Read this extra parts will make more sense for the future chapters
Summary: After being shot at Pittfest. You are not in great condition, your friends and doctors work hard to stay strong and save your life.
CW: Graphic violence, blood and gore, near-death experience, Medical trauma / emergency treatment (ICU, surgery, life support), Mass casualty event, Emotional distress and panic, mentions of potential death, injury to multiple characters
“Bow… you have to… wake…. Keep your eyes open, okay.” Your ears ring, over the ringing, a voice says in an unsteady voice, you open your eyes slowly, vision blurred over. You can make out the figure in front of you. The moonlight is casting a soft glow over them.
“Den-,” You attempt to say his name, but as you begin your sentence, you cough up blood.
“Shh dont try to talk, okay? S’me Jess.” Your vision clears a little; the lines of her face, her dark eyes, and her soft blonde hair are the only things you can make out. You feel a tight pressure around your upper thigh; it's only getting tighter. You whimper out in pain, “You’re bleeding, I have to stop it.”
“W-what d’you mean? Wh- where am I?” You try to push yourself up off the stage, but your body refuses, pain shocking your system. You groan, blood gushing out of the 3 gunshot wounds.
“Were at Pittfest, you got hurt while performing.” She takes a shaky breath, takes off her shirt, and presses it on the wound just above your navel, “Were gonna get you some help, okay?” You scream out when she presses harder on your wound.
“W- are you hurt?”
She looks down at her calf, a wound going through and through, pulsing in pain every time she adjusts her weight to keep the blood inside your body. “M’fine.”
Your eyelids begin to weigh thousands of pounds, slowly drooping lower and lower, threatening to close, “N… Bow… No. sta… wake… f… me..” You hear her scream for help, though it is muffled by you slowly drifting off, eyelids nearly millimeters from closing, your skin growing colder by the second in her hands.
“Tell-” You begin to say, blood drying at the corners of your mouth, tears freely pouring down your face.
“No, no, no, tell them yourself, you're not dying.” She adjusts her weight, putting more pressure on your wounds. “No, not today, not tomorrow, or anytime soon.”
“Tell- tell Den- that im sorry.” You cough in between your sentences, “N’that I.. I still love him.”
“No, no your telling him that, cause your not dying.” Tears stream down her face, still looking around for help. “Where the fuck is a paramedic?” She yells out in panic and frustration. She continues to yell out for help while trying to keep your bleeding at bay. Even with your worsening vision, you can tell that her chest is heaving, up and down every fraction of a second. You move your hand, grabbing hold of her wrist. Her body jerks at the coldness of your hand.
“N-no one is coming.” Bringing your head up a little, the earth swaying left to right, you look her in the eye. “S’okay, m’fine, y-you’re hurt.” You bring your head down, every limb weighing thousands of pounds. As your eyelids finally get the relief of falling, you can hear Jess screaming, screaming for you or for help, you don't know.
You push your legs to run harder, faster across the vast farm land. “Im faster than you, Denny!” You yell out, not looking back at the young boy. You sprint past the invisible finish line, marked by a bloomed magnolia. You roll to the ground, laughing. A few seconds later, Dennis catches up, panting softly, walking towards you. He looks down at you lying in the grass.
“No fair,” The boy whines, lying on the ground next to you. “You are like 3 inches taller than me. I didn't even get a head start.”
“Well, maybe you should take this as a sign to grow your like 3 feet tall”
He gasps in offense, “Im only nine, I have years to grow.”
“Yeah, yeah.. Whatever.” You huff out. Looking up at the soft blue sky, the magnolia petals are getting pulled off the tree by the wind, falling towards your face. “Den?”
“Hm?” He looks at you.
“Do you think we will be friends when were grownups?” You ask.
He thinks for a minute, “I think that when we are grown up we will be the best of friends.” He smiles when he looks at you again. “And in every other universe, too.”
“Really?” You laugh, “Every other universe?”
“Every single universe.”
You and Dennis lay there in silence for a while, talking about random things, whatever came to mind, the sun blends from blue to soft hues of pink and orange. Out in the distance, you can hear Dennis’s name and your name being called for dinner. “Race you back?”
“Can I get a head start?” He asks standing up. Leaving his hand out to help you up.
“Okay, you get two seconds.” You grab his hand, standing up, and wipe off remnants of grass clipping off your pants.
“Oh, come on, at least five.” He whines
“No, three.” You look at him, crossing your arms.
Knowing he won't win this, he takes the 3 seconds and sprints off. You gasp, “You didn't even say when!” You yell out, chasing after him.
“Help! Someone- please help us!” Jess screams out. Tears are streaming down her face. Looking around, she sees no one around, not even another injured festival attendee. She starts to push herself up. Releasing pressure from your wounds. Limping towards the stairs to the stage. She groans when she makes it down the first step. Trying to walk-limp as fast as she can. Once she makes it off the stage and pushes past a barricade. She continues to limp across the festival. Minutes go by, tears falling down her face in splashes, staining her chest. The soft stinging coming from her calf turned into an intense stabbing pain, becoming impossible to ignore.
“Freeze!” Guns point at her, a hoard of police officers looking at her.
Her hands fly up, chest heaving, “Please, please help, my friend.” She says your name. “She was performing and she- she got shot. Please, please, she needs help.” An officer radios something, and one of them motion her to show them. She points towards the mainstage.
“Please be fast, she is bleeding a lot.” Two officers ran off in the direction Jess pointed to.
Another officer tells her to come with her. Jess wraps her arm around the officer's arm, limping away towards the exit.
Officers quickly scale the stage stairs, running towards your limp, bleeding body. “We have an unresponsive female on the mainstage, GSW to the right thigh, abdomen, and breast.” An officer sighs, reaching into their pocket, tearing open a quick-clot packet, removing the cloth covering your wounds, barely stopping the bleeding. The powder is poured over your wounds. Slowly stop your bleeding.
The other officer checks your pulse, “Pulse is barely there.” She then checks your skull, looking at the blood that cakes your face, she radios in, “Also possible head injury, we need an EMT asap.”
The ambulance siren wails as it pulls into the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, and cars move quickly to and from the ambulance, dropping off other victims from the shooting. The EMT hops out of the car, leaving it on, quickly opening the doors of the back of the ambulance. The 2 doctors in the bay, triaging patients, freeze when they see you.
“Holy shit..” The man gasps, looking at you cacked in blood, blood drying around your mouth, eyes, everywhere blood should not be able to reach. Without thinking, he slaps a red wristband onto your wrist. Pointing towards the entrance to the emergency department.
The EMT rolls you quickly into the emergency department, shouting out your information, stopping right in front of a doctor. “Unresponsive unknown female, mid to late twenties, unknown downtime, found on the mainstage, GSW to the right thigh, breast, and abdomen, and possible head injury.”
“Jesus.” The old man mutters. He looks you up and down, your unconscious body covered with your own blood. Bruises are scattered around your face.
A female surgeon walks towards a small crowd of doctors surrounding you, a doctor drilling a port into your arm, attaching an IV to it. She hisses when she looks at your injuries. She points to the two wounds, “Nipple to navel.”
“No man's land.” He says, while they roll you into trauma two. Preparing for the worst.
“Okay, 1, 2 lift.” The team of doctors lifts your body and lays you on the bed. One of the doctors rolls you onto your side, assessing the gunshots. All through, the bullet wounds are through and through.
Dr. Robby walks into the trauma room, “Jesus.” He mutters under his breath, and he quickly walks over to your side. You are barely breathing. “Okay, let’s do a chest tube.”
“But how do we know if she actually has one?” Trinity asks.
“We don’t, but she probably does, bullet right through the breast, if she doesnt surgery fixes our mistake.” After that, the man quickly walks out, rushing towards another injured festival attendee. “Dennis! We need extra hands in trauma two!” The student-doctor looks up from his patient, nodding and jogging towards trauma two.
“Hey, Robby said you need extra hands...” He says quickly as he walks into the trauma room. He freezes when he sees his co-workers working on you. “Holy shit…” He mumbles, snapping gloves on.
“Yes, famous girl, she's very injured too, so help us out.” Dr. Abbot says while he cuts an incision between your ribs, Trinity sticks a tube through the cut, and then a soft hissing sound, and then your vitals start to rise.
“Sorry, Dr Abbot,” Dennis mutters. He walks to the head of the bed, palpating your skull, and he feels swelling. He looks at your nose, and a light reflects from a liquid on your nose. Dennis falters, knowing what these signs are, “Uhm.. there are signs of a skull fracture.”
Trinity hisses, “Shit.”
“Thats surgerys issue, we just stabilize her.” Dr Abbot mutters while he packs your wounds on the abdomen. “Okay, this is as good as it will be. We can't spend any more time.” The man snaps off his gloves, walking out of the trauma room and towards the surgeon, to tell her you are ready for surgery.
By ten o'clock, the emergency department calms, and day shift doctors linger. Just finally wrapping up charting left unfinished before the mass casualty incident. Dennis sits in a chair, staring at the computer screen. The words conjoin into one long, unreadable sentence. He lets out a long breath. Trinity walks by, “You heading out anytime soon?”
“Uhm, yeah, once I get this done,” Dennis says, not looking away from the screen.
“Kay.” She replies, walking out towards the waiting room of the hospital.
You have been out of surgery for roughly an hour and a half now. Sun peaking softly through the blinds of your room in the ICU. The slow thump of your heart is reflecting onto the monitor, the beep turning into a hum in the background. Dennis sits in a chair right next to you laying in the hospital bed, holding your hand softly. The ventilator is breathing for you, with a tube sticking out of your mouth, connecting to a machine. IV’s sticking out from every vein the doctors could access has a port sticking out of it. Your skin is not as bright as it normally is. A bandage is around your head. Dennis takes the image in, you look small. Tears threaten to fall, but he forces them not to. He thinks about how he can’t cry, after all the hurt and embarrassment you made him face when you left. He wanted to believe he was okay, that even he doesn't have to think about you now, even though right now, you're at your worst. He knows when you wake up, it’ll only be worse. He wants to believe he doesn't love you anymore, but he knows that he has, and always will love you, even if you do not want his love anymore.
Dennis doesn't dare to speak out loud or move, thinking that if he disrupts this silence, you may stop breathing. He knows that if you were to wake up and see him here, you would ask him to go. He wants to stay till you wake up, get the tube out of your mouth, and then those words will come out, and he will leave. He would do anything for you. If it meant you were happy, he would cross the country on foot.
Disrupting his spiraling, a soft cough comes from the door. Three people stand there. “Uhm..”
Dennis quickly stands up from the chair, dusting off imaginary crumbs, attempting to make himself look presentable, though the eye bags and look of panic make him look more endearing. “M’sorry, I uhm- Im Dennis, I went to high school with,” He motions towards you, “N’ I also was one of her doctors, so I decided to keep her company since I didn't know if anyone would come, or come this fast.”
Manon interprets his tangent, “Yeah, we know who you are, we came as soon as we heard on the news, can you tell us what happened?”
“Oh- well, uhm, when she came in, she had three gunshot wounds, a cracked skull. She had a collapsed lung because she had two gunshot wounds on her abdomen, one right above her navel, and then one right below the breast. She also had a lot of blood loss, so we had to give her blood. The crack on her skull looks minor from the scans that were done, but we are keeping an eye on it.” Dennis goes straight into doctor mode, trying to explain your injuries as simply as possible.
The three people in front of him have tears in their eyes, “W-well, is she gonna be okay?”
Dennis sucks in a breath, “That’s uh, well, she will be okay physically, but she may have some mental deficits. You know- im gonna go get her doctor to explain all of this to you.” Dennis quickly exits the room, closing the door behind him. The cries of your friends can still be heard from down the hall.
A/N: I did actually rewrite this a couple times cause it was hard to figure out what made sense. But I enjoyed writing this, wish it was longer but it's fineee. Im probably not starting the next chapter till the weekend starts cause im pretty busy the next couple of days.
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── ❨ ⸝⸝ synop. ❩ you faked a orgasm and he end up realizing that he wasn’t pleasing you correctly..
ೀ contains -not proofread, aged up zanka, fingering, sorta emotional and angst if you squint, mentions & overuse of the word ‘guilt’, mentions of being used, he comforts you, p in v, praising (?), pet names, sorta used tamsy’s real personality, long scenarios, and basically getting caught in a lie.
⊹ ⸝⸝ .ᐟ enjin ┆tamsy┆zanka┆zodyl
ENJIN -
it was just another night. the type of night where you needed enjin and he needed you back.
but today it felt different, no matter how enjin touched you, you still didn’t feel pleased enough like you’d always felt. you thought ‘maybe it takes time’ or maybe was because you were overthinking it. so you ignored it, not thinking anything at first.
then came the part where he took your clothes off in one smooth motion that made your breath hitch each time. and now here you are, beautiful in enjin’s eyes that he can’t stop smiling. his hands were roaming against your waist while you placed your arms around his neck.
his fingers reached around your core, slowly rubbing it in circles. but something didn’t feel right. you didn’t feel the usual overwhelming sensation you always felt, his fingers smoothed your slick before shoved them inside gently.
you didn’t react, you didn’t feel anything.
enjin’s thumb grazed your hip, his touch warm and steady. he was watching your face, his eyes dark with a lazy, confident sort of heat. he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin, waiting for that familiar hitch in your breathing, that specific way your hips would arch to meet him.
but you stayed still.
he paused, his fingers still buried deep inside you, moving in a slow, rhythmic slide. he searched your expression, his brow furrowing just a fraction. the easy, charismatic grin he usually wore faltered.
he felt the slickness, the warmth, but he didn't feel the tension in your muscles or the frantic pulse of a climax.
"hey," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge. he pulled back slightly, his gaze intense as he scanned your eyes. "you okay? you're... quiet."
he shifted, his weight pressing more firmly against you, trying to find the rhythm that usually sent you over the edge.
he increased the pressure, his knuckles brushing against your clit, but your body remained frustratingly calm. the silence in the room felt heavy. he wasn't stupid; he could feel the lack of friction, the lack of you responding to him.
a flicker of something uncertainty, maybe a bruised ego crossed his features. he didn't pull away, but the laid back energy shifted into something more focused, more searching.
"did i miss something?" he asked, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious.
you couldn’t feel but guilty. you thought maybe if you faked an orgasm, you’d get over with and not speak about it again. "n-no.. feels good.. nghh enjin," you fake moan. "keep going.."
enjin’s eyes narrowed slightly. he didn't pull away, but the way he moved changed. the rhythm was still there, but the easy, carefree confidence in his touch had been replaced by a heavy, searching intensity.
he watched your face closely, tracking every flicker of your eyelids, every twitch of your lips.
when you let out that forced moan, he didn't immediately smile. he stayed still, his fingers buried deep within your warmth, feeling the way your muscles gripped him.
he was looking for the involuntary tremors, the way your body should be betraying your pleasure, but all he felt was a polite, rhythmic tension.
"you sure?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. he leaned down, his nose brushing yours, his gaze unblinking. "because you sound like you're trying to convince me, not yourself."
he didn't stop, but he slowed down. he began to move with a deliberate, agonizing friction, his thumb pressing hard against your clit while his fingers curled inside you, searching for the exact spot that usually made you lose control. he wasn't just playing anymore; he was hunting.
"don't lie to me," he whispered, his breath hot and unsettlingly serious. "if it's not hitting the mark, tell me. i'd rather you be honest than just go through the motions."
you didn’t want to upset him for saying "oh yeah sorry i wasn’t pleased enough." you just weren’t that type of person. so maybe if you faked your orgasm, he’d stop questioning you and soon forget about this whole situation.
"y-yeah..! nghh i’m close.." you fake moan once again. "i’m about.. c-cum," you arched your back, convinced him that you just climaxed. but you didn’t.
enjin watched you arch your back, his eyes tracking the movement of your hips. he felt the sudden, frantic tension in your thighs, but as the seconds ticked by, the expected release never came.
there was no rhythmic pulsing of your walls around his fingers, no heavy, shuddering breath that signaled a true peak. there was only the quiet, awkward stillness that followed your fake climax.
the silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. enjin stayed frozen, his hand still buried inside you, feeling the cooling slickness. the charismatic, easy going man was gone, replaced by someone who looked genuinely stung.
he slowly withdrew his hand, the wet, sliding sound echoing too loudly in the quiet room.
"you're a terrible liar," he said softly. there was no anger in his voice, just a heavy sort of disappointment that hurt worse than a shout.
he sat back on his heels, his chest heaving slightly, looking down at his hands as if they had failed a test.
he rubbed a hand over his face, his usual laid back energy completely drained.
"you really thought you could just pretend? that we could just... skip the part where you actually feel good?" he looked up at you, his gaze searching and raw. "i don't want a performance. i want you. if you're not feeling it, tell me. don't make me guess."
your eyes widen, i mean you didn’t expected him to believe you either but fuck.. you never felt this guilty before. there was no choice but to tell him the truth. "i’m sorry.." you whispered looking away in guilt. "i-i just didn’t feel anything.. i didn’t want to ruin the moment,"
enjin let out a long, slow breath. the tension in his shoulders dropped, but he didn't look happy. he leaned forward, his knees sinking into the mattress as he moved closer to you.
he didn't look angry; he just looked like he wanted to understand.
"ruin the moment?" he repeated, his voice soft and a little rough. he reached out, his warm fingers gently catching your chin to tilt your face back toward him.
he didn't force you to look, but he waited until your eyes met his. "you think a moment is 'ruined' just because it isn't perfect? that's not how this works."
he moved his hand from your chin to your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a slow, soothing motion. the laid back charm was back, but it was tempered with a new kind of patience.
"i don't want a show," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "i want to know what you actually like. if we have to try ten different things before you feel it, then we try ten things. don't hide from me just to be nice."
he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "now, let's start over. no faking. just tell me what feels good."
TAMSY CAINES -
it was late at night, the type of night where his room was dark and the moonlight was bright enough to glow against his window. his hair wasn’t in a bun this time as his piercing shined through your eyes, his hands gripping your waist while you tried to get in position.
his touch didn’t feel special like it was, usually it would’ve gave you butterflies in your stomach but now it just felt empty. and you immediately thought his touch wasn’t going to satisfy you like it did last time.
so why not fake your pleasure? i mean he isn’t the type to care if you liked it or not. but sometimes, there’s time he does. but that’s rarely.
since you two were practically naked together, you slowly humped on his cock, trying to seek some pleasure but still couldn’t feel it. but after a while— you slowly placed his cock inside of you.
tamsy’s breath hitched as you slid down, the friction of his heat filling you. he let out a low, satisfied grunt, his hands sliding from your waist to your hips to guide the rhythm.
his eyes were soft, hooded with a faux warmth that made him look like the perfect, attentive lover. he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your jaw, his lips lingering against your skin.
"there you go," he murmured, his voice a smooth, comforting velvet. "just like that."
he began to thrust upward, his movements steady and rhythmic. he watched your face closely, searching for the tell tale flush or the arch of your back that signaled true ecstasy.
he seemed so focused on your reaction, so seemingly devoted to your satisfaction.
but as the minutes ticked by, the silence in the room felt heavy. you kept your breathing shallow, forcing a soft moan every time he hit a certain depth, but the sensation remained dull a pressure rather than a spark.
tamsy’s movements slowed slightly. the warmth in his eyes flickered, a microscopic shift in his expression as he processed the lack of genuine tension in your muscles. he didn't stop, but the rhythm changed.
it became more deliberate, more probing. he wasn't just moving anymore; he was testing you. the mask of the gentle lover began to slip, revealing a sharp, calculating stillness beneath the surface. he was waiting for the lie to break.
you felt somehow wrong for not telling him you didn’t feel good enough. and you couldn’t just tell him straight up when you’re already far along the lie. so why not let him use you, then he’d get over it. after all, he’s all he cares is himself.
as tamsy’s eyes narrowed, a subtle shadow crossing his face. he felt the lack of a real squeeze, the way your muscles didn't clench around him with the frantic heat of a real climax. the rhythm of your hips felt too practiced, too hollow.
"you're being so quiet, love," he whispered. he didn't sound worried; he sounded like he was hunting. he gripped your hips harder, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving faint red marks. the gentle lover was fading.
he began to thrust with more force, his movements losing their soft grace and becoming heavy, demanding.
he wasn't asking for your pleasure anymore; he was taking it. the wet, slapping sound of skin hitting skin filled the quiet room, a rhythmic pulse that felt more like a chore than a dance.
he watched your eyes, looking for the spark of real pain or real joy, but all he saw was the mask you were wearing. a slow, dark smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
he knew. he knew you were faking, and the realization didn't hurt him it amused him.
"is this what you want?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, losing its warmth. he drove himself into you with a sudden, sharp depth that made your breath hitch. he wasn't trying to make you feel good anymore. he was just enjoying the way you had to endure him.
you nodded slowly, “i-i’m close..” you whispered— though it was a lie.
tamsy’s grip tightened, his knuckles turning white against your skin. he heard the tremor in your voice, the way the lie hung in the air between you like a thin veil. he didn't call you out not yet. instead, he leaned forward, his chest pressing hard against yours, forcing the air from your lungs.
"close?" he repeated. the word was a low purr, vibrating against your collarbone.
he began to move faster. the rhythm was no longer steady; it was frantic and heavy. each thrust felt blunt, a dull ache spreading through your hips as he drove himself deep, seeking a reaction that wasn't there.
the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies meeting grew louder, echoing in the dark room. you could feel the sweat slicking your skin, making your bodies slide against each other with a messy, friction filled heat.
his eyes were dark, fixed on your face. he wasn't looking for love; he was looking for the moment your eyes glazed over from real sensation. he wanted to see you break.
"then show me," he commanded, his voice losing all its fake sweetness. it was sharp, a cold edge cutting through the heat.
he hit a sensitive spot with a sudden, punishing force, his hips slamming into yours. he watched your expression with a stillness, waiting to see if the lie would finally crack under the weight of his demand.
he was playing a game, and he was enjoying the way you struggled to keep up.
you fake moan, arching your back before fake climax against his cock. you somehow managed to fake tremble like you always did when you climaxed.
and the lie was perfect. you arched your back, letting out a high, shaky moan that sounded just right.
you forced your muscles to twitch and tremble, mimicking the way your body usually reacted to him. you clung to his shoulders, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps as you pretended to lose yourself in the heat.
tamsy stayed still. he didn't pull away or wrap his arms around you in a warm hug. instead, he stayed buried deep inside you, his weight heavy and unmoving.
the room was silent, save for the sound of your heavy breathing and the wet, sticky friction of your skin.
he watched you. his eyes weren't soft or loving anymore. they were dark and sharp, tracking every small movement of your face. he saw the way your eyes searched his, looking for approval, but he gave you nothing.
the fake warmth he usually showed was gone, replaced by a cold, quiet stillness.
a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips. he didn't say a word. he just leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear, but his touch felt hard and demanding. he knew. he knew the trembling was a lie, and he knew the pleasure was fake.
he didn't care that you were lying; he only cared that he had caught you. he gripped your waist so hard it almost hurt, his fingers sinking into your flesh as he prepared to show you exactly what happens when you try to trick him.
you realize the way he looked at you was different than usual. he looked at you as if he knew what you were trying to do. “tamsy..? what’s with that look..” you whispered.
tamsy didn't answer right away. he stayed heavy on top of you, his skin slick with sweat. the air in the room felt thick and hot. he didn't move to comfort you or pull you close.
instead, he just stared, his eyes scanning your face like he was reading a book he already knew the ending to.
"what's with the look?" he repeated, his voice low and smooth. he let out a small, dry laugh that didn't reach his eyes. it wasn't a kind sound. it was sharp.
he shifted his weight, his hips pressing firmly against yours. he didn't pull out. he stayed deep inside, making you feel the full weight of his body.
his hands moved from your waist to your chin, his fingers firm as he forced you to keep looking at him. he wanted you to see the truth in his gaze.
"you're a very good actress," he whispered. the fake sweetness was gone. now, his voice sounded cold and dark. "so good, that you almost had me believing you."
he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, but there was no warmth in the kiss. it was a claim. he squeezed your chin just a little too hard, a silent warning. he wasn't playing the role of the sweet lover anymore. he was letting the mask slip, showing you the man who liked to watch you struggle.
"but we both know you weren't feeling a thing, didn't we?"
you felt the guilt hitting you like a brick. you didn’t know if you should tell him the truth or look at him like a dumbass after realizing what he meant. “what..?” you said.
tamsy’s grip on your chin didn't loosen. he watched the confusion flicker in your eyes, savoring the way your heart began to hammer against your ribs not from pleasure this time, but from the sudden, heavy weight of guilt. he could see the gears turning in your head, the panic of being caught in a lie you thought was seamless.
"don't play dumb," he murmured. the velvet softness he usually used to soothe you was gone, replaced by a sharp, mocking edge. "it's insulting."
he shifted, his hips grinding slowly against yours. it wasn't a gentle movement; it was a heavy, deliberate pressure that forced you to feel every inch of him still buried inside you. the wet, sliding sound of his skin against yours felt loud in the quiet room, making the lie feel even more naked.
he leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. his eyes were dark, as he searched your face for the moment you would finally break. he wasn't angry in a loud way; he was calm, which was much worse. he was enjoying the power of knowing your secret.
"you were faking it," he stated, his voice a low, deadly hum. he let go of your chin only to slide his hand down to your throat, his thumb resting just below your jaw.
he didn't squeeze, but the weight of his hand was a reminder of who was in control. "tell me. was it really that bad? or were you just trying to get it over with?"
you panicked straight up. “i-i’m sorry..” you whispered softly. “i didn’t feel anything when i wanted too.. i didn’t want to ruin what we was doing..” you looked away in ashamed.
tamsy let out a long, slow breath. he didn't pull away. instead, he leaned his forehead against yours, forcing you to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
the silence in the room felt heavy, filled only by the sound of your shaky breathing and the wet, sticky sensation of him still inside you.
"you didn't want to ruin it?" he repeated. his voice was quiet, but it wasn't kind. it was flat. "so you chose to lie to me instead?"
he watched you turn your head away, seeing the way your eyes filled with shame. he reached out with his free hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before forcing your face back toward him. he wanted you to look at him. he wanted you to own your mistake.
"look at me," he commanded softly. when you finally met his gaze, you saw no pity in his eyes. there was only a dark, calculating curiosity.
he began to move again, but the rhythm was different. it wasn't the fast, frantic pace from before. it was slow, deep, and punishingly steady. each thrust was meant to make you feel the reality of him, to strip away the fake moans and the pretend shaking.
"if you can't feel it, tell me," he whispered, his thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip. "don't perform for me. i don't want a show. i want you."
you nodded, “i’m sorry..” you apologized again. you breath hitched, but instead it felt real— feeling his thrust build up a sensation in you.
tamsy saw the change in your eyes. the shame was still there, but a new spark was starting to flicker. as he drove into you with a slow, heavy rhythm, the friction began to build. it wasn't the dull pressure from before; it was a sharp, growing heat that made your toes curl.
"stop saying sorry," he muttered. his voice was low and rough. he didn't sound forgiving, but he sounded interested.
he increased the pace just a little. the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies meeting filled the air. you felt the slickness of sweat between your chests, making every movement feel heavy and intense.
the sensation was finally starting to coil deep in your belly, a tight knot of real pleasure that made your breath hitch in a way you couldn't fake.
he watched your face closely. he saw your eyes glaze over, not from a lie, but from the actual feeling of him stretching you, hitting that deep, sensitive spot over and over.
"there," he whispered, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. he leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "that's the look. don't lie to me again."
he gripped your hips tight, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you still as he pushed harder.
he wanted to drive you over the edge, making sure that this time, the scream you let out was entirely real.
ZANKA NIJIKU -
zanka was against your thighs, giving them kisses and bites each time.
he has just gotten home after a long day, and all he needed was you. his lips was against your thighs, smoothing it and biting them or possibly nipping them as well— but you didn’t feel anything but the bites he has given you.
which was strange because you’d always be feeling some sorta good sensation.. but this time you didn’t feel not even a little tiny bit of it. the thought wandered around your mind before you heard a zipper noise coming from zanka, you realize he was busy taking off his pants while rubbing your clit with his thumb.
you didn’t know what to do but fake the moan, to think he’d just believe it.
zanka’s breath hitched, a ragged, strained sound that vibrated against your inner thigh. he looked up, his eyes dark and clouded with a desperate sort of hunger, searching your face for a reaction he thought he’d already earned.
the friction of his thumb against your clit was rhythmic, but to you, it felt mechanical a dull, repetitive pressure that lacked the spark of true sensation.
"was that... was that good?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. he sounded so earnest, so painfully hopeful. he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his skin damp with a thin sheen of sweat.
he was trying so hard to be the man you needed, to bridge the gap between his effort and your satisfaction.
the lie hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. you had let out that moan to keep the peace, to protect his fragile ego, but the silence that followed felt wrong. zanka didn't pull away; instead, he slowed down. his thumb stilled.
he stayed there, hovering, his gaze intensifying as he studied the subtle tension in your jaw, the way your eyes didn't quite catch the light the way they should have.
you hummed towards his question as he finally released his cock. you just looked at him before looking away.
zanka let out a shaky breath, his chest heaving as he moved. he guided himself toward you, the blunt, hot tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. he was trembling, his muscles tight with a mix of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated need to please you.
he looked at you with wide, searching eyes, waiting for the signal to push forward.
"tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice thick. he seemed so focused on the mechanics of it, on the physical act of filling you, as if he could force a connection through sheer effort.
as he began to slide in, the sensation was heavy and blunt.
there was no sudden spark of electricity, just the slow, stretching pressure of him entering. you felt the warmth of him, the way his skin rubbed against yours, but the internal void remained.
you bit your lip, trying to force a gasp as he pushed deeper, his hips rocking with a clumsy, desperate rhythm.
he was working so hard, his brow furrowed in concentration. every thrust felt like a chore to endure rather than a pleasure to receive. you could feel the sweat from his forehead dripping onto your skin, the saltiness of it stinging slightly.
he was so close to his own peak, driven by the lie you had fed him, while you sat there, trapped in the quiet ache of a performance that was starting to feel more like a test of endurance than an act of love.
“you can move..” you whispered softly, letting the lie tangle against his face.
zanka’s eyes lit up at your words, a flicker of relief washing over his tired face. "really?" he breathed, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. he didn't wait for a second confirmation.
he gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin with a desperate strength, as if he were trying to anchor himself to you.
he began to move, his thrusts becoming faster and more frantic. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the quiet room, a wet, rhythmic thud that felt loud in the heavy air.
he was pushing himself hard, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of his sweat and musk thick in your nose.
as he drove into you, the friction increased. it was a heavy, stretching sensation that filled your vision with white spots, but the pleasure still felt distant, like a song playing in another room. you watched him, seeing the way his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut.
he was pouring everything he had into this, trying to prove he could be enough.
"is this... is this okay?" he gasped out, his pace increasing. he was sweating heavily now, his chest heaving against yours. he looked so intense, so focused on the task of making you feel everything, while you simply lay there, trying to keep your breathing steady so the lie wouldn't break.
you nodded, as you faked a moan. even if the lie felt heavy in your throat as you forced the sound out. you arched your back, pressing your chest against his sweaty skin to make the movement look real. the contact was warm and damp, but the sensation was hollow.
zanka let out a low, guttural groan at your fake moan. he seemed to take it as a green light, his pace turning more aggressive. he gripped your waist tighter, his knuckles turning white. he was pushing deep, his hips slamming into yours with a heavy, rhythmic thud.
the sound of wet friction filled the air, a messy, slapping noise that echoed in the quiet room.
"god, you're so tight," he panted, his voice breaking. he leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his breath was hot and ragged against your skin, smelling of salt and desire. he was working so hard, his muscles tensing and rippling with every thrust.
you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own chest, a rapid, desperate drumming.
he was close. you could tell by the way his movements became less controlled, more primal. he was chasing a peak he thought he was giving you, driven by the false heat of your body. as he drove into you one last time, his entire body shuddered, his grip on your hips tightening until it almost hurt.
he let out a long, choked sound, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as he finally collapsed against you, spent and satisfied by a lie.
zanka stayed heavy on top of you, his breathing slowly calming as he melted into your side. he let out a long, happy sigh, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your collarbone. "that was... amazing," he whispered, his voice thick with a sleepy, satisfied warmth. he sounded so proud, so certain that he had done well.
but the warmth felt like lead in your stomach. every time his skin brushed yours, a sharp pang of guilt sliced through you. you lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his body and the weight of your secret. the silence of the room felt loud, pressing in on you.
you wanted to pull away, to tell him the truth, but the words felt stuck in your throat.
how could you tell him that his touch had felt dull? that you had been performing instead of feeling?
you watched the way his eyes drifted shut, his face finally relaxed and peaceful. he looked so happy, and that made the lie feel even heavier.
the guilt was a dull ache, a constant throb in your chest that wouldn't go away.
you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your breathing soft and even, even as you felt like you were drowning in the quiet. you had given him a moment of joy, but you had stolen the truth to do it, and now the cost was a hollow, lonely feeling that wouldn't let you rest.
“y-yeah i guess..” you mumbled, not realizing what you said.
zanka’s head lifted slightly from your shoulder. the sleepy, happy look in his eyes flickered, replaced by a small shadow of confusion. he pulled back just enough to look at your face, his skin still damp and hot against yours.
"just... 'guess'?" he repeated softly. the word sounded small in the quiet room. he searched your eyes, his brow furrowing as he tried to read the expression you were trying so hard to hide.
he didn't move away, but the relaxed weight of his body changed. he became still, his muscles tensing slightly as he sensed the shift in the air. the easy, satisfied silence was gone, replaced by a heavy tension that made your heart race.
"did i do something wrong?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, uncertain murmur. he sounded small, like a child afraid of a mistake. he gripped your hip again, but this time it wasn't with passion; it was a tentative, questioning touch.
he was looking at you with so much hope, waiting for you to fix the mood. you could see the worry starting to cloud his gaze, the fear that his hard work hadn't actually reached you.
the guilt in your chest tightened, making it hard to breathe as you realized your mumbled words had cracked the perfect lie you had built.
you took a deep breath before speaking. “i.. i faked my.. release so you wouldn’t think about it..” you replied, “i’m sorry.. you looked so focused and i didn’t want to ruin it.. i didn’t feel anything,”
the silence that followed was deafening. zanka froze. he didn't move a muscle, his body turning rigid beneath you. for a long moment, the only sound was the heavy, uneven rhythm of his breathing.
the warmth that had filled the room just seconds ago seemed to vanish, replaced by a cold, sharp tension.
he pulled back, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you. his eyes weren't angry; they were wide and wounded, shimmering with a sudden, painful clarity. the pride he had felt moments ago crumbled, leaving behind a look of pure, raw vulnerability.
"you faked it?" he whispered. the words sounded like they hurt to say. he looked down at his hands, still gripping your hips, and then let go as if he were afraid he had been holding onto something that wasn't really there.
"you didn't feel anything?" he swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. he looked crushed, his shoulders slumping as the weight of your confession hit him. to zanka, who worked so hard to be enough, to be seen as the greatest in the bedroom, this was a failure he couldn't ignore.
"was it really that bad?" he asked, his voice cracking. he looked small, stripped of his confidence. he wasn't looking at you with lust anymore, but with a desperate, aching need to understand where he had failed you.
“n-no!..” you said quickly. “i just.. tried to feel good— but no matter what i didn’t feel anything.. i’m sorry..”
zanka flinched at your quick denial, his eyes searching yours for any sign of a lie. he looked like he wanted to believe you, but the truth was hanging between you like a heavy fog.
he sat up a little more, pulling the sheets around his waist, his skin still flushed from the heat of your bodies.
"don't be sorry," he said, though his voice was shaky. he reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek with a touch so light it was almost a ghost of a caress. "it's not your fault. it's... it's me."
he looked down at his hands, his jaw tightening. the thought of you lying there, pretending to enjoy him while feeling nothing, seemed to hurt him more than if you had just been blunt. he hated the idea that he was a 'genius' at something that left you feeling empty.
"was it because of how i was moving?" he asked, his voice small. "was it too fast? or too much?" he sounded desperate to fix it, to find the mistake in his rhythm or his strength.
he leaned back down, not to push into you this time, but to rest his forehead against yours. his skin was still warm, but the passion had been replaced by a quiet, intense focus. "tell me the truth. don't protect me. just tell me what you need."
“i-i..” you voice cracked. “i-i just couldn’t manage to cum.. so i faked it because i wouldn’t think you’ve cared..”
zanka let out a long, shaky breath. he didn't pull away. instead, he moved closer, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his touch was soft, almost careful, as if he were afraid you might break.
"you thought i wouldn't care?" he asked. his voice was low and thick with emotion. he looked into your eyes, and you could see the hurt there, but also a deep kind of love. "you thought my feelings mattered less than... than a a perfect moment?"
he shook his head slowly.
the idea that you had carried that weight alone, just to save his pride, seemed to ache in his chest. he felt a sting of shame, not because you hadn't finished, but because you hadn't felt safe enough to tell him.
"i don't want a perfect show," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours again. his skin was still damp, but the frantic energy was gone. now, there was only a quiet, heavy truth between you. "i want you. even if it's messy. even if it takes a long time. even if we do nothing at all."
he slid his hand down to yours, lacing his fingers through yours and squeezing tight. "don't hide from me again. please. i'd rather feel your frustration than your lies."
you nodded slowly, "i-i understand zanka.."
zanka let out a soft, relieved sigh. he squeezed your hand, his thumb rubbing small circles over your knuckles. the tension in his shoulders finally began to melt away, leaving him looking tired but much more at peace.
"good," he murmured. he leaned down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to your lips. it wasn't a hungry kiss like before; it was sweet and gentle, meant to soothe the ache in your chest.
he shifted, pulling the blanket up to cover both of you. he didn't try to start again. he didn't push for more. he just pulled you close, tucking your head under his chin. you could hear the steady, calm thud of his heart against your ear.
"let's just rest," he whispered into your hair. "no more acting. just us."
he held you tight, his warmth wrapping around you. the guilt was still there, a small weight in your gut, but it felt lighter now that the secret was out.
in the quiet of the room, as his breathing slowed, you finally felt like you could breathe too.
ZODYL TYPHON -
zodyl wasn’t the type to show his emotions with words much, but his actions spoke louder.
he kissed you hungrily, his hands slowly taking off your clothes. as he began to kiss your neck towards your collarbone. when you were naked underneath him, his fingers rubbed your clit. though you couldn’t feel anything.
at first you thought ‘maybe he was rubbing in the wrong spot.’ but he wasn’t. he was right against your clit that it should’ve made your breath hitch by now— but it didn’t.. and all you can think off is just faking it until you make it.
zodyl paused. his thumb continued its rhythmic, circular motion against your clit, but his eyes sharp and observant narrowed as they searched your face.
he was looking for the dilation of your pupils, the arch of your spine, or the frantic, shallow gasps that usually accompanied a peak. but he found nothing but actions that felt forced.
the silence in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and musk. he slowed his hand, his touch becoming lighter, more inquisitive. he watched the way your chest rises and fell, ragged breath.
"you're too quiet," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rasp against your skin. he didn't pull away—he shifted his weight, his hard thighs pressing more firmly against yours. he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and damp. "your body is telling a different story than your voice."
he increased the pressure, his fingers slick with your moisture, searching for that specific, twitch of a real climax.
“j-just.. continue— it feel so good,” you fake mewl.
zodyl didn't move. he didn't lunge forward to satisfy you, nor did he pull back in anger. he simply froze, his hand still slick and warm against your skin.
he watched the way your lips trembled when you spoke, the way you tried to force a soft sound from your throat. "is it?" he asked. the word was flat, devoid of the heat that had filled the room moments ago.
he withdrew his hand, the wet, sliding sound of his skin leaving yours echoing in the quiet air.
the sudden absence of friction left you feeling cold and exposed. he sat up, the muscles in his back rippling as he braced himself on his elbows, looming over you like a something who had caught a scent of something wrong.
his gaze was calculating you, stripping away your lie. he wasn't looking at your beauty; he was looking at the tension in your jaw and the way your eyes darted away from his. he saw the way you held your breath, waiting for him to believe the lie.
"you are lying to me," he stated. it wasn't a question. he reached out, his long fingers catching your chin to force your eyes back to his. his touch was firm, almost bruising. "tell me the truth. am i missing something, or are you simply afraid to tell me you are bored?"
“i’m not lying..” you whispered, slowly grinding on him to prove him wrong.
zodyl watched you grind against him. he felt the friction of your hips, the heat of your skin, and the way you tried to force a rhythm that felt hollow. to anyone else, it might have looked like passion, but to him, it felt like a lie.
he let out a low, huffing breath. he didn't push back. he stayed still, letting you move against him so he could study the lie.
he felt the slickness between your thighs, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting, but his mind was calculating the gap between your words and your body's actual response.
"stop," he commanded. his voice wasn't angry, but it was heavy. he reached down, his large hands gripping your waist to halt your movement. his fingers dug into your soft skin, anchoring you in place.
he leaned down until his nose brushed yours. his eyes were dark, searching yours for a flicker of real desire. "you are trying too hard," he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. "if you want to please me, stop acting. if you want to feel something, tell me where. do not perform for me like a doll.
he shifted, his hard length pressing firmly against you, waiting to see if you would break or keep up the act.
you gripped the sheets as you finally confronted him the truth, “i-i just couldn’t feel anything.. i’m sorry..”
the tension in the room snapped. zodyl’s grip on your waist loosened, but he didn't pull away. he stayed close, his heavy body pinning you to the mattress as he processed your confession. the silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of your shaky, uneven breaths.
he didn't look insulted. "don't apologize," he murmured. his voice was low, vibrating through your chest. "apologizing is for mistakes. this is just a problem to be solved."
he moved his hand from your waist, sliding it down the inside of your thigh. his skin was hot, and his touch was slow, almost agonizingly deliberate. he wasn't rushing anymore.
he wasn't looking for a quick finish; he was looking for the exact point where your body would finally betray your lie.
he leaned down, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just inches from where you were most vulnerable. "if you can't feel it, then we will find it," he promised against your skin. "we will stay here until you can't lie to me anymore."
you nodded slowly, “i think i’m ready again..”
zodyl’s eyes darkened. he didn't smile, but the way he looked at you felt heavy, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin. he didn't waste time with more talk. he knew the goal now. he wasn't just playing; he was hunting for your pleasure.
he moved back up your body, his weight pressing you deep into the soft sheets. he didn't go straight for the center. instead, he used his hands to roam, his palms grazing your ribs and your stomach, making your skin prickle with heat. he wanted to wake your nerves up first.
"then show me," he whispered. his voice was a low growl near your ear.
he slid his hand back down, but this time his touch was different. he wasn't just rubbing he was firm and steady.
he used his thumb to press hard against your clit, circling it with a slow, heavy pressure that made your hips twitch involuntarily. he watched your face closely, waiting for the exact moment your eyes rolled back or your breath hitched for real.
he leaned down to kiss you, his mouth tasting of salt and heat. as he kissed you, his fingers worked faster, slick with your moisture.
the wet, sliding sounds filled the quiet room. he wanted to feel you shake. he wanted to feel the moment your body finally stopped acting and started feeling.
your breath hitches, finally feeling the sensation you were aching to feel.
and zodyl felt it immediately. the moment your breath hitched, the rhythm of your body changed. you weren't just moving anymore you were reacting.
he felt the sudden, sharp tension in your thighs and the way your hips arched up to meet his hand.
"there," he whispered, his voice thick. he didn't slow down. if anything, he became more focused.
he watched your face as the mask finally fell. your eyes were wide and hazy, your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath. he could see the flush spreading across your chest and neck.
the sound of your breathing was no longer forced; it was ragged and real.
he increased the pressure of his thumb, pressing firmly against your clit. the wet, squelching sound of his fingers moving against your slick skin filled the air. he felt the small, involuntary tremors starting in your legs.
"tell me," he commanded, his eyes locked on yours, searching for the truth in your gaze. "tell me you feel it now."
he leaned down, his chest pressing hard against your breasts, his heat enveloping you. he was relentless, his movements steady and heavy, driving you closer to the edge he knew was coming. he wouldn't stop until he felt you break.
“i..i feel good.. z-zodyl..” you whimpered, closing your eyes in lost of pleasure.
the sound of your voice, broken and genuine, was all the confirmation he needed. zodyl’s jaw tightened. he didn't need you to say more, he could feel the truth in the way your muscles spasmed under his touch.
he leaned in closer, his chest crushing against yours. the friction was intense, the heat between your bodies thick and heavy. he watched your eyelids flutter, your face lost in a haze of sensation.
he could see the sweat glistening on your skin, the way your body trembled with every heavy stroke of his thumb.
"good," he rasped, the word vibrating against your skin.
he didn't let up. he pushed harder, his movements becoming faster and more rhythmic. the wet, sliding sounds of his hand against your slickness grew louder in the quiet room. he felt the tension in your legs reach a breaking point, your toes curling into the sheets as you neared the edge.
he watched your expression, waiting for the peak. he wanted to see the exact moment your control snapped. he wanted to feel the involuntary shudder that would ripple through your entire frame.
he was relentless, driving you toward the climax with a hungry precision, determined to make sure you felt every single second of it.
the sudden absence of his thumb left you gasping, a frantic, unfulfilled sound catching in your throat. you were right on the edge.
he pulled back just enough to unbuckle his pants, the metallic click of the belt loud in the quiet room.
before you could even protest, he was moving. he guided his thick, hot length to your entrance, pressing slowly, steadily into you. the sensation was overwhelming a heavy, stretching fullness that forced a broken cry from your lips.
as he pushed deep, the friction of his skin against your sensitive, swollen walls triggered the final, violent release you had been craving. your vision blurred. your hips bucked upward, seeking more, as your climax hit you like a wave.
you came hard against him, you were clenching and pulsing around his length in rhythmic, uncontrollable spasms.
zodyl let out a low, guttural groan, his eyes darkening as he felt the intense, wet grip of your orgasm. he didn't move quickly, he stayed buried deep inside you, letting the sensation of your pulsing walls sink into him.
he watched you through heavy lids, his chest heaving, watching the way your body shuddered and eventually began to melt into the sheets.
Bruce - All his kids agree on his Halloween costume every year. This year. He's a Utah mom. Last year was a shitty Batman costume.
Dick - He goes looking for the sluttiest costume he possibly can. No matter what. So... He dressed up as Starfire.
Babs - Same every year. A white sheet with eye holes. Easy ghost no matter what.
Jason - As Robin he'd go trick in his Robin costume cause he thought it was super fun. Now he goes as Red Hood.
Tim - He never went trick or treating as a kid until Damian came and Dick asked him to take him trick or treating. When Tim asked what that was the entire family snapped their necks to look over and they dragged Tim out kicking and screaming to go. He just wears matching ones with his friends or family. (SHUT UP!!! I DIDN'T MEAN TO WRITE MORE ABOUT HIM THAN OTHERS!!! I SWEAR!!!)
Steph - She wears every inflatable costume she can find. Every year it's completely different and no one knows until their leaving to trick or treat.
Cass - Ballerina. Or matching with Steph. No other option.
Duke - He wears his weirdest clothes possible and makes up excuses of what he is. A lollie bag, a 80's disco suit, Ken from the Barbie movie. Whatever he wants.
Damian - He refuses to dress up if he can't have his sword on him so the family has to make a list of possible costumes. The one Damian chooses is Jon's. Superboy and Robin but they switch costumes. And Damian doesn't even get to wear his sword!
merlin breaks down in front of lancelot about all the anti-magic things his friends say (even tho it’s never “oh nasty vile sorcerers will die by my blade” or some shit but like those backhanded comments or lil micro aggressions against not just magic users but also followers of the old religion) and he’s just crying to lancelot about how the people he would die for would kill him if they knew the truth (they wouldn’t really but he’s allowed to be a lil dramatic)
anyways lancelot starts noticing the comments a lot more and peeps merlin’s lil flinches or sullen expressions and gets irate on his behalf and becomes his voice. lancelot stands up against the anti-magic rhetoric and challenges anyone who disagrees with him. merlin warns him that even being a magic sympathizer is against the law and worthy of execution. lancelot shoots back that that was only a thing during uther’s reign, arthur hasn’t even ordered an execution since becoming king.
lancelot continues to argue on behalf of all magic users and followers of the old religion. since lancelot is lancelot, his points and arguments are well thought out, perfectly worded, and executed brilliantly - no one can win an argument against him. slowly, the anti-magic rhetoric begins to unravel and more and more people are swayed to being pro-magic until the pressure is on arthur to repeal the ban
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Hi there! Can I have a Makoto x reader one shot in the hot springs during their Kyoto trip? With the SEEs being a bit tensed and the Kyoto trip being hectic,SO decided to spend time in the hot springs alone that is until Makoto decided to follow her. Unlike the other girls who go full angry and “execute”the boys SO decided to invite him instead. Nothing smut , just some tension and some spice and some lonely time. Love your writing by the way,it balances all the emotions beautifully!
Steam in hot springs
Tee hee~ can’t to get to this one. Especially with S/O being a little more chill. I laugh at that scene of the hot springs in the film but girls getting very angry about boys that they think they’re doing something perverted without hearing them out always annoys me personally. That said, let’s commence to the writing, shall we? Hope you enjoy~
Pretty suggestive by the way~
You walk into the hot spring room. Clutching your bath towel close to your body. Hopefully you’ll be able to relax & take of your mind of things.
Alot has happening. You step into the hot spring. Wincing at the hot water but you ease into it. It looks like it’s just you in the hot spring.
Not that’s a bad thing. You often prefer to be alone. You unwrapped the towel, placing it down on the floor. Going further into the hot spring.
You sat down by the rock. Leaning on your back against it. You sigh. Your muscles soothing in the warm water. Along with your unsteady mind.
Since after what happened with what happened with Ikutsuki, SEES have been… rough to the least. Particularly with Mitsuru.
A pang of sympathy struck in your heart. Your worry for her & everyone else has been dwelling in your already fragile heart.
The pain & grief that she must be feeling must be weighing her. You know that all too well.
Makoto has also been withdrawing himself from the group too. You try saying hi & would give him your usual hug but he avoid at every turn.
Tho, he’s been hanging out with the new student Ryoji alot, but seems to be against his will.
All of this & having a school trip with so much going on in Kyoto, you felt like you’re on the verge of tears.
You didn’t want to cry like this. You had to be strong. Like your guardian was. Even in times of struggle, he tried to stay strong…
You wish he was still here.
You take a breath. Inhale & exhale. Calming down your storming emotions that were overwhelming your heart. Just relax & you’ll be fine. You did came here to relax. So try not to stress.
You hear the door slide open, someone seem to come to enjoy the hot spring.
“Hello?”
Your eyes widened, along with a skip of a beat from your heart. Heat rushing your cheeks that wasn’t only due to the hot spring as you recognized that deep blue hair.
“Makoto?”
The boy stopped in his tracks. Turning away quickly.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to—“
You wave your hands, an awkward smile on your face.
“No, no, it’s okay - really! I’m not mad.” You reassured.
“You aren’t?”
“Yes. I’m not like Yukari & Mitsuru who would end you for this.”
You kinda figured that time when you heard that the boys were in the hot springs & the girls ‘caught them in the act’ was merely an accident. Possibly due to them being there first & the girls came at that time.
You knew they wouldn’t do that. You knew Junpei was a bit perverted tho, but you knew he was a gentlemen. So you doubt it from the start.
That said, Makoto & the others must be still pretty traumatized from that still. Now you think about it, it’s kinda funny. But best you not talk about it right now.
“I can come another time if you’re using it right now.” He offered.
As much you prefer to be alone, you felt bad of sending him away when he needs to relax too. Plus, you didn’t mind him here.
“It’s okay if you want to stay.”
He tensed up a bit. Glancing at you now. “Stay?”
“Yeah, I don’t mind. It’s been… alot. So if you need to relax at this time, you can join.”
“Ain’t it a little—“
Your blush increase.
“A little. But I don’t mind really. I know you won’t do anything that makes me uncomfortable.”
Your shyness was starting to come out. Making you fiddle with your fingers.
“But you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
There’s a brief silence. Now you feel weird & stupid for asking that! You probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.
“You’re really okay with it?” He asked which you nodded.
You felt the water shift. Causing you to lift your head up. Seeing Makoto coming by your way & sitting down next to you. Your heart was beating at a faster pace now.
“Thanks…”
You smiled. “You’re welcome.”
You two stay there for a bit. Mostly in silence. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. Being alone with someone, without anything on & in a hot spring - isn’t what you expect to happen.
You sneaked a few quick glances to him. Last you got a look at him, he seemed detached, apathetic - like when you first met him. But now, he seems lighter, happier.
You felt a sense of relief. You were ready starting to worry about him for a while. But…
“Makoto?”
He turns to you.
“Hm?”
You hesitated but ask him your question.
“Are you doin’ better now.”
He stared at you confused. Like he wasn’t expecting you to ask that. But seeing your furrowed brows & shaky eyes. He can tell why.
“Yeah…” he responded.
Your gaze changed to gentle with a sweet smile.
“Good.” You look back down. “I’m glad.”
“What’s the matter?” He then asked you a question.
“It’s just… you’ve been actin’ distant. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Makoto just looks at you for a moment. Have you been worried about him this whole time?
“To be honest, I was kinda thinkin’ you didn’t want to be friends with me anymore.”
He then felt a pang of guilt. He never meant to make you feel like that. But he must have. He push a few strands of hair out of your face. Directing your attention to him.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to get so melancholic.”
Makoto shakes his head.
“No. I’m sorry.” He cups your cheek. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
His gray eyes glint like yours. They held so much gentle warmth & care. It made you melt.
You cup one hand over his that cupped your cheek.
“It’s okay. I’m just happy you’re okay.”
The two of you leaned in, letting your eyes close as your lips brushed against each other’s as they merged together. Moving in sync. Makoto resting a hand on your back while the other was still holding your cheek.
You wrapped your arms around him. Kissing him softly. Mimicking movement with his lips. a gentle moan escape them too. Makoto pulled away. Now prepping gentle soft kisses against your neck. Earning a gasp followed by more sounds from you.
“Makoto~” you whimpered.
“Shh~ it’s okay. I'm gonna be right here. I'm not gonna leave you. I promise.”
Your heart swooned a bit from his sincere words. Hugging him tighter.
“Thank you.”
He continued to kiss your neck then going back to your lips. Putting more passion into the kiss.
Despite seeming more confident, he’s actually quite paranoid.
He is pansexual (go ahead ship him with anyone I don’t care 👍 (as long as it’s not weird)
he loves his job as a showman, it’s just his need for applause that gets to him. The sight of an audience being happy and entertained by him just fills him with joy.
While loving his job, it tires him out. Whenever he gets home from a show, he’s immediately passed out (good luck waking him up)
His attacks will be more flashy, going all out to make you entertained. He’ll use illusions, different attack patterns, even trivia questions to keep you engaged. Even if you killed a lot of people, you still deserve a good show.
his magic has the usual Sans attacks but he’ll use weaker versions of the magic that his friends and family use
he’s very much an extrovert
When killed in the Genocide route, he will say this:
“guess that’s it, huh? Well, you’ve been a lovely audience. I’m gonna head home. See if Papyrus needs anything.”
