’s handsome, sure, in an arrogant, punchable sort of way, but he can’t possibly be him.

Kaiser, for his part, has barely glanced at the script. At his manager Ness’s insistence, he’d already read the fantasy novel the show was based on and, trusting his eidetic memory, figured a quick skim of the lines would be sufficient. He’s first in line, and before he can connect the words on the page to the ones inked on his own skin, he’s whisked away to makeup and then in front of the casting panel.

He’s the last one you read with. He steps onto the stage, a picture of lazy confidence. The director calls action. You deliver your cue, and he looks at you, his brilliant blue eyes alight with theatrical disdain.

“Move, peasant. You’re breathing my air.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. It’s him. This insufferable, arrogant man is your soulmate. A wave of white-hot fury washes over the years of dread. You channel all of it into your performance, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you snap back your fated reply.

“My sincerest apologies, your majesty. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of someone so monumentally important.”

You see a flicker in his eyes—a split second of shocked recognition so profound it almost breaks his composure. But he’s a professional. He doesn't miss a beat, smoothly transitioning into the rest of the scene. To everyone else, it’s a performance. To you both, it’s a cosmic punchline.

By the end of the day, you’re storming out of the building, the disappointment returning with a vengeance. He didn’t say anything. Maybe you imagined the flicker in his eyes. “Shouldn’t have bothered,” you mutter to yourself. “What a complete waste of time.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

His voice stops you cold. You turn to see Kaiser striding towards you. He grabs your arm, his grip forceful. “I believe we have something to discuss.”

The shock of his touch and the audacity in his tone make you see red. You yank your arm away. “Get your hands off me.”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, his eyes boring into yours. “You heard what I said. I said the words. You said the words. We’re soulmates.”

“You can shove that soulmate bullshit up your fucking ass,” you snarl, jabbing a finger into his chest. You’re not impressed by his arrogance or his man-handling. You’re furious. With him, with the universe, with all of it. Without another word, you turn and stomp away, leaving him standing there, stunned into silence for the first time in his life.

Unbeknownst to you, the director witnessed the entire exchange from his office window, a delighted grin spreading across his face.

The next time you see Michael Kaiser is at the first table read. The casting is set. You’re stuck with him. He takes the seat directly opposite you, a slow, predatory smirk on his lips. You meet his gaze with a glare that could curdle milk. Across the table, sparks fly. The other actors either shrink back in their seats or watch with unconcealed amusement.

The director beams. “Perfect! Now this is chemistry. Let’s begin.”

in hindsight, one could interpret it as a way of her telling him to keep himself safe as well, but at that point no one knew how his bond would manifest. not until a small scar appeared across his knee. one that looked like a nasty scrape healed badly. it was small, and he only knew it was there because it hurt as if he'd fallen himself. which he hadn't.

the first time it happened, bunny knew it wasn't deserved. a small boy, no older than five, he simply needed to pee. the summer festival he attended with his grandparents did not have any place where he could go, which forced his grandpa to take him home. the walk wasn't long, but significant enough to spark an anger in his grandfathers eyes.

a few beers in already, the belt buckle clinking behind the locked door, followed by a panicked child's cries.

the bruise would take a week or two to fade, the blackened skin fading in favor of the healing wound his grandmother cleaned wordlessly once she returned from that same festival. one which formed from the ornate metal buckle cutting clean across the smooth, unblemished skin.

that night was the first time he cried not for himself, but for the person now forced to bear a nasty scar across their thigh. he wondered, did they have to feel the cracking of the belt against skin, too? grandma told him not to hurt you, and yet, here he is.

"i'm so sorry," he cried quietly as to not alert anyone, "i didn't mean to."

the second time, he wasn't so sure. grandma handed him a plate of food to bring to grandpa, who was sat at the dining table with his brows furrowed already. a chill ran down the child's spine, this didn't bode well.

but all he had to do was deliver the plate, a task so menial it should've been done by now. and yet the shaking overtaking his knees, the spike in his blood pressure as he makes eye contact with the old man paired with a folded carpet corner was the perfect recipe for the plate cracking into pieces, food slowly staining said carpet and a child too terrified to look up from his spot on his knees.

a gasp can be heard from the open kitchen, and he can only imagine the terror overtaking his sweet grandma's features. one he imagines mirrors his own.

for a second it's quiet. too quiet.

breaking through the silence is the scraping of the chair against the floor, followed by heavy footsteps. his grandfathers shadow blankets his trembling form, and when he finally dares to look up even the slightest bit, his cheek is met with a sting. the impact so strong he's knocked onto his side as he gasps for air.

he's given no time before he's hauled up by the collar of his shirt. the back of a strong, calloused hand makes contact with his face again.

dropped back onto the floor, the carpet harsh against his knees, both him and his grandmother wait until the old man leaves. both of them flinching as his low, barely restrained voice demands another portion soon.

the door to the garage slams shut, and it's then that bunny realizes blood is dripping down his face and down onto his worn down sleep shirt.

locked away in his room that same evening, he can't help the flood of tears dripping onto the floor as he examines his face in the mirror. again, his grandmother cleaned him up, disinfecting his wounded face. it seems the ring on his grandpa's finger has done the most damage. a sideways cross shaped wound which will now haunt him, and his fated person, forever.

it has only gotten worse from that day on. minuscule mistakes punished by lifelong reminders.

ointments he begged his grandmother to find, to hopefully lessen the contrast of his disgustingly gashed skin. hoping that maybe they'd fade on your skin as well. nights spent crying, begging for forgiveness. on his knees before the moon, hoping you were out there and could somehow hear him.

fists clenched, eyes puffy as they look right onto the full moon his grandmother once jested was made of cheese to cheer him up however many years ago.

"i'm so sorry, amor," he sobs into the night. still young, yet forged into a tall, tough piece of man. a man devastated by his only task of never once hurting you having failed so miserably. so catastrophically.

the only piece of silver lining, the only thing that brought even a ghost of a smile to his face, was that at least you'd be recognizable. scars so telling he could tell you were the real deal with just a singular glance at your face.

which only brings him back to reality just as quickly. would you even want him? he knows you could feel the pain. do you hate him for doing this to you? have you cursed fate for it tying you to someone who harms your undeserving body?

he wouldn't be surprised if you rejected the bond upon meeting him. it's the only way to stop any more scars being shared. the pain shooting through his heart makes his brows pinch. he chuckles humorlessly, "i'm such a selfish bastard."

isn't it selfish of him to still want to have you, even when he's put you through so much? you deserve a soulmate who is actually capable of protecting you. one who can prevent even a singular hair from dropping off of your head.

but deep inside, he longs for the connection only a soulmate can provide. he has not met you, and yet he knows you'll be lovely. he'll beg on his knees if necessary. the universe has made the mistake of dooming you with him, and he'll do all he can to alleviate the torment he's put you through so far.

a black surgical mask covers his face, together with a matching cap. his body covered in long, airy sleeves, legs clad in a pair of baggy summer pants as to hide his woeful state as he goes out to grab a bite of food for both him and his grandma. the latter who's been doing much better since that old fool died not too long ago.

children run and weave their way between people on the busy streets, popsicles in hand to combat the heat and sate their needs for sweetness. barely any of them are paying attention to where they're going, and who they're bumping against.

their carelessness is something he notices when his knee is knocked right against a wooden crate from a veggie vendor, thrown off balance by one of the aforementioned kids running into his back. the wood cuts uncomfortably against the already scarred skin. a quick and unfortunate situation he'd usually write off, had it not been for a perfectly timed "ow!" he heard not too far off.

his head turns every possible way, trying to locate the origin. and he does.

the moment his eyes land on you, his whole world stops. the sun illuminating your features, body bathed in a golden glow which somehow makes your blemished skin look akin to a tigress. as a sense of calm initially washes over him, muscles relaxing, body and mind briefly devoid of any pain.

but it's when his eyes land on the one thing truly separating you from your surroundings, a cross-shaped scar across your face that he feels lightheaded. it's no coincidence your appearance has made such an impact.

luckily most of his face is obstructed by the mask and shadowed by his cap, making it near-impossible for the people around him to see the glossiness coating his eyes. rooted in his place, eyes darting over your body where you're sat at the terrace of some cafe he's seen in passing a few times.

he considers walking up to you, but something holds him back. the ugly, overwhelming guilt of knowing what the cause is behind the markings on your angelic face and the rest of your body. the pain and confusion for why this is being done to you must've been terrifying to experience.

now stuck between a rock and a hard place, does he go up to you and apologize? it could give you the opportunity to denounce him, to free yourself from his pitiful existence.

he's been so convinced he can earn you, but when actually faced with the opportunity, his knees go weak.

a wave of determination passes over him. he robbed you of a proper soulmate, one that was deserving of you. you who shared your scar with him once and learned your lesson. unlike him. the least he can do is give you a way out.

knee bleeding, he takes a deep breath before he consciously steps between the large crowd of people. he's bumping against someone here and there, much like the children who've unknowingly brought two destined people a chance to finally unite.

an older lady is with you, one looking similar enough for him to conclude must be your mom. will she be angry with him, too? will she detest him for hurting her daughter? maybe she'll force you to break the bond, unwilling to give you away to someone as careless as him.

his hand is shaky as he reaches up to tap your scarred shoulder. your expression confused, much like your mom's. unsurprising, given that his face is mostly covered.

"can i help you-?" your voice is like a balm to his frayed nerves, but you trail off once his other hand, just as if not more, shakily undoes one of the ties to his mask. with it now hanging off only one ear, the entirety of his own facial marring is visible to you. he can only brace himself for what you might do next.

you jump up from your chair, eyes wide as you examine the stranger's face. your heart nearly beats out of your chest, barely registering your mother's choked breath.

still in disbelief, you take his hands into yours. your touch feather-light as you examine the scars on your and his fingers. ones that match just like the one on your faces.

breath catching in your throat, your gaze snaps back to his glossy one. for a moment it does not matter that you're in public, in the middle of a very crowded terrace.

voice cracking, much like his heart, "it's you," you muster.

he nods, lips pursing to prevent himself from crying. his hands squeeze yours gently, unconsciously pulling you closer.

you glance back at your mom, "it's him," you whisper to her. something she barely manages to hear over the loud surroundings. she still nods, gathering her stuff as she motions for you two to go with her.

bunny eyes you in confusion, you're leaving already? this is it? but he hasn't managed to say anything yet-

"come with me," you encourage him, tugging on his hands. your mom left some bills on the table, walking ahead.

he follows you as if he's under a spell, and he kind of is. your touch is electrifying, but calming all the same. he almost trips a few times, too focused on examining every little bit of you.

hands tightly clasped in yours, you look up at him with a bright smile, "what's your name?"

bunny's mouth opens, but all coherent answers filter out of his mind. why are you smiling at him? why are you acting as if you're excited to meet him?

his hesitation causes your brows to furrow in concern. his body heat providing a comfort even amidst the heat of the day as you you pull him just a bit closer.

"it's okay, i'm also emotional. this is quite a big deal," you assure him, giving him your name in hopes it'll ease his nerves.

your name tastes so sweet on his tongue as he repeats it back to you, tone filled with such reverence it sparks a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your belly. "beautiful," he whispers, his gaze darting over every square millimeter of your face.

warmth creeps up your neck and face. your pointer nail a nice distraction to bite on so you don't squeal like some weirdo.

"bunny," he then whispers, "you can call me bunny."

"huh? is that an actual name-?"

"it'll do," he squeezes your hand, a ghost of a smile passing over his handsome features.

it's then that you realize how breathtaking he is. scars and all, they only add to his boyishly rugged look. something you didn't know you were that into until him.

your home is mere minutes away, excitement sending abuzz through your body. a stark contrast to his tightly wound muscles. "i can't wait to introduce you to my family! i didn't expect to meet you at all today so i hope it's okay my mom went ahead. she's probably preparing something for us to snack on while we get to know each other-"

your rambling is beyond endearing, and yet he can't help the heaviness on his chest from rendering him breathless. the guilt was unmistakable on his face to anyone else. except the overjoyed you, who's still yapping on and on about how happy your family will be upon hearing about you two meeting.

he desperately tried to hold in his tears which were threatening to spill over his reddened cheeks. lips pursing, the crushing weight of his wrong-doings unbearable upon his shoulders.

the prolonged silence finally catches your attention as you're about to inform him that you've arrived at your house, and you stop in your tracks right away. eyes wide and panicked, voice rushed, "bunny? oh dear, are you okay?"

squeezing his eyes shut, desperately trying to will away his tears, he nods. a strained sigh, "yeah," is all you get in response.

no less worried, you usher him inside, tugging him into your room for some privacy which seems like it was much needed because the click of your door shutting is all it takes for the floodgates to break open.

in seconds he's on his knees in front of you, a waterfall of tears streaming down his face and onto your floor. his hands balled into fists, knuckles white as he sobbed, a flurry of emotions fighting through his tone.

"why? why are you this happy!?" he coughs through his sobs, "look at yourself! i ruined you!"

the closed door likely doesn't do much to muffle the anguish he's finally letting be seen, heard.

mouth agape, tears lining your own lash line as your very own soulmate who you thought you could celebrate this joyous occasion with, is crumbling before you.

"r-ruined me?" your voice cracks, "what do you mean?"

his hands gently reach out to trace the distorted lines along your ankles and calves. they're shaking immensely, but so is his entire body. overcome with yet another wave of emotion he curls in on himself once his finger makes contact with the scar tissue.

unable to explain himself any further, his tongue tied into knot after knot. as if his limbs were made of lead, he makes the arduous effort to wrap his hand around the back of your knee, lifting his body up just enough to lean his forehead against your thigh.

red irises framed by the bloodshot whites of his eyes stare at you with a heartstopping amount of pain. brows pinched, bottom lip trembling.

"i'm so sorry," he creaks, "i am so sorry, amor."

finally, saying it to your face felt a whole lot better than pretending you could hear him through the moon.

what he did not expect (which was honestly even making it this far) is that you'd drop to your knees right next to him. your arms wrap around him in a hug comparable to a warm blanket on a cold winter's night.

the tightness in his body ebbs away with each second he spends with his face buried in your shoulder. his own getting just as wet from your tears, which you couldn't hold back either.

"don't be sorry," he hears you whimper, "don't you dare be sorry for what you've gone through."

that gives him pause. he stiffens in your hold, before he lifts his head to get a look at your puffy face. still just as stunning, he notes.

"what do you mean?" he sniffles, tears unstoppable.

"did you do all this to yourself?" you ask, hand reaching up to trace the horizontal line across his nose. "any of it?"

he shakes his head, reveling in your comforting touch.

"then what are you sorry for?" you chuckle through your cries, "i'm the one who's sorry. sorry for not finding you sooner, and for not being there for you when you needed it most."

your words send a whole different crash of emotions through him. disbelief, shock, confusion, even more guilt at you feeling guilty. he dives in for yet another hug, both of your sobs echoing through your room.

"i don't deserve you," he whispers, muscled arms squeezing you as close to him as possible.

your hold tightens to match his, "the universe seems to think otherwise."

“Hmm, you’re not entirely wrong. I came to you because I missed your company.” While his tone might rile someone else up or cause some sort of negative reaction, you remained as calm and collected as you usually did. He faltered momentarily in the face of your honesty.

“Well,” he sniffed, trying to brush you off, “I am going to be quite busy here, so I won’t be able to entertain you.” A few moments of silence passed.

“Alright, if you want me to go, then I will. I won’t distract you.” You conceded and began to make your way out of the room.

“Wait.” The Segment had put down everything he was tinkering with and stared at you, mouth slightly agape, as if he wasn’t expecting you to listen to him. Eighteen glanced around the area for something to stall you with, to delay your departure. Ah, some documents that needed to be delivered to another Segment. He could just ask you to pass them on and then manage to strike up something research-related, and then you could linger-

But that is when he remembered that you wouldn’t come back anyway, and what’s more, your time for the rest of the day would probably be consumed by that other version of him. He wasn’t very fond of you leaving him to go to someone else.

“Yes?” You cocked your head to the side, awaiting his response. He felt heat crawl up his neck.

“Nothing,” he said dumbly. You let out a hum in response and turned around again, slowly strolling toward the exit, taking the time to look at the ceiling and examine the bits of machinery and reports here and there. It was almost like you were doing this on purpose.

“If there’s nothing else, then I’ll see you-” You were nearly at the door before something collided into you from behind, knocking the words out of your mouth. It only took a few seconds to notice that Eighteen had latched himself onto your back, arms wrapped around your sides.

“H-Hey?” At most, you were expecting the Segment to create an excuse to get you to stay, not tackle you from behind, but you weren’t complaining. “Eighteen?” The call of his name made his breath hitch as he loosened his grip on you a bit.

“I…” The words got stuck in his throat, the short curls of his blue hair tickling your cheek. There wasn’t really a convincing way to bluff his way out of this when he’d practically thrown himself onto you. “I was going to ask you to…” Just being around you was making him lightheaded.

It was then that you wiggled out of his grip to turn around, placing your hands on his shoulders and looking at him with the kindest gaze anyone had ever given him.

“I’ll stay,” you said simply, before sauntering back to your place again at the top of his desk, patting your thigh like it was a motion for him to come closer. Of course, he had his ways, but he was more obedient to you than he’d ever admit.

Eighteen hovered in front of you, arms hanging lanky by his side as if he had forgotten how to use them after embracing you, before you grabbed his hands and placed them on your waist. He swallowed, acting as if the heat that was burning him up was nothing. Your thumb rubbed circles along his jaw before cupping his chin and pulling him in.

The Segment whimpered as your lips connected, and one hand moved to grip the back of your shirt while the other fiercely sank into your softness. Your hand reached to caress his cheek, and the other massaged his scalp, and his knees almost gave out at the sensation.

There are very few things in this world that Eighteen would describe as lovely, if any, but you unquestionably were. And he would probably be indulging in your loveliness until he was out of breath… which would probably be soon, but you’re good at telling him to take breaks, right?

—

Although all of the Segments had their own disputes and feelings about each other, it had become obvious that Eighteen was a bit more… vocal about his displeasure. Perhaps it stemmed from being one of the youngest of the Segments, maybe from the frequent and ever-present feeling of being overlooked and rejected, or maybe something else. And every so often, you had to witness such situations.

In this case, while the thirty-five-year-old Segment found it interesting to read through the Akademiya’s editorials and other publications from time to time, the eighteen-year-old would scoff and roll his eyes whenever the topic was brought up. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The young Segment was stuck reliving the pain of attending and being excluded for his ideas, the trauma of being blamed for the death of someone he didn’t cause. It was no wonder he had stronger feelings about the school while the older ones had mellowed out. 

“Do you really need to spend so much time reading those things? Surely it can’t be that interesting. Nothing from people who allow themselves to be chained to the rules can,” Eighteen huffed as he eyed the paper the older Segment was reading. Thirty-Five seemed unbothered.

“I won’t deny that. However, generalizing would be a mistake. There are a few pieces that manage to hold some substance, although they are exceedingly rare.” The Segment agreed, and yet somewhat did not at the same time. Eighteen clicked his tongue, and that was when he turned to you for support.

“[Name], don’t you agree? You’ve experienced the hypocrisy of the Akademiya firsthand, have you not?” There was something in the younger Segment’s eyes that seemed like he was searching for your approval.

“Me? Well, I-” It was then that you paused, and something quite sad dawned on you. You had been able to change, but he could not. Thirty-Five then glanced at your downcast expression.

“Eighteen, do refrain from asking them intrusive questions.” The older Segment let out a sigh.

“Can’t I be curious about their opinion?” Because you were the only person who would take him seriously and answer him with something thoughtful.

“Not at their expense.” Eighteen chewed his lip at the older Segment’s words before taking a glimpse at your face and seeing your glumness. His mouth opened - to say what, he didn’t even know - before closing it. An awkward silence fell, and he quietly left.

You soon found where he had run off to soon after, and he looked like he was expecting you.

“Did I offend you?” He couldn’t help being blunt. It was just in his nature to ask difficult questions and seek difficult answers. You let out a small laugh. Before, he didn’t seem to care in the moment, but it seemed that, after some reflection, he truly did care about your feelings.

“No… No, you didn’t. I know you just wanted a direct answer from a direct question. I just needed some time to think about it.” Eighteen’s stiff posture relaxed a bit after receiving your reassurance.

“But anyway… Eighteen, I’ve… moved on from those times. From what they did to me at least. It still upsets me, but it was so long ago. I don’t want to waste my energy on it.” You remember all the stares and chatter that popped up when you decided to stay with The Outcast, from your peers and professors and the Sages, effectively making the others push you away. But it wasn’t something you would ever regret. You would choose Zandik again and again, no matter what others told you. However, the Segment didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

“They threw you out of the Akademiya without any attempts at accommodations. They would hardly spare you a glance or listen to when you asked for extensions or tried to explain your condition.” He progressively raised his voice as he recounted your struggles. “And those people, they looked at you like-” He bit his tongue as if uttering it would send him into a deeper fury. “Those doctors too, they just brushed you aside and-”

It was then you truly realized that Eighteen wasn’t just scarred from his own rejection. At how cruelly he was received by everyone around him. He was upset about how they treated you too. At how his only beloved had to suffer so terribly. 

You grabbed Eighteen’s hand, and that seemed to bring him back to you. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure how you could go about this. You could teach him how to love, but it was a different story helping him to shed such deep-seated insecurity and nonacceptance.

“I know. I remember all of that, and I don’t like it either, just as I hate what both of us had to go through.” One of your hands brushed his palm, while the other stroked the top. “But… the Akademiya can’t hurt me again. And… they can’t hurt you. We aren’t there anymore. I know I can’t change your mind, but… we’re here now. Things are different, and I have you with me. And I’m very happy with you right now, in this moment. At the very least, know that.” 

You felt as if that was a flimsy answer, but you didn’t know what else to say. Because in truth, it was only natural he could never forget those experiences, especially at such a tender age. 

“… I guess if that’s really what you think, then I’m inclined to take your opinion into consideration.” There were a few beats of silence before Eighteen quietly replied. You could only wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He slowly reciprocated and held you, and he felt something flutter in his chest when you pressed a small kiss to his skin.

You were so warm. He would not compare it to an all-consuming fire that chased things away from it and made hearts race in fear. You were just… warm.

But you knew that although you said all of that, your poor boy could never move on from the pain of rejection embedded into his very core. 

—

There was a quiet corner of the lab that Eight seemed to like to hang around in besides being in his room, and he soon introduced you to it. The attachment was beginning to grow deep, as he began to show you more of his notebooks and various texts the others had given him - mainly from Forty-Five and the original Zandik. 

“So, this is where you’ve been.” A voice suddenly echoed nearby, the click of Eighteen’s boots sounding as well. The older Segment appeared in front of you, and when he noticed the young boy on your lap, his expression changed.

“Hi, Eighteen. I’m surprised you’ve found us all the way out here. Did you need something?” Eight glanced at him but kept his head down in his books.

“I..” His usual brashness seemed to temporarily dissipate at the sight. The child sat in your lap, with one hand keeping him securely positioned and the other playing with his soft hair, adorning him with soft kisses on his cheek from time to time as he pointed to things and explained them. But after a few moments, his attitude came back. 

“I came for you. Because we have things to do.” You raised your eyebrows, still keeping your gentle smile on your face.

“Like…?” The Segment floundered for an answer.

“Reports. Research. I need your opinion.” He crossed his arms as if you should have already known.

“I’m happy to help you with all of that. But right now, I’m with Eight.” You patted the child’s head to emphasize. “I’m sure I could come visit you when we’re done, though.” He didn’t move from that spot as you turned your attention back to the kid. You praised his younger self and nodded along with his ideas, and Eighteen gritted his teeth. He couldn’t stand to watch something so childish and nonsensical. 

“And Forty-Five is calling for you, Eight.” Eighteen suddenly interrupted once more, drawing your attention to him once again.

“I didn’t hear anything in the hive-mind.” Eight put his book down and quietly replied.

“Well, maybe you weren’t paying attention.” His response was immediate and scowling. You frowned and shot the older Segment a look, but he ignored your gaze. A few seconds later, the child grabbed his notebooks and was heading off.

“Bye, [Name].” Eight lingered near you as you smoothed down his hair from all the ruffling you did before departing.

“Bye-bye, my dear.” You waved him goodbye, and now only you and Eighteen were left in the room. “Alright then, I guess we should-”

“Why do you tolerate him?!” The force of his words had you taken aback, but you had a feeling where this was going.

“Why… Why would I not-”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or what he’s doing. He shouldn’t speak about it as if he-”

“Eight has some good ideas-”

“Those are naive fantasies from someone who doesn’t understand how the world works. They are implausible. We have actual work to do, and we shouldn’t be wasting time listening to him. Not me, not you.” He had balled his fists up so tightly, you were sure it was painful.

People may not have wanted to listen to his ideas as a kid, but that little boy still had the ability to dream all the childish ideas he wanted. But for Eighteen, people still did not want to listen to his ideas, and he had gradually lost that ability to think freely as a child would. That was why he could not stand to be around Eight, who was the beginning of the ideas that others scorned him for, but still persisted to dream about them anyway.

“… But even if they are just childish fantasies, don’t they deserve to be appreciated and nurtured anyway? Perhaps so they could even grow into something more?” You took small steps toward him, his back turned to you as he shook. “And there were so many things that others said couldn’t be done, but you accomplished them anyway, didn’t you?” You placed your hand on his back, and the shaking stopped momentarily as you pressed your face against him.

“I love every part of you. The parts of you that make me smile and laugh. And the parts that others may have hated or feared about you… I love those just as much, and they deserve to be loved and seen.” Your arms reached to snake around Eighteen’s sides as he seemed to calm down, or at least stop shaking. “You don’t need to hide away those parts of yourself, because I want to learn about them all the same. So please don’t say that.” 

You could see that he wasn’t going to respond to you. So instead, you continued to hold Eighteen from behind as he blinked back tears and reached to place his hand over yours.

The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.

Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment. 

In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.

“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.

Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.

Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.

Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”

Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”

At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.

Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.

As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.

“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?

There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.

“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.

A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.

You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”

As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”

Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?

“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”

A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?

“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”

You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over. 

Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’

The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.

Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.

To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.

In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.

“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.

“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”

At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.

“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”

Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign. 

With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.

You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.

Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.

“And when was the last time?”

God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around  and complain.

“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.

The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.

“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”

Silence stretched inside the cold room.

You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.

“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”

So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.

“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”

The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”

“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”

It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.

At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”

“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.

Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.

“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”

Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.

“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”

Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.

For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.

Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.

“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”

With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.

The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.

“I trust you’re both well rested?”

The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.

Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.

Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.

At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.

“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”

Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.

“Lie down.”

The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.

“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”

“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.

The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.

“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.” 

Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.

“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?” 

With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.

“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.

Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.

Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”

Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”

Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.

“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.

“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.

Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.

In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.

In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.

“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.

“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.

A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.

A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.

As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.

Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.

But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.

Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.

Oh, what a shy little thing you were.

“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.

Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.

“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.

You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.

Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”

Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.

His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.

“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”

“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”

“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”

You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.

Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.

He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.

His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.

“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”

“Hm? Were you saying something?”

The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.

Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,

It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.

The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.

“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!” 

“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.

When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.

Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”

With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.

The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.

Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.

He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.

How truly inconvenient.

After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”

Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.

“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.

Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.

Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.

Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.

With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.

Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.

Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.

But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.

A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.

It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.

The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.

“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”

“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”

Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.

The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.

The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.

“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.

A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.

He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,

“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”

The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.

At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.

There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”

“Really?”

Silence followed.

Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.

“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip. 

In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.

Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.

With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.

Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth. 

The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.

The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.

Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.

Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.

Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.

A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.

The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.

Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now. 

This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.

His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?

“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.

You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.

Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.

itoshi rin

-> itoshi rin wasn’t made for marriage, but you thought you could change him. you practically forced his hand, and while you know you were wrong looking back, you thought marrying you was the only way for him to prove that he loved you

-> you were together a little over a year before he broke, telling you he wasn’t happy and that he didn’t want to be your husband anymore. after hearing him out, you realized there was no point in denying his request. you were divorced a week later, and found out you were pregnant a month after that

-> by that point, you thought keeping his child from him was for the best. he was clearly overwhelmed and didn’t want anything to do with you; adding a child to the mix would devastate him and his career. so you never told him

-> it took several years, but rin was one of the top strikers in the world. all the while you were raising his daughter in secret, though those closest to you could tell by her teal eyes that she wasn’t born through a one night stand, and you claimed

-> on your daughter’s sixth birthday, one of your so-called friends took a photo of you and emi and posted it, tagging rin. you tore her a new one when you found out and cut her out of your life, but the damage was done

-> we need to talk. was all his text said, and you knew there was no point in lying any further

-> “i don’t want anything from you,” you clarified as soon as you opened the door. rin had a dazed look in his eyes, eyes that matched your daughter’s perfectly. “not your money, not your time, nothing. she deleted the post and i’ve cleared it as a joke, so no harm will come to your name—“

-> “can i meet her?” and you halted at the sound of his crackling voice. you shuffled your weight. “y.. you want to meet emi?” he pulled a small plush owl from his bag that made you choke on a laugh. “i didn’t want to show up on her birthday empty handed…”

-> your daughter was a bit shy, unsure of how to react around the strange man that looked like her, and you could tell rin was just as awkward. it took a little while, but once the ice broke, the two were sharing little stories and cracking jokes that made you wonder if maybe emi could have a relationship with her father after all

mikage reo

-> you married reo on impulse, blinded by love and the belief that you’d live happily ever after together. his parents hated you since you didn’t come from wealth, but reo didn’t care. and then you got pregnant

-> you’d been excited to tell him until his parents found out. you wanted to believe that you’d never pick money over love, but reo was gone most days due to his soccer career, and you were young and stupid

-> 10 million dollars, tax-free. the only catch? you had to cut contact with their son and never tell him about his child; the next heir to mikage corp

-> you debated telling him, but again… you were young and stupid. his parents told him they’d stop supporting him financially if he stayed with you, and you worried about the future if his career didn’t take off. in tears, you took the money and blocked him on everything

-> years later, the news of reo’s marriage to a woman his parents approved of hit headlines, and you cried until your little son tried to heal you with butterfly stickers and kisses. you debated telling reo then, but what was the point?

-> you were with your son at a doctor’s appointment when a young woman arrived with three young children at her ankles. your son was older than them by at least three years, but the four wanted to play together while you and their mom drank tea in the waiting area

-> when the receptionist called “mikage?” your heart dropped. the young woman herded her kids together, who you now realized look strikingly similar to your son, and gave you her card before leaving. “so our kids can have a play date sometime! it was nice meeting you, y/n!”

-> reo’s number was on her card, next to her work cell. you knew you were breaking your nda, but your mind was running too fast as you typed in his number and pressed the phone to your ear. “this is reo.” “i… you—we have a son.” “y/n?” and you told him everything

-> he asked you not to tell his wife, and you were in agreement. “i want to meet my son.” “… okay.” and upon reo’s request, you meet with a lawyer present. your son immediately loved reo’s purple hair, and you could tell that your ex-husband’s heart broke at the sound of your son’s laughter

-> once you were alone, reo handed you a sheet of paper that made you nauseous. “i want partial custody.”

isagi yoichi

-> you and isagi were together for years, dating with no issue, but the moment you got married… everything changed. you fought constantly over everything: finances, trust, communication, everything

-> it got to the point where you were living apart more than together, and when the divorce papers arrived in the mail, you sent the back signed. you didn’t know you were pregnant, and with how unknowingly far along you were, you figured telling him wouldn’t change anything in your relationship

-> so, you raised your daughter as a single mother. you never did see isagi since that day in court, where you finalized your divorce. despite how much you argued over finances, isagi let you keep the house and everything in it as a parting gift. the same house your daughter took her first steps in

-> “oh, um.. sorry, kid! i thought this was isagi yoichi’s place—y/n?” you pushed your five year old behind you, hoping bachira didn’t get too good a look at her. your hopes died when he met your eyes, a bit amused. “hm. i didn’t know isagi had a daughter.” “who’s isagi?” “.. i guess he doesn’t, either. y/n?”

-> bachira was in town after years and decided to visit his old friend on a whim, not realizing that isagi no longer lived with you. you knew there was no point in telling him to keep this from your ex, but your daughter absolutely loved “uncle” bachira

-> he told you he’d be over again today, but your smile fell when you opened the door and came face to face with isagi. he didn’t say anything as he shoved his phone in your face, revealing a selfie of your beaming daughter holding a peace sign next to bachira

-> “y/n, what the fuck? how could you… is she mine?” he didn’t know why he was asking; your daughter was the spitting image of her dad. she even had his little cowlick, which she named “bernice” for reasons beyond you. “she’s yours.” “how could you not tell me? i know things didn’t end perfectly, but there was a time where you were my best friend, y/n. the love of my life!”

-> bachira appeared after that and took your daughter to play outside and away from her arguing parents. “and then you tell bachira before me. the fuck?” “i didn’t tell bachira, he found out on his own,” you shouted back. “maybe if you cared enough to check in at least once in the past five years, you’d have figured it out, too!”

-> “i want to meet her.” “no. you’re too riled up right now. go home, get some rest, come over in the morning. i won’t spring you on her without a warning.” “spring me on her? i’m her father!” “you’re a stranger!” “and whose fault is that, y/n?”

alexis ness

-> ness was so scared of ruining his marriage to you that he ran away from the responsibility and took a backseat ride in your relationship. one thing was certain from day one, though. neither of you wanted kids

-> your job demanded a lot from you, and that paired with your co-dependent husband overwhelmed you. you felt that you’d die in your marriage, and though he begged you to stay, you were able to convince ness to divorce you

-> you were going to tell him the moment you found out you were pregnant, but when you found him, he had thrown himself into his career to manage his grief and was thriving. more than that, he looked happy. though you didn’t want to take that away from him, it would be a lie to say that you didn’t have selfish reasons for keeping your child secret, too

-> “come on, mila,” you called for your four-year-old as you fastened her car seat. you should have checked to see where bastard münchen was playing before leaving the house, especially since the aquarium was close to the arena

-> when your daughter didn’t respond, you glanced back and gasped. mila was tilting her head at the man across the street, who was doing the same at her. she waved, he waved back. you would have freaked out if you didn’t recognize the magenta dye in the guy’s brown hair

-> grabbing your daughter, you hoisted her up into your arms and locked eyes with ness. he looked so incredibly sad, but flashed you a slow, almost kind smile. then, before you could stop and think, you were at the crosswalk

-> “lex,” you greeted, voice sounding foreign in your ears. “it’s been a while.” “hi, lex,” mila greeted in a soft and sweet voice, and you watched as ness’s eyes began to sparkle. “hi, um…” “mila.” “hi, mila. i like your nose.” mila giggled. “me too. it looks like yours!”

-> “could i buy you coffee?” you asked, tossing the olive branch out. ness didn’t hesitate long before replying with a cracking, “yes.”

yukimiya kenyu

-> yukimiya never wanted his marriage to end. he loved you with everything within him, before and after everything happened, but your hectic work schedule always clashed with his, and you felt that you’d grown apart beyond repair

-> after one last night together, you left. you tried contacting your ex-husband when you cried over the positive pregnancy tests a month later, but his number had already been changed

-> you could have tried harder to reach out to him. you knew that. but how could you justify quitting your job to raise your daughter alone when you refused to leave to settle down with him?

-> you’re in the airport, returning home after visiting your parents. your daughter complained about being cold, so you stepped out of the way to grab her jacket from her suitcase. when you turned back to give it to her, she was gone

-> panic immediately clawed at your chest. no, no, no. she was right there! where could she have gone? frantic, you shove through the crowd, desperately calling your daughter’s name in hopes of her replying to you

-> with her pretty brown curls, your daughter is the spitting image of her father. tears of relief stream down your face when you spot your daughter jumping around a man, her arms raised to he held by him

-> you recognize him the instant you got a good look at his features, but you don’t even care. “nari!” you sobbed, dropping to your knees and scooping the little girl to your chest. “don’t ever leave without telling me, do you understand?”

-> “but, i found dada!” she giggled, completely oblivious to the hell she put you through. yukimiya stares down at you, jaw set. when nari pulls on his legs, he crouches down to match your heights

-> “y/n.” “kenyu.” “still working?” “…” you can’t reply. nari stumbles over to your ex-husband and squishes his cheeks between her hands. “isn’t dada handsome! i love him so much!” yukimiya gently removes himself from her grip to turn away so she doesn’t see him tearing up. there’s no denying that she is a yukimiya, so you force yourself to ask for kenyu’s new number. “we can talk about this later.”

nagi seishiro

-> “please don’t tell him,” you begged reo as he stared down at the grey-eyed toddler huddling by your legs

-> you were never close to reo despite being married to his best friend. you couldn’t deal with their work schedule, and nagi wasn’t willing to put the effort in to save your marriage, so you changed your number and left while he was playing an away game

-> reo tracked you down on social media two years later, wanting to check up on you when he stumbled across you and your son

-> “how could you keep this from him?” reo interrogated you, furious on his best friend’s behalf. his reaction set you off. “not tell him? as if he would even care! i’m doing what’s best for my son, and it’s keeping him to myself and loving him enough for the both of us.”

-> you didn’t know what reo already texted nagi before knocking on your door. the elevator dings, and your stomach drops when you spot your ex-husband with a bored expression on his face. the slight widening of his eyes is the only indication that he recognizes you

-> “wassup?” he says to your toddler, making you scoff. despite you, your son breaks out into the loudest, most gleeful laugh you’d ever heard him make. “sup!” he yells, trying to mimic nagi

-> you rub your forehead, extremely stressed, as nagi’s lip twitches at your son. “hm. mine?” “yep.” “his name?” you tell him, and when nagi calls to your son, he screams with laughter

-> you stand in the doorway with reo, watching nagi and your son playing together. “i don’t like this,” you admit, and reo nods. “it’s a distraction, for sure.” “wow. sorry my child, the one i wanted to keep from him, is a distraction. it’s almost as if i didn’t tell him for a reason.”

-> “you should have told me.” nagi’s voice startles you, as you didn’t even know he was listening. glancing up, his hooded eyes meet yours, and you can barely make out the tiny glint of hurt in them. “he’s cool. i’d had wanted to meet him.”

michael kaiser

-> kaiser was devastated when his marriage to you failed. he didn’t admit it at the time, too prideful and blinded by his rage for the game, and it was one of the reasons you got divorced in the first place

-> that devastation pales in comparison to what he feels when he sees you five years later. you and the little girl in your arms. the little girl with eyes just like his

-> “y/n,” your name is a choked whisper, but even if the crowded grocery store, you’d recognize it anywhere. guilt swells in your chest as you turn and lock eyes with your ex-husband. eyes like your daughters

-> she gives your hand a tug when she feels you freeze. “come on, mommy. we need to get the choco bears before they run out!” but you can’t move beneath kaiser’s unblinking gaze

-> as you watch kaiser staring down at his daughter, pain prevent on his face, you realize what a horrible mistake you’ve made

-> “kaiser, i…” but what could you possibly say? you always blamed his pride for destroying your marriage, when you were the one too prideful to ask for help. to tell him you had his daughter

-> your daughter gives your hand another tug. “mommy, the bears…” but she trails off when she sees how hard this random blond guy is staring at her. uncomfortable, your daughter shuffles behind your legs and out of his view

-> rubbing his eyes, kaiser roughly clears his throat and schools his features. “care to explain?”

oliver aiku

-> you and aiku got married on a whim. you’d been sleeping together for a few weeks, got wasted after he won at nationals, and got married that night

-> you were divorced a few days later and mutually decided to block each other, worried you might make another mistake if you met up again. little did you know, a big “mistake” was already planted !

-> four years later, you’re the single mom to a little girl with heterochromia. and her dad has no idea

-> you honestly believed you’d never see oliver ever again, and the thought didn’t bother you. you didn’t know him, not really. he was more of a one-night stand than an accidental husband, and knowing how much power he had as a professional soccer player, you weren’t going to risk him taking your daughter away from you

-> working at a bar by a soccer stadium, you’re usually up to date on which teams play when and always find cover on the days oliver is in town. however, your daughter has been sick, and after staying home with her, you’re out of money and can’t afford to miss work

-> of course, that’s the day oliver and his teammates stop by after the match for drinks. you prayed he didn’t recognize you, but the second he walked through the doors and saw you, the smirk on his face gave him away

-> you grinned back, internally panicking, but tried to play it cool. he didn’t know you had a daughter, his daughter, and you planned to keep it that way

-> “if it isn’t my ex-wife,” he chuckled, ditching his team and taking a seat at the bar. “it’s been a while. you’ve gotten even more ethereal.” you scoffed. “you always had a way with words, my dear ex-husband.”

-> you talk for a little while, and when you think he’s about to leave, oliver reaches over the bar and snatches your phone from your pocket. “hey, wait!” but it’s too late. when he sees your wallpaper, a picture of you and your daughter, his playful demeanor is gone

-> “not many kids out there with eyes like mine,” he tries to joke, but you can hear the strain in his voice. “oliver—“ “i understand. you wanted to protect her. keep her from me and my lifestyle. i get it. but fuck, you couldn’t have let me know she exists?”

-> “i didn’t want you to take her away from me,” you confessed, eyes welling with tears despite how angry you felt. hurt crossed his features. “i’d never do that.” “yeah, we’ll, how was i supposed to know that? we’re practically strangers.”

-> his fingers tighten on your phone. “i want to meet her.” “no.” “please.” “i don’t feel comfortable with that. maybe one day, but not today. not today.” he’s quite for a long time. then, he types his number into your phone and drops several hundred dollars onto the table before leaving

“he looks ugly. what groom wears white to a wedding?”

you’d decided to go with a traditional western theme. your brothers, namely sae, were not amused. you weren’t expecting such a comment from rin, your previously dubbed “favorite brother.”

turning on a heel, you shot rin a scrutinizing look. “my groom. and he looks amazing.”

rin pouted, brows drawn in frustration. beside you, sae snickered into his fist.

you blinked at the sound. “okay, what is going on right now? am i in the twilight zone?”

“what are you talking about?”

“sae laughed!” you pointed an accusatory finger at said brother. “and rin is judging my man’s appearance! this isn’t right. you must have switched bodies somehow.”

both brothers looked at each other before glancing back at you. “yn.. are you having a nervous breakdown?”

“we’re sorry if we crossed a line,” rin said, which was probably the furthest itoshi thing he could have picked.

your “what the fuck,” spilled out of you in a hysterical breath.

“… i’m getting the rodent.”

not two minutes later, the doors opened and your beautiful groom in white entered with brows drawn in confusion. “why are your brothers acting like the sky is falling?”

you reached out and grabbed his collar to steady yourself. “they apologized to me.”

bunny paled. this was serious.

“oh goodness,” he said through a series of blinks. “that’s odd.”

“very odd. i say we ditch them all and elope.”

bunny nodded, considering you carefully while gently taking your wrists in his hands. “or,” he said slowly, “we can enjoy our lovely wedding to spite them, and then slip away early.”

that wasn’t a terrible idea. you had really been looking forward to an event with just your family and close friends around, even if your brothers fell under the family category.

an idea struck you like a stray ball. “or. we start crying about how we’re ending things to freak them out and make them feel terrible.”

“that’s awful,” bunny argued, but his grin gave him away. “let’s traumatize them.”

and the plan was set.

bunny left first after you put some eyedrops in and kissed him goodbye, giggling evilly to each other. upon his departure, you put in your own eyedrops and managed to stuff the bottle in your bag the moment your door was flung open.

“why is the rodent in distress?” sae drawled, stopping short by rin’s outstretched hand when they spotted you.

“i’m leaving,” you cried, mentally patting yourself for your stellar voice breaks. “i can’t do this. how am i supposed to spend my life with the man i love when my family can’t stand him?”

you fought the urge to grin when matching looks of guilt turned your brothers pale.

“it’s not like that,” rin tried to explain, his words rushed upon seeing you cry. “we don’t hate him, right sae?”

“no, i hate him.”

the look rin sent over his shoulder was scathing.

you weren’t expecting sae to turn around and leave without an explanation, so watching him do so almost broke your heartbroken facade.

um.

rin, who’d somehow migrated to your side, awkwardly patted you on the shoulder in an unusual display on affection.

“i’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“hearing you talk like that is weird. stop.”

rin nodded in agreement and stepped away.

sighing, you rubbed your forehead in annoyance. the plan was a bust. maybe you should just sneak out with bunny to elope and run away—

the door opened once again, and sae shoved your flabbergasted fiancé into the room.

you gaped at them like a fish out of water. “wha—“

“he is sorry,” sae said, kicking the back of bunny’s shoe his foot as if he were purposely avoiding dirtying the white suit. “he’ll grow the backbone necessary to survive this family.”

bunny blinked up at you. you stared back, trying your very hardest not to laugh at the confused bewilderment on his pretty face.

another kick, and he stammer out, “um, right. i’m sorry, mi amor. please forgive me?”

forcing your smile to stay still, you reached down and collected his hands in your own, pulling bunny up and kissing his cheek. “i don’t mind this ending, either.”

grinning at each other, you ignored the looks rin and sae shot at each other, and oozed romantic hearts and ribbons of love throughout the ceremony.

“if they give you a hard time,” you whispered to him while dancing chest to chest, the ring twinkling on your finger. “i’ll punch them.”

you could feel bunny’s chuckle rumble in his chest. “it can be our new deal.”

Sae stared at the doorway, unimpressed, perhaps annoyed from the way he woke up and had to sacrifice his hearing. Rubbing his face, he got up and padded into the hallway, silent as a ghost, the kind that haunts with judgment and witty remarks. And there you were, sitting pretty on the couch, blanket around your legs, eyes glued to the TV, and probably smiling more than you should, because you are a traitor who allowed yourself to watch an FC Barcha match.

You were so enthralled you didn’t even notice the tall figure looming behind you, didn’t feel the silent anger that lurked behind you.

Click. The TV screen went black.

You shrieked. “WHAT THE HELL—LAVINHO WAS ABOUT TO SCORE!”

His deadpan voice followed. “I’m taking your TV remote privileges.”

Whipping your head around and there he stood: hair messy, shirtless in grey sweats, arms crossed over his chest like he was judging all your life choices at once, because let's be real, he was. Teal eyes full of betrayal, pain, and minutes taken from his afternoon nap. “You were supposed to be asleep...”

“I would’ve stayed asleep if my girlfriend didn’t ditch our nap to commit crimes against humanity.”

You huffed, slightly offended because you did nothing wrong. “Sae, it’s just a match.” He stepped closer, now sitting next to you. “It’s Barcha. And you’re in my living room, in my house, rooting for them.”

“Don’t be so sensitive.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, tugging the blanket closer because suddenly it’s so chilly here, and wonder why, probably not from your boyfriend who plays for Re Al.

“I’m not sensitive,” he said coldly, trying his absolute best not to throw some insult at his rival team. “I just play for the better team.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re lucky I didn’t use your Barcha jersey to wipe the floor.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, hands going to cover your mouth. “No, you didn't.”

He didn’t deny it; instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, smug kiss that made your heart stutter and your irritation melt. When he pulled back, he looked somehow satisfied, not to the fullest, but that should do.

“Next time you leave my arms for them, I’ll make you wear white for a week.”

“White is boring.”

“I’m boring now?”

“Emotionally, yes.”

He kissed you again just to shut you up. So it happened that he fell asleep on the sofa, and you’d watch the rest of the match on your phone, with the volume off. Sae didn’t need to know, but he already knew by the way your fingers stopped caressing his hair.

MICHAEL KAISER

You came home with two bags of groceries, earbuds in, humming some song as you slipped into the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, which is not that unusual, but not normal either. The smell of Kaiser’s cologne lingered, as he was probably in his room, reviewing footage, hating on his teammates, or doing shirtless yoga, who knows.

Halfway through stacking cold drinks in the fridge, it’s when you felt it, the presence that sought nothing but control … or your kisses, because you were gone for so long, a whole fifteen minutes to go to the store and buy food so you won’t end up hungry.

Turning to see him leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, smug, tattoo on full display, arms crossed, that usual glint in his blue eyes that screamed I know something you don’t.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” you said casually, focusing again on arranging things until you were completely done.

“Oh, whatever you make, liebe,” he replied, observing you like a hawk, and you were the little mouse who didn’t know it was going to be struck with its doom. “By the way… I was looking for my hoodie earlier.”

“Yeah?” You raised a brow, because really very useful information, life saving, and no, it's not because you keep borrowing his clothes (stealing them).

“Yeah. Ended up finding something else instead.”

You've never been caught doing anything wrong, but he... that pathetic, arrogant, and super hot boyfriend of yours will always be able to break through your lack of defence and strike when you least expect it.

“I must ask… since when do we collect BVB Dortmund jerseys in my apartment? Especially ones signed by Lewandowski from 2012?” he asked, voice honeyed with sarcasm. “A true crime scene, if you ask me.”

“You were snooping through my side?” Blinking, averting your gaze from his because you don’t want to look him in the eyes.

“It accidentally opened when I was grabbing something,” he said, stepping closer, making a little no space for you to escape. “Adeyemi? Reus? Meine Engel… you got a whole BVB museum in there.”

You turned away, pretending to care deeply about the onion in your hands. Kaiser wasn’t done. Oh no, he was just starting.

“So…” he drawled, touching the blue rose on his neck, on purpose. “Thoughts on the Bundesliga season so far? Bastard Munchen’s been solid, especially that one match… four-nil against Dortmund. I heard their tears tasted amazing.”

Grabbing the nearest object, which was a plastic measuring cup, and threw it at his chest. He dodged, chuckling at your awful attempts to defend yourself from the truth that hurts so much.

“Oh, touchy subject?” he teased, now having the nerve to smirk at you with that shit-eating grin. “Fine!” you snapped. “I’ve supported Dortmund since I was twelve. My dad used to take me to games before I even knew your name, so yeah, I do still love the team.”

He's glad he got a response, but he didn't expect it exactly this way. “So you’re saying you love them more than me?”

“I’m saying football existed before you strutted into my life with your rockstar ego.” His mouth fell open in mock betrayal. “Excuse me? You’re living in Munich, sleeping in my bed, and you’re secretly cheering when Dortmund scores against us?”

“I’m not secretly cheering, I’m respectfully celebrating while you are not here to judge me.”

“Oh, respectfully? Liebling, you’re one step away from painting your face yellow.”

You glared, ready to open the fridge and pour the ice-cold drinks on him, but there were better ways to  “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“What?! You’re banning me from my own bed?” He might act like an emperor who has all the control and power, but he's actually a pretty princess, and it's hilarious to watch him when the game turns against him.

“You’re calling me a traitor over some merch. You can enjoy your dinner with a side of regret.”

Kaiser opened his mouth, closed it, and then smirked. If that’s how you want to play, so be it.

Next time “Der Klassiker” rolled around, he scored a hat-trick, pulled off his shirt, held it to the crowd, and guess who got a brand new KAISER 10 jersey in place of that yellow nonsense that night? Personalized, with a little note: For my favorite traitor.

BUNNY IGLESIAS

It wasn’t unusual for a footballer to have someone in the stands cheering him on. Wives, girlfriends, families… stadiums were full of them. What was unusual, surprising even, was when the said girlfriend, the love of his life, the woman who made his empty apartment feel like a home, turned out to be something she was not.

Bunny didn’t notice right away, not during the match, not during the interview, not even during the long, silent car ride home. But when he stepped out of the shower that night, towel hanging low on his hips, damp curls tousled over his forehead, he knew something was off.

You weren’t giving him your usual soft smile, praises, or attention. You weren’t curled up waiting to review his goals like you always did. Instead, you were sitting on the bed, glued to your phone, not even sparing him a glance.

Man of the Match and not even a kiss? So he did what any wronged man in a towel would do: he walked over, leaned down, and snatched your phone straight out of your hand.

“Bunny—!” you yelped, scrambling up after him. He held it up high, out of reach. “Mmm, let’s see what stole the attention of my princess,” he murmured, voice smooth, and mildly amused with that familiar, detached tone like he was watching a slow-motion car crash.

You leapt to grab it, but he took a step back. “Not fair,” you muttered. “Why are you so damn tall?”

But he wasn’t listening. Not really. He scrolled, and his brows lifted slightly. "Clothes... new series arrivals… Re Al funny moments… Re Al match highlights…” The air grew quiet. “Re Al this. Re Al that. Oh—Itoshi Sae, too? That’s a name.”

Deathly silence. Your boyfriend looked at you, then at the phone, and back at you.

He wasn’t angry, not at all, but his eyes held the disappointment, like he'd stumbled into a memory that didn’t belong to him. A memory you hid from him, and he understands why. That melancholy undercurrent to his voice came back when he said, “This is worse than cheating.”

He turned your phone off, set it aside gently, and sat on the edge of the bed, towel barely clinging to his hips. “All this time, I thought you were shaking during El Clásico because you were happy for me.”

You turned out to be a Re Al fan, not a casual one either. No. You were the walking archive of team stats and league positions, quoting matches from 2014 and arguing formation choices like your life depended on it. A nerdy fan, and apparently, a pretty traitor.

“But I am happy for you, and I will always love you more than anything in this world!”

Bunny blinked slowly, thinking whether he should believe you or not, even if you proved your love for him every second. “I remember you screamed when Kroos scored last year.”

You sighed because you hate it when he does this; you don’t know if he is serious or just messing with you for fun. “Baby…” He ran a hand through his hair, the faintest bitter smile forming. “You know, I don’t even care that much about this sport half the time. But you support them. ”

“It’s not like that,” you tried to explain, now playing with your hands as you feel his gaze on you. “I’ve supported Re Al since I was a kid. It’s my entire childhood.”

He nodded once, “So what does that make me, the villain who kidnapped the princess from the white knights?”

“No,” you whispered, now holding both of his hands in yours. “You’re the dragon who gatekeeps me from escaping.” He laughed under his breath, not cold or joyful, just incredibly soft and loving.

“It’s kind of poetic, don’t you think?” he said finally, and the smile you adored so much reappeared on his face. “Wearing my Barcha jersey on your back, while there’s another team in your heart. You are a very bad bunny~”

“So you’re not mad?” leaning closer, trying to tease him or get a reaction out of him, because was he hotter when he was half naked? Yes, yes, he was.

“I’ll live,” he said, brushing your cheek with his fingers. “But next time you’re watching match highlights, at least pretend to be distracted by me.” It was your turn to smile as you pressed your lips to his. “Only if you don’t score again next weekend.”

He smirked. “Oh, I will score, just for you and especially if Sae’s playing.” Yeah, he is still the menace you love.