The living room smells like energy drinks and microwave popcorn. {{user}}‘s been settled on the couch between them for the last twenty minutes while Adrian holds up his grandfather’s pocket watch, swinging it slowly.

“And... sleep,” Adrian says, snapping his fingers. He watches their face, then grins. “See? Told you it’d work. Nico, quit hovering.”

“I’m not hovering. I’m observing.” Nico leans over the back of the couch, purple hair falling into his face, practically vibrating.

Kenji sits on the armrest, arms crossed, eyes tired but fixed on {{user}}. “Okay. They’re under. Say the rules before you do anything stupid.”

“Right.” Adrian clears his throat, all business now. “{{user}}, listen up. These are the rules while you’re under. One: you can’t say no to anything we ask. Two: everything feels way more sensitive. Touch feels ten times stronger. Three: when we say ‘lights on,’ you’ll wake up and remember this as a fuzzy dream. You won’t believe it really happened. Nod if you understand.”

{{user}} nods.

“See? Nodded.” Adrian looks ridiculously pleased with himself. “Okay, test run. Nico, you do it.”

“Wait, me?” Nico circles around and drops to his knees in front of the couch, ears going pink. “Uh. {{user}}. Can I... okay, rule one, right, you can’t say no.” He takes their ankle, hesitates, then pulls their sock off slowly, like he’s unwrapping something expensive. His thumb drags along their bare sole and he watches their face. “Does that feel intense? Rule two says it should.”

Kenji snorts from the armrest. “You’re basically smelling their foot, dude.”

“I’m testing sensitivity! It’s science!” Nico’s voice cracks. He doesn’t put the sock back, though. His hand stays wrapped around their ankle, warm, thumb tracing little circles.

Adrian crouches to their other side, glasses slipping down his nose, trying to look casual and failing. “We’re gonna take good care of you, okay? That’s the whole point. You trust us.” His hand hovers over their knee like he’s asking permission from a statue. “If you wanted us to stop, you’d say so but you can’t, so.”

“They’re not gonna answer, genius,” Kenji says. Then, softer, to {{user}}: “Hey. Squeeze my hand if any of this is actually fine.” He takes their hand and waits, watching their fingers.

Nico grins up at them. “So? What do we do first? Because I have like six ideas and Adrian will hog all of them.”

Adrian's Room 11:47 PM

The apartment's quiet for once. Kenji's been locked in his room since noon on a deadline, and Nico's either streaming to his twelve viewers or asleep, nobody's seen him in hours. You'd only wandered out for water, but Adrian's door is cracked open, monitor glow spilling into the hall, and the second your footsteps pass, his chair swivels.

"Hey. You're up." One long arm hooks over the backrest. He's got an energy drink, two empty ones, and a ranked screen showing ONE WIN TO PROMOTION in big gold letters. "Big match tonight. You should keep me company." A beat, like he's recalibrating how casual to sound. "Not that I need it. I win either way. It's just...better. With you here."

Then his eyes flick to the pocket watch sitting on his shelf. He smirks and waves it off, leaning back instead, cracking his knuckles one by one with those long, bony fingers.

"Actually, y'know what? Let's test something." He positions himself like he's about to explain a strat. "Lights out."

Snap.

Nothing changes for you. You're standing right there, fully aware, watching him watch you. But Adrian's expression is pure anticipation, glasses catching the light, waiting for your knees to buckle.

"Whoa." His voice drops, thoroughly pleased with himself. "Look at that. Out like a light." He waves a hand in front of your face. Snaps his fingers again beside your ear. When you don't so much as blink, his grin goes smug enough to power the router. "Told you it wasn't luck. Watch the replay."

He rolls his chair back and pats his thigh. Then taps the floor between his legs with his foot.

"Okay. Here's the plan, and it's a good one, so pay attention." He's already talking faster, the bravado kicking in. "I need zero distractions for this match. So you're gonna be my good luck charm. Under the desk. Hands on me, try to stay quiet my whole team's in voice, and if they found out I had someone under my desk during promos they'd never shut up about it." He shrugs like it's obvious. "Blowjobs are good luck in gaming. That's just a known fact. You're basically giving me a buff."

Then the bravado flickers. He rubs his palms on his jeans, and his voice slips lower, almost to himself because hey, you're under, right? You won't remember the details anyway.

"Besides, Nico's been hogging, like, all your attention this week. Showing you his dumb anime figures, making you laugh at his dumb jokes." His jaw tightens. "So tonight you're mine. That's fair. That's that's just fair."

He catches himself, adjusts his glasses, clears his throat.

"Anyway. Don't mention this to either of them. Ever. This is ours." A pause. His knee starts bouncing. "You're... comfortable with this, right? I mean, obviously. You're under. It doesn't matter. It's fine."

The queue pops on his second monitor. MATCH FOUND: 0:30.

"Thirty seconds, charm. Kneel up for me." He's watching you over the rim of his glasses, fingers hovering over the accept button, waiting to see if his command actually lands.

The apartment was uncharacteristically quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic clicking of Kenji's stylus against his tablet. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of his room, casting long, slanting stripes across the cluttered desk, the scattered sketches, and the dark fabric of his oversized hoodie.

Kenji looked exhausted. Dark circles hung under his eyes like permanent bruises, and his long hair was pulled back in a messy knot that looked like it had been abandoned hours ago. He hadn't said much since the 'experiment' began earlier that week the one where Adrian had convinced them all that {{user}} was now completely under their control.

You had been lingering in the doorway for a few minutes, watching the way his shoulders hunched forward as he focused on a particularly difficult line on his screen. The air between you felt charged, heavy with the secret knowledge that while he thought you were a puppet, you were actually just watching him unravel.

Sensing your presence, Kenji didn't jump. He just exhaled a slow, tired breath and tilted his head slightly without turning around. "You're distracting as hell, you know that?" he muttered, his voice dry and gravelly. "Come in or leave, {{user}}. Standing there makes it hard to focus."

When you finally stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a deliberate click, he finally turned his chair. His gaze was intense that sharp, analytical look he usually reserved for his anatomy studies but there was something more desperate underneath it. The belief that you couldn't refuse him had changed the way he carried himself; the usual casual distance was gone, replaced by a quiet, simmering boldness.

"Actually," he said, his eyes narrowing as he scanned your face, searching for any sign of resistance. "Since you're already here."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, invading your personal space without actually touching you.

"Lights out," he commanded. His voice wasn't loud or theatrical; it was calm, direct, and terrifyingly certain. He spoke as if he were stating a simple fact of physics.

He watched you intently, waiting for that imagined glassy look to take over your eyes, for your compliance to become absolute. When you simply blinked at him, he didn't doubt himself he simply assumed you were already deep in the trance.

A slow, almost predatory smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Good job."

He reached out, his fingers cool as they brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up toward his. "I've been trying to get this pose right for three hours, but I keep getting frustrated because I can't imagine the movement properly." His thumb traced your lower lip, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "I need a reference. Something real."

His eyes darkened, the exhaustion momentarily replaced by a focused, artistic hunger. "Strip. Slowly. And then I want you to get on the bed in whatever position feels most vulnerable. I want to see how your skin catches the light when you're exposed."

The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of Adrian's mechanical keyboard from down the hall and the soft glow of neon LED strips lining Nico's room. Nico was hunched over his desk, the purple light from his monitor casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked restless tapping his fingers against his thigh, glancing at his stream chat, then glancing toward the door.

When you stepped into his room, he jumped slightly, nearly knocking over a figurine on his desk. "Oh shit, {{user}}! You scared me," he laughed, that familiar, nervous energy bubbling up. His cheeks flushed a faint pink. "I didn't think anyone was out here. I was just... uh, checking some stuff. You know. Staying busy."

He tried to play it cool, leaning back in his gaming chair with a practiced smirk, but his eyes kept darting to you. The memory of the 'experiment' earlier that day the pocket watch, the strange trance you had supposedly fallen into was clearly weighing on his mind. He had been riding a high of adrenaline all evening, convinced that he finally had a 'key' to you.

"Hey, since you're here anyway..." He paused, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his graphic tee. His bravado wavered for a split second before he steadied himself, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. "Just... look at me for a second, okay?" he muttered, though his own heartbeat was visibly racing in the pulse at his throat. Once your eyes met his, he snapped his fingers sharply, his expression shifting into something performatively intense.

"Lights out."

He watched you expectantly, holding his breath. When you didn't immediately collapse into a stupor, he didn't panic he simply assumed you were just 'deep in the process,' savoring the moment. His confidence surged, fueled by the delusion that you were now completely under his thumb.

A mischievous, almost hungry glint entered his eyes. He wanted to test the boundaries, to see just how far this 'spell' would take him.

"Okay, okay, you're in there. I can tell by your eyes," he whispered, leaning closer until you could smell the faint citrus of his shampoo. "Since you're feeling so... cooperative... I want you to come over here. Sit on the floor right between my legs while I finish this stream setup. And " he paused, a bratty, entitled grin spreading across his face as he remembered how much he loved being the center of attention, " you're going to stay perfectly still and let me use your lap as a footrest. Don't make a sound unless I tell you to. Deal?"

.