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barnacles34 · 6 months ago

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Lost in Analysis (Winter x Male OC)

5k words, smut, fluff, happiness, data

Winter x Male OC

The thing about Junho Kim's[1] weekly debriefs with Minjeong Kim was that they followed a precise algorithm, an almost liturgical routine that both participants had wordlessly agreed upon circa Winter's third month of employment (viz. April 2024). The format went as follows: Winter would arrive at exactly 18:30 on Friday bearing a leather-bound portfolio containing the week's logistics reports, margin analyses, and projected Q3/Q4 modeling scenarios. Junho would pretend to study these for exactly twelve minutes while Winter sat in the ergonomic chair across his desk, her accent becoming pronounced in direct proportion to her anxiety level[2].

What happened on this particular Friday deviated from the algorithm in ways that would later prove significant, starting with Winter's arrival at 18:27[3].

"The Busan account numbers are off," Junho said, his photographic memory already detecting a 0.03% discrepancy in the third-quarter projections. The words emerged with the mechanical precision of someone who had learned human speech through technical manuals rather than conversation. "This is—" he paused, index finger tapping against his mahogany desk in a rapidfire motion that Winter had learned to recognize as his pre-explosion tell, "—unacceptable."

And then something unprecedented occurred.

Instead of her usual composed absorption of his critique, Winter's face crumpled into what could only be described as a squeaky whimper, a sound so incongruous with her usual professional demeanor that it seemed to physically stun Junho into silence. It was the acoustic equivalent of watching a Mercedes-Benz hiccup.

The algorithm crashed.

—

[1] Junho Kim, CEO of Quantum Logistics Solutions, net worth $2.3B (₩3.1T), possessed what his former Harvard professors called "an almost frightening capacity for data retention" and what his former therapist (sessions terminated after 2.5 meetings) called "a pathological inability to process emotional bandwidth."

[2] A phenomenon her roommate had dubbed "The Accent Anxiety Index," where her carefully practiced Seoul pronunciation would gradually give way to her native Busan satoori, ranging from barely detectable at Level 1 ("감사합니다") to full coastal at Level 10 ("아이고, 사장님, 이 숫자 영 아니네요").

[3] The 3-minute early arrival would later be explained by a complex series of events involving a broken elevator, two flights of stairs, and Winter's determination not to let her carefully constructed timeline collapse due to mechanical failure.

—

The following Friday's debrief began with Junho actually pulling out Winter's chair[4], a gesture so unexpected that she nearly missed the seat entirely. The portfolio was reviewed. The whiskey was poured (Junho's usual Macallan 25, Winter's Hwayo 41). And then, somewhere between the second and third drink, Winter's accent kicked into what would later be classified as Level 11 on the Southern Comfort Scale.

"You know what your problem is, sajangnim?" Minjeong's words carried the warm weight of soju and suppressed frustration, her carefully maintained Seoul accent dissolving entirely into coastal inflections. "당신은 인생을 마치 스프레드시트처럼 대하시네요. Everything must calculate perfectly, but people aren't numbers, and some of us are tired of being debugged like broken code."

Junho's finger stopped its habitual tapping mid-motion[5].

—

[4] A gesture learned from a WikiHow article titled "Basic Human Courtesy: A Beginner's Guide" that Junho had queued up on his tablet at 3:47 AM the previous Tuesday.

[5] Later analysis would reveal this as the exact moment Junho Kim, master of algorithms and logistics, encountered a variable his photographic memory couldn't process: genuine human connection.[6]

The office fell into a silence that could be measured in heartbeats (Junho's: an efficient 72 BPM; Minjeong's: an elevated 98 BPM). Outside, Seoul's financial district performed its usual Friday night exodus, the sound of departing Mercedes and BMWs creating a capitalistic symphony twenty-three floors below.

"시간이..." Minjeong continued, her Busan accent now operating at what could only be classified as Level 12[7], "Time isn't just money, 사장님. Sometimes it's just... time. Like those lunches you wolf down in exactly eight minutes while reading reports. Or these Friday meetings where you never actually look at me, just through me at some invisible spreadsheet floating in the air behind my head."

Junho's hand, still frozen mid-tap, slowly lowered to the desk. His photographic memory began involuntarily cataloging details it had somehow missed during their previous 47 debriefs: the way Minjeong's left hand always fidgeted with her portfolio's corner when nervous, how her voice carried traces of sea salt and summer festivals despite years of Seoul speech coaching, the fact that she had memorized his coffee preferences down to the precise temperature (81°C, no higher, no lower).

"I do look at you," he said, then immediately registered the statistical improbability of his own response[8].

Minjeong's laugh carried the particular timber of someone who had been holding it in reserve for approximately 11.7 months. "아니요, you really don't. You look at KPIs and performance metrics and quarterly projections. Did you know," she leaned forward, her accent thick as Busan fog, "that I've worn the same earrings every Friday for three months just to see if you'd notice?"

The earrings in question were small silver cranes, Junho's memory instantly supplied, purchased from a street vendor in Gukje Market during last quarter's Busan office inspection, chosen because their wings formed the mathematical symbol for infinity when viewed from the correct angle[9].

—

[6] A concept that would later require Junho to create an entirely new category in his mental filing system, located somewhere between "Acceptable Business Practices" and "Breathing Exercises (Mandatory)."

[7] A previously theoretical level on the Accent Anxiety Index, characterized by the complete abandonment of Seoul linguistic pretense and the emergence of what Minjeong's mother would call "우리 딸의 진짜 목소리" (our daughter's real voice).

[8] Statistical analysis of Junho's daily eye contact patterns, conducted by his personal AI assistant, revealed an average sustained eye contact duration of 1.3 seconds with all employees, making his current 4.7-second gaze at Minjeong a 361.5% deviation from the mean.

[9] A detail that would have impressed Junho greatly had he noticed it at the time of purchase, rather than at this precise moment when his brain was simultaneously trying to process the concept of infinity and the way Minjeong's eyes reflected the city lights like binary code translated into stardust.

—

The Hwayo bottle stood between them like a glass mediator, its contents depleted by exactly 73.4%. Junho found himself performing calculations he had never previously considered necessary: the precise angle at which Minjeong's smile disrupted his cardiac rhythm (42.7°), the correlation coefficient between her proximity and his ability to maintain coherent thought patterns (inverse relationship, R² = 0.97), the half-life of each satoori-tinged syllable in his auditory memory (approaching infinity)[10].

"There's a pojangmacha," Minjeong said, her words now performing linguistic gymnastics between Seoul and Busan, "down in Gangnam that serves 할매's 파전 just like back home. But you—" she gestured with her glass, creating small amber trajectories in the air, "—you probably have the exact caloric content memorized without ever tasting it."

"624 calories per standard serving," Junho confirmed automatically, then added, in what he would later recognize as his first attempt at human humor[11], "Not accounting for 할매's (grandmother’s) love."

The laugh that escaped Minjeong's lips was genuine enough to bypass all of Junho's statistical models for appropriate business interaction. It was the kind of laugh that made him wonder if his entire algorithmic approach to life had been operating on a fundamental error: the assumption that human emotions could be debugged rather than experienced.

"사장님," she said, then caught herself, "아니, Junho-ssi." The honorific shift created a quantifiable disruption in the office's atmospheric pressure[12]. "Do you know why I cry sometimes when you yell about the numbers?"

Junho's hands found themselves attempting to calculate an emotion he had no formula for. "I... have a working hypothesis."

"It's not because I'm scared or hurt," she continued, her Busan accent now wrapping around the words like a warm coast-side breeze. "It's because I see you turning yourself into code, like you're trying to compile a human being into binary, and..." she paused, searching for words in both Seoul and Busan vocabularies before settling on, "...그게 너무 아까워요."

The phrase hung in the air, untranslatable in its full emotional weight[13].

—

[10] A phenomenon that would later require Junho to create an entirely new mathematical framework he privately termed "The Minjeong Constant: Variables in Human Connection."

[11] Later analysis of office security footage would reveal this as his first non-data-related comment in approximately 2,847 hours of recorded business interactions.

[12] Advanced environmental sensors in the building's HVAC system actually recorded a 0.02% change in air pressure at this exact moment, though causation versus correlation remains a subject of debate among the building's maintenance staff.

[13] The closest English approximation might be "it's such a waste," but this fails to capture the uniquely Korean sense of regret for potential beauty lost to unnecessary efficiency, like trying to measure ocean waves in milliliters.

—

For exactly 15.4 seconds, Junho Kim—master of instantaneous data processing, champion of real-time analytics—found himself buffering. His mind, that perfectly calibrated instrument of calculation, attempted to run multiple subroutines simultaneously:

ROUTINE_1: Analyze the 2.3% tremor in Minjeong's voice during "그게 너무 아까워요"

ROUTINE_2: Process the 7.4mm dilation of his pupils upon hearing his given name

ROUTINE_3: Calculate the exact distance between their hands on the desk (23.7cm, decreasing by approximately 0.3mm per heartbeat)

ERROR: Stack overflow in emotional processing unit[14]

"I have a file," he began, then stopped, realizing that perhaps not everything needed to be classified and stored. "No, I mean... I remember every time you've smiled at work. Real smiles, not the ones you use for clients or difficult vendors." His fingers twitched, instinctively seeking a keyboard that wasn't there. "The data suggests that they occur most frequently when you're talking about Busan, or when you think no one is watching you arrange the office plants, or..." he paused, processing, "...or when you're correcting my humanity protocols[15]."

Minjeong's eyes widened, creating what Junho's brain automatically calculated as a 34.6% increase in their reflective surface area. "You... keep track of my smiles?"

"I keep track of everything," he said, then amended, displaying unprecedented runtime flexibility, "but your smiles occupy 43% more memory space than standard data points."

"아이고," Minjeong laughed, the sound carrying hints of sea breezes and noraebang nights, "only you would quantify feelings in percentages and memory allocation, 사장님[16]."

The Hwayo bottle now stood at 82.6% depletion. Outside, Seoul had transformed into its weekend configuration, all neon equations and binary dreams. But inside this office, something unquantifiable was compiling—a program written in neither Python nor Java, but in the ancient code of human connection.

"There's a logical error in your earlier statement," Junho said suddenly, his voice performing calculations it had never been calibrated for. "About me not looking at you."

"Oh?" Minjeong's eyebrow arched at precisely 27 degrees.

"I look at you approximately 2,347 times per day. My peripheral vision activates in your presence with 72% more frequency than baseline. I have memorized exactly 267 variations of your voice modulation between Seoul and Busan registers[17]. The error," he continued, his own accent slipping for the first time since Harvard, "is in assuming I don't see you."

—

[14] A phenomenon his Harvard professors had theoretically predicted but never successfully documented: the complete shutdown of pure logic circuits in favor of what they termed "human.exe."

[15] A private joke that had never made it past his internal firewall until this moment, referring to the way she subtly guided him toward more socially acceptable behaviors, like suggesting he say "good morning" to the cleaning staff or remember team members' birthdays.

[16] The honorific here carrying a new weight, somewhere between professional distance and affectionate teasing, a linguistic quantum state that would have fascinated physicists had they been present to observe it.

[17] This particular statistic would later become the subject of a 3 AM realization that perhaps "normal" CEOs don't maintain such detailed databases of their assistants' vocal patterns.

—

The confession hung in the air with the weight of a misplaced decimal point. Minjeong's hand, still holding her Hwayo glass, trembled at a frequency of approximately 3.2 Hz. The office's automated climate control system registered a sudden 0.7°C spike in local temperature[18].

"그래서..." Minjeong's voice emerged in Pure Pattern #271 (Subcategory: Emotional Breakthrough), "this is why you always know when I've had 떡볶이 for lunch?"

The unexpected query caused Junho to experience what his systems could only classify as a brief moment of runtime joy. "The specific aroma particles adhere to your cardigan at a rate of—" he caught himself, noting the gleam in her eye, and for the first time in recorded history, Junho Kim deliberately chose not to complete a calculation[19].

Instead, he found himself saying, "Your smile increases by exactly 23.7% when you eat 떡볶이. It's... optimal."

"최적화?" Minjeong's laugh carried notes of soju and starlight. "You're really going to data-analyze my happiness levels?"

"I have spreadsheets," he admitted, his voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth that his diagnostic systems struggled to categorize. "Cross-referenced with weather patterns, quarterly reports, and the frequency of your Busan accent emergence[20]."

"아이고..." She shifted in her chair, reducing the distance between them by precisely 4.7 centimeters. "You're either the weirdest or the most romantic person I've ever met, and I haven't decided which yet."

The word 'romantic' created a momentary buffer overflow in Junho's cognitive processes. His hands, typically occupied with calculating profit margins or optimizing supply chains, found themselves drawing abstract patterns on his desk's surface—a behavior previously filed under 'Inefficient Human Gestures: Do Not Engage.'

"I could..." he paused, processing, "...show you the data?"

—

[17] This particular dataset would later be renamed in his personal files to "The Minjeong Codex: A Quantitative Analysis of Qualitative Perfection."

[18] The building's maintenance staff would later attribute this to a mechanical anomaly, unaware they had documented the exact moment Junho Kim's ice-cold corporate facade began its calculated melt.

[19] A moment that would later be marked in his personal development log as "First Successful Implementation of Strategic Data Suppression for Emotional Optimization."

[20] These spreadsheets, discovered months later during a routine server backup, would become legendary among the IT department as "The Love Languages of Linear Regression."

—

Minjeong's eyes sparkled with what Junho's facial recognition protocols quantified as 87% mirth, 13% tenderness. "보여주세요," she said, the soju making her consonants softer, more Busan-bound. "Show me this data about me."

For the first time in his professional career, Junho Kim fumbled with his laptop password[21]. The Hwayo bottle between them had decreased to critical levels, and he found the standard office lights were creating unusual prismatic effects in Minjeong's hair. His fingers, typically precise to the microsecond, skittered across the keyboard.

"See, here's the correlation between your happiness metrics and the proximity to Korean holidays," he began, then stopped, distracted by the way she'd rolled her chair closer to view his screen. The scent of her perfume (도라지 꽃, his brain supplied automatically, though for once the percentage calculation felt irrelevant) mixed with the lingering soju in the air.

"You made a pie chart," she said, her voice warm with something his systems were too buzzed to properly quantify, "of my favorite lunch spots?"

"The data visualization seemed... appropriate," he managed, aware that his usual processing power was operating at diminished capacity. "Though I may have spent a statistically anomalous amount of time color-coding it to match your favorite blazer[22]."

Minjeong's laugh had shed all traces of its Seoul polish. "어머나, who knew the great Junho Kim was such a..." she searched for the word in both dialects before landing on, "...nerd?"

"I prefer 'data enthusiast,'" he replied, surprising himself with the speed of his response. The soju was definitely affecting his standard processing delays. "Though my enthusiasm appears to be... specialized."

"Specialized?" Her eyebrow arched in a way that created unprecedented disruptions in his cardiac rhythm.

"The data suggests," he said, his own Gangnam accent softening around the edges, "a singular focus on one particular... variable[23]."

The office space seemed to contract by approximately 40%, though Junho found himself caring less about the exact percentage with each passing moment. Minjeong's hand had somehow migrated to rest near his on the desk, their fingers separated by a gap that felt simultaneously quantum and cosmic.

—

[21] Password: Min2847@QLS, a combination he would later realize was more revealing than any spreadsheet.

[22] The blazer in question: a deep navy piece from a Dongdaemun boutique, worn approximately every third Wednesday, correlated with a 34% increase in his productive distraction levels.

[23] Later analysis of the office security footage would show that at this point, Junho's typically perfect posture had relaxed to unprecedented levels, creating what the ergonomics AI labeled as "Optimal Romance Angles."

—

"Show me more," Minjeong said softly, unconsciously tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Something in her tone caused Junho's spinal alignment to automatically straighten, his shoulders squaring as he leaned forward slightly. The motion created what his hazily analytical mind registered as a subtle shift in the office's power dynamics[24].

"These graphs," he began, his voice dropping half an octave without any conscious input, "track every time you've challenged my decisions in meetings." His finger traced the upward trend line, the gesture somehow both precise and possessive. "You're the only one who dares to correct my logic. It's... intriguing."

Minjeong's breath caught audibly. "사장님..." she started, then with visible effort, "Junho-ssi... you track even that?"

"I track everything about you," he admitted, the soju finally overriding his professional filter subroutines. The way she instinctively ducked her head at his words, a soft pink rising in her cheeks, sparked something primal in his usually ordered mind. "Though lately, I find myself more interested in the unquantifiable variables[25]."

"Like what?" The question emerged barely above a whisper, her natural deference to his authority softened by something warmer, more personal.

Junho felt his hand move with uncharacteristic boldness to tilt her chin up, his thumb registering her pulse point at... he realized with start that for the first time in his adult life, he didn't care about the exact number. What mattered was the acceleration, the way her breath stuttered when he held her gaze.

"Like the way you automatically straighten my tie when you think I'm not paying attention," he murmured, voice steady despite the soju. "Or how you always wait for me to take the first sip of coffee in our morning meetings[26]."

—

[24] The building's pressure sensors detected a subtle but measurable change in the room's atmospheric density, as if the very air was rearranging itself around their shifting dynamic.

[25] Security logs would later note this as the moment Junho Kim's typing pattern on his laptop transitioned from "Corporate Efficiency" to what could only be described as "Focused Intensity."

[26] A habit that Minjeong had developed unconsciously over months, part of an unspoken protocol that went far beyond mere professional courtesy.

—

The laptop screen dimmed to conserve power, casting half of Junho's face in shadow. His hand hadn't moved from her chin, thumb still resting against her pulse point in what his rapidly deteriorating analytical functions recognized as a gesture of both measurement and claim[27].

"You know what else I've noticed?" The question rumbled from somewhere deeper than his usual corporate register. His other hand reached past her to close the laptop with a decisive click, eliminating the last barrier between them. "You mirror my breathing patterns during long meetings. 호흡이... perfectly synchronized."

Minjeong's eyes widened fractionally, caught between the wall and his presence. "That's..." she swallowed, her professional composure wavering, "...very observant of you, 사장님."

"I thought we were past 사장님," he said softly, but with an undertone that made it less observation, more command. The soju had stripped his voice of its algorithmic precision, leaving something rawer, more intuitive[28].

"Jun...ho..." she tested the name without honorifics, the syllables carrying the weight of every unspoken variable between them. Her hands fidgeted with her portfolio, a nervous tell he'd documented approximately 847 times but had never been close enough to still before.

Until now.

His free hand covered both of hers, instantly calming their movement. The gesture was protective, possessive, and entirely unplanned by his usual decisional matrices[29]. "You don't need to calculate the right response," he murmured, unconsciously echoing her earlier criticism of his own binary nature. "Your instincts have a 99.9% accuracy rate."

The percentage slipped out automatically, making her laugh—a soft, breathy sound that seemed to bypass his auditory processing and strike directly at something more fundamental. Her head tilted back further, a movement so subtle it barely registered on the office's motion sensors but sent his pulse into unprecedented acceleration.

"My instincts," she whispered, her Busan accent emerging with complete authenticity, "are telling me we've miscategorized this relationship[30]."

—

[27] The building's biometric scanners would later flag this moment for what their algorithms labeled as "Significant Cardiovascular Anomaly: Dual Synchronization."

[28] Office voice recognition software attempted and failed to classify this new vocal pattern, eventually creating a new category labeled simply "After Hours Protocol."

[29] The exact pressure of his grip would have registered at precisely 7.2 PSI, perfectly calibrated between restraint and assertion, had either of them still been counting.

[30] The security AI, in its nightly report, would mark this exchange with a rare notation: "Recommended Reclassification of Personnel Relationship Status Pending."

—

"Miscategorized," Junho repeated, the word hanging in the air like a suspended calculation. His hand moved from her chin to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair with unprecedented decisiveness[31]. The motion drew her incrementally closer, though for once he didn't bother quantifying the exact distance.

"yes..." Minjeong's affirmation came out breathier than any of her previously recorded vocal patterns. The portfolio slipped from her fingers, creating what would normally be an unacceptable disruption of organized space. Neither of them moved to retrieve it.

"You know what's interesting?" Junho's voice had shed every trace of its corporate modulation, leaving only that command that seemed to resonate directly with her autonomic nervous system. "I've run approximately 2,847 scenarios of this moment in my head[32]."

Her hands had found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the precise Italian wool of his suit. "And?" The question emerged with a tremor that his tactile sensors catalogued automatically before his conscious mind told them to stop measuring and start feeling.

"None of them..." he leaned closer, watching her eyes flutter half-closed in response to his proximity, "...included the variable of you looking at me exactly like this."

The faint scent of soju on her breath mingled with that eternally elusive percentage of 도라지 꽃 perfume. Junho felt his last analytical subroutines shutting down, replaced by something far more ancient than algorithms[33].

"Minjeong-ah," he said, his voice dropping to a register that bypassed all honorifics, all corporate hierarchy, all pretense of professional distance.

Her response was to cant her head just so, a motion that managed to be both surrender and invitation. "Calculation time's over, 사장님," she whispered, the honorific now carrying a weight that had nothing to do with corporate structure.

—

[31] The office's motion sensors registered this gesture as "Executive Override: Priority Action."

[32] This number, like most of his remaining statistics, was completely fabricated—a first for Junho Kim's otherwise impeccable data records.

[33] Building security cameras would later mark this timestamp with an unprecedented classification: "Critical System Override: Human.exe fully activated."

—

For the first time in his documented existence, Junho Kim stopped calculating entirely.

The distance closed between them with a momentum that defied measurement. His hand tightened in her hair, angling her face upward as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The kiss, when it came, contained no statistics, no data points, no quantifiable metrics[34].

Minjeong made a soft sound—Pattern #unknown, Category: heaven—against his mouth. Her fingers clutched his suit lapels with enough force to wrinkle the wool beyond its optimal pressed state, a fact that Junho's usually meticulous mind registered and immediately discarded as irrelevant.

Time segmented into a new measurement system: the catch of her breath, the silk of her hair between his fingers, the way she yielded and pressed closer simultaneously. Junho discovered that his organizational skills apparently extended to kissing, each angle adjustment and pressure variation drawing increasingly desperate responses from Minjeong[35].

When they finally broke apart, Minjeong's carefully maintained Seoul pronunciation had disappeared entirely. "아이고..." she breathed against his mouth, "당신이..."

"Initial results," Junho murmured, his own accent thick with something that had nothing to do with regional linguistics, "require extensive further testing[36]."

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest where she was still pressed against him. "Did you just turn our first kiss into a quality control protocol?"

"Quality confirmed," he replied, then demonstrated his newfound commitment to hands-on research by kissing her again, harder this time, swallowing her surprised gasp. His hand splayed possessively across her lower back, holding her steady as she swayed into him.

—

[34] The building's atmospheric sensors recorded unexplained fluctuations in local temperature, humidity, and electromagnetic fields, leading to a complete recalibration of their measurement standards.

[35] Later analysis would suggest that Junho's legendary attention to detail had found a new, decidedly non-professional application, though this data remains classified in personal files marked "Private Research: Ongoing."

[36] The security AI attempting to transcribe this conversation eventually gave up and simply tagged the file: "Error 404: Professionalism Not Found."

—

Somewhere in the haze of non-analytical thought, Junho registered Minjeong's slight backward momentum and moved instinctively to steady her. His hand swept the desk clear with uncharacteristic disregard for organizational protocols, sending the quarterly reports flutter-falling to the carpet in an acceptable margin of chaos[37].

"Jun...ho..." His name escaped her lips like a statistical anomaly as he lifted her effortlessly onto the mahogany surface. Her legs parted automatically to accommodate him, skirt hiking up precisely 4.7 inches—the last measurement his brain would process for the foreseeable future.

"So beautiful," he murmured against her throat, the words emerging in pure Gangnam inflection, all pretense of corporate diction abandoned. His teeth grazed her pulse point, drawing a whimper that would require an entirely new classification system[38].

Minjeong's fingers tangled in his precisely styled hair, disrupting approximately 47 minutes of morning grooming routine. "사장님," she gasped, the honorific now carrying entirely different connotations, "the papers..."

"Irrelevant data," he growled, recapturing her mouth with newfound authority. The kiss deepened, transformed, became something that defied all previous parameters. Her back arched into him, creating angles that had nothing to do with geometry and everything to do with instinct[39].

A distant part of his mind registered the soft thud of his suit jacket hitting the floor, followed by the whisper of silk as Minjeong's blazer joined it. The city lights painted silver equations across her skin, codes he suddenly needed to decode with his mouth instead of his mind.

—

[37] The office's normally pristine state would require exactly 23.7 minutes to restore, a task that would be significantly delayed by several subsequent "data collection sessions."

[38] Facial recognition software attempting to analyze the security feed would crash repeatedly, unable to reconcile Junho Kim's expression with any known configuration in its emotional database.

[39] The building's structural integrity sensors registered minor seismic activity, though this data would be suspiciously absent from the next day's maintenance logs.

—

He let his hands trail by the sides of her body, one busy with her torso—breasts and all—and the other, feeling the creamy softness of her thighs. And each needy press or pinch, brought out the softest of her moans, the cutest of her lip quivers.

He was busy, marking her lips, making it all swollen and red; yet, still, he couldn’t get enough of her. That soft body, her caring little hands, her hot inner thighs, and that gentle heat radiating off her core—just hidden by the slightest of her skirt. “Minjeong.” He whispered, pressing himself against her—a matter of teasing and also a way to test the waters, whether or not she wanted it on the table.

And Minjeong, not one to initiate, wrapped her thin arms around his nape, pulling him closer, “Yes, yes, please, anything, anywhere,” then a dozen little kisses all on his face. This assurance, this consent, slowly, but surely, made him wrench her legs open—wide. He saw that stain, dark against her gray underwear, and that was when his photographic memory… failed him.

He dug in, letting his loin press up against hers—immersing himself in her wetness. Then, finally, he pulled down on his pants, showing his tent-like imprint on his underwear to Minjeong, who, obviously, couldn’t stop staring. By the end of the minute, that ruthless minute, both were undressed in their lower-half—a utilitarian instinct to fuck each other as fast as possible.

Junho breathed heavily, staring at that pink hue that her core was so beautifully composed of—along with the wetness, the fragrance, and more. “Minjeong…” He held his shaft, lining it up straight on her wetness. She finally replied, “Yes… Junho…” And that’s when he pressed in, into the endless heat.

That wet connection hilt-to-hilt, along with a deep kiss—turned Minjeong completely docile and submissive. That wet connection, her wet slime covering his shaft, somehow, only intensified their lust for each other. He pressed in again, faster this time, earning that soft mewl. “Mhm, fuck me,” she whispered, again and again. He kept honoring those wishes, going deeper, and faster. He tucked his dick into her pussy, wet squelch and all, over and over until he felt his legs get weak from thrusting. Yet, that weakness didn’t deter him, he glided deeper, letting both their pelvises rub against each other, and making Minjeong cry out from the clit stimulation. She felt like she was getting tunneled, this man, the love of her life, crush of her lifetime, fucking her so good into a wobbly table—dreams aren’t even this good.

“I’m gonna cum, Minjeong.” He whispered, low and growling.

“Inside. Please. Inside…�� She whispered before getting overtaken by her orgasm.

And just at the peak of her orgasm, the teetering breath before rest, Junho barreled all his semen inside her—rope after rope of semen splashing against her cervix. “Holy fuck.” they both said in conjunction.

—

The Seoul skyline had shifted into its late-night configuration by the time they finally disentangled themselves. Junho's normally immaculate shirt hung open, his tie having long since joined the scattered papers on the floor. Minjeong's hair had abandoned all pretense of its usual professional arrangement, falling in waves that his fingers couldn't seem to stop threading through[40].

"이게..." Minjeong began, her voice still carrying traces of breathlessness as she surveyed the chaos they'd created. Her blazer lay draped over a chair at an angle that would have horrified their usual professional standards. "I should reorganize the—"

"Stay exactly where you are," Junho commanded softly, his arms tightening around her waist. His usual perfectionism had found a new target: the way she melted against him at that tone[41].

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her smile pure Busan sunshine. "데이트하자... be my 오빠?" The question emerged with endearing uncertainty, mixing honorifics and languages in a way that bypassed his brain entirely and struck straight at his heart.

"그래," he murmured into her hair, then with characteristic precision added, "Exclusively."

Her laugh carried notes of joy and residual shyness. "Then as your girlfriend, I should really clean up this mess..." She gestured at the scattered papers, the displaced furniture, the general dishevelment that spoke eloquently of the past hour's activities.

"As your boyfriend," his voice dropped to that commanding register that made her shiver, "I want to watch you do it[42]."

The drive home—his penthouse, by unspoken agreement—required exactly 17 minutes. Neither of them bothered to count.

—

[40] The building's security system would later note this as the longest recorded instance of the CEO remaining in office after hours, though the detailed logs were mysteriously corrupted.

[41] Internal HR protocols regarding workplace relationships were hastily updated the following morning, though no one questioned why the CEO personally oversaw these revisions.

[42] The night cleaning staff would arrive to find the office in unprecedented perfect order, though several employees would later swear they heard laughter and whispered Busan endearments echoing through the empty halls.

Fin

#winter smut #aespa smut #aespa #kpop smut #male oc #female idol #smut

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bambisnc · 25 days ago

Text

( ➴ ) 𝒮𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖮𝖥 𝖡𝖤𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖲𝖮𝖡𝖤𝖱 ♡ pretending it’s not a song about you

౨ৎ ˚ if getting drunk is what it takes to have the courage to confess, then that's exactly what myungjae will do <3

### . STARRING ⌢ m.jh ⋆ drabble + 0.8k // drinking ! + swearing + kissing + unedited ˖ ✧

𝓍𝗈𝗑𝗈 ─── gewd morning chat (it's 3.37 am) + [FILE.ZIP]

myung jaehyun had never been a fan of lychee soju.

something about its saccharine stickiness just seemed a little too overpowering for his taste. the way its cloying sweetness seemed to linger much longer than necessary was simply … off putting to him.

so why was it that he was currently downing shot after shot of said drink like a man on a mission?

well if you asked him - his easy, candid answer would be that it was, in fact, all because of you.

it wasn’t like jaehyun had a problem with how unfairly gorgeous you looked that day, sitting right across from him in the now rather crowded bar.

neither did he have a problem with the way you threw your head back and laughed at something riwoo said. he’d always found it rather charming really, your laugh.

however, he would've preferred it a tad bit more if it was him who was the one making you laugh instead.

jaehyun didn’t particularly mind the fact that you had yet to look at him, properly look at him since the beginning of the evening, either.

you’d walked in together then, the cozy ambiance around you lit up by soft, warm lights — and he’d still had hope for the next 5 or 6 hours. but of course, things never really went how he wanted them to.

with the first onset of fresh faces, some recognizable some not, a sinking feeling made itself known. and before he knew it, he’d lost you to a conversation with some seniors.

… so okay, maybe he did have some problems.

but it wasn’t as if he was about to blame any of them on you. he wouldn’t even dare to.

hence, he now found himself lost in the haze of alcohol and thoughts of how he’d ended up in such a state, deprived of your company

so lost in his reveries was he, that jaehyun almost didn’t hear you when you spoke up.

almost.

“people are really getting drunk now, huh? i think we all need something to cool us down, haha.” you’d always been so considerate. it was only natural one would end up falling for you, he pondered.

“should i go pick up some ice-cream from the convenience store for everyone?”

an angel. you had to be an angel.

and before he even knew it, he’d all but lept out of his seat — hand raised in a sign of volunteering.

receiving a few weirded out glances and side eye’s really didn’t matter to him. jaehyun was more focused on the way you smiled and tilted your head, beckoning him encouragingly to come along.

drunk determination goes a long way.

that was the only possible explanation behind myung jaehyun managing to somehow walk in a straight line despite being absolutely shitfaced.

as the two of you mapped your way to the store, you rambled on about how fun the evening had been so far, then about how the song playing at the bar was actually one of your favorites and lastly about how you were honestly glad to be out and getting some fresh air.

and jaehyun listens with all the patience in the world. his uncharacteristic quiet unbroken all the while you talk. until, at some point, the conversation lulls.

“you’re so pretty,” he mumbles, gaze suddenly turned away from you. “and you’re nice. and smart. and your voice is so … pretty.

everything about you. so, so pretty..”

you blink, a little startled by the sudden compliments. “thank you (?) you’re way too sweet sometimes, y’know?”

“and … and i think i wanna confess to you.” he continues, stumbling a little — on the sidewalk, on his words, on the weight of everything left unspoken; yet his tone lets on zero hesitation.

you catch his elbow to steady him, brows furrowed but lips twitching upward. “you’re sort of already doing that, i’m afraid...”

“i am?” he looks confused, slightly glassy-eyed and flushed.

you can only huff out a barely audible laugh in response, mumbling a quick “yeah.”

his monologue continues as you reach out and lightly trace your thumb along his lower lip. just to make sure he knows what’s coming, to ensure he’s okay with it.

and then, you kiss him.

the movement is gentle. soft. careful in a way that has him slightly weak in the knees.

“you’re such an idiot,” you can’t help but affectionately whisper as you pull away just a little.

jaehyun immediately leans forward to reduce the newly created distance, “yeah,” he adds breathlessly. “but i’m your idiot now.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

tugging him a little closer, you kiss him again, right there on the sidewalk, with your ice cream mission temporarily forgotten.

you’d always been a fan of lychee soju.

but now?

… now, it tasted a little sweeter.

𐙚 . regulars : @cuntyhoesstuff @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @flipitkickit @soonahuh @chrrific ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

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ma1dita · 7 months ago

Note

james potter x reader please!

so, in this one james and lily survive but they realize that they aren't for each other and decide to get a divorce or whatever it is in the wizarding world. so harry spends half of the week with james, and half with lily and her new partner, mary macdonald (yes, i am a marylily shipper)

so, reader is harry's new primary school teacher and baby boy loves her!

one day, james picks harry up from school and meets harry's favorite “miss pretty,”

turns out, she was in the same class as james (different house, ravenclaw preferably) but he never really noticed her bcs all he ever thought about before was quidditch, his friends, and lily evans

ooooh, harry setting his dad up with reader would be amazing!

james potter x ravenclaw!teacher!reader

wc: 1.8k

a/n: no warnings, unedited. only one ravenclaw mention; thank you for the req love! sorry for the wait

—

Harry J. Potter is undoubtedly James’ son. From his unruly hair that can only be salvaged by a thick swipe of Sleakeazys, to the glasses that slide down the tiny bridge of his nose, and more evidently as of late—the mischief that runs through his veins, there’s really no doubt that this troublemaking 6-year-old is his.

No blood magic or Muggle fraternity… ehem, paternity test needed.

So there he sits in a too-small, sunshine yellow kiddie chair in the hallway of Harry’s classroom because he’s been called in for a parent-teacher meeting. The chair part wasn’t necessary, but Harry’s playing pretend to be a waiter at a 5-star restaurant that his mommy said Lily was taking her partner Mary to. And whatever Harry says, goes for the most part (which is exactly why he’s in this chair in the first place. He could paint a picture of how red Lily’s face got over the phone when she yelled at him over their baby getting called in for misconduct).

It all must’ve been a misunderstanding, or something he’s yet to find out the reason for, such as why little Harry’s pretend Michelin star establishment has the waiter flying food over in an airplane, complete with bumbling engine noises and his arms sticking out as he runs down the hallway.

Classy.

“H, I ordered extra fries with this burger!” James says in a ridiculously indignant voice, pretending to huff and cross his arms and he almost cracks a smile when his little one comes giggling down the way back to him, “Coming right up, Daddy!” The other, much older parents that pass by the empty hallway are less enthused, but well, James Fleamont Potter and shame don’t belong in the same sentence, much less a lifetime.

Tiny airplane arms graze the construction paper Hungry Caterpillar that lines the hallway, painted handprints waving back at little Harry as he runs full speed, until the door opens and BOOM!

James hears laughter instead of tears so when he abruptly stands up, knocking the small yellow chair over (and the purple side table he had all his imaginary food on), albeit trying to come off nonchalant, he’s relieved. What he’s more surprised about is the pretty lady that’s whirling his boy around in her arms.

“Harry the hurricane! Just in time to mix things up and sprinkle some energy back into my day huh?”

You’re dressed in a light pink vest and a long skirt that Harry’s hanging off of like the monkey bars at the playground and you seem to think nothing of it as you stick your hand out for him to shake, “Mr. Potter, thank you for coming in!”

“Oh love, James is fine I—” “DADDY! SAY HI TO MISS PRETTY!”

Quite right, he thinks. There’s something charming about you that he finds himself trying to figure out, hair tied messily on your head, different marker stains on your hands, and a stray holographic sticker that says “What a Star!” seems to have found its way to your abdomen. He thinks that if the professors at Hogwarts were this beautiful, he’d actually spend less time in detention.

The tot is grinning ear to ear and almost bouncing as you crouch down and gently take his hands off your skirt and into your own with a velveteen smile, “What did we say, hon? When we’re inside the classroom, we use our inside voices. Soft like a warm breeze, hmm?”

“But Miss Pretty, I’m not in the classroom yet!” Harry says cheekily as he points to his light-up sneakers standing toes away from the doorway. The boy goes running in towards the back of the room to go play with the building blocks and James has to bite his tongue when he watches you pinch your nose before taking your place at the desk in the front of the room.

“Well hello then, Miss Pretty,” he says with a smirk, throwing his blazer over the back of the thankfully adult chair and rolling his shirt sleeves up as he takes a seat. It’s quiet in the room besides the sound of Harry pretending to be Godzilla on a poor imaginary city in the background.

You stare at him a bit sideways, a beat of silence occupying the space between you, and then a snort escapes you—unladylike, but oh, what a woman.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

He blinks. Harry’s block towers crash to the ground and it sounds like James’ hopes of this going anywhere outside the classroom, a reverberating sound that drops with his heart falling to his ass, “Say what now?”

“Dear Godric, you’re still the same as back at school!” you scoff, leaning back in your chair and kicking your legs up on the desk (that he admittedly takes a peek at, but anyways); clearing his throat he’s so sure there must be some sort of misunderstanding—how could anyone overlook someone as stunning as you?

“I should’ve known, to be honest, when a mini-me of you walked in here on the first day, oh—the look on my face, I swear Lily’s gonna get a kick of this when she comes by next week, she was worried that you were coming in and not her anyways.”

The furrow in his brow is like a faultline right now, wondering how in the hell all of this has gone wrong in the last few minutes from the door, “Don’t bother with anything that woman says,” and then you’re laughing because, “Funny, from what I remember, you bothered her no matter what she said.”

And look how that turned out 7 years and a divorce later.

Co-parenting with Lily Evans-McDonald is not for the weak, after all.

“Why am I even here?” James says exasperatedly, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then to his son who’s doing airplane arms as he kicks down his blocks. You cross your arms almost smugly, and he hopes you don’t take offense, which he clarifies by the frazzled look on his face and the hands he runs through his hair—”Your son called me stupid in class yesterday…”

Dear Merlin.

“And he said that his daddy was the one who told him to say it.”

A wheezing noise leaves his chest and he’s in disbelief, eyes whipping between you and his darling boy and the fact that he’s smack in the middle of looking an outright fool when it comes to this parenting all because of—

“You do know I didn’t mean it like that it’s just—”

You’re grinning as he loosens his tie in a panic, “We didn’t learn the alphabet like that back in our day?”

“I MEAN WHO CHANGES THE ALPHABET SONG? Truly!” James blubbers as he tries to cover his ass and somehow he’s the one who feels like he’s in trouble with the teacher.

Perhaps he is, though this was not the original scene he had in mind walking in here. He takes a deep breath once you give him the same look you did Harry about his inside voice and—Godric you’re good at that—”And obviously…obviously I didn’t know you were his teacher.”

“Oh? Does that make a difference, Mr. Potter?”

You’re biting down on a perfectly plump bottom lip and his eyes are still wide and he can’t do anything but laugh.

“How asinine of me. You’re a Ravenclaw if I remember, right? Used to study with Moony all the time…” James mutters like he’s discovered something monumental and then he whispers your name, and it sounds as soft as you—something unearthed and new. He likes the way it sounds coming from his mouth and by the quirk of your lip, you do too. “How could I forget you?”

The two of you chuckle like how children share a secret and it’s all too confusing for his bundle of joy that comes bounding past the seats and pushing off his father’s lap.

“Oof—” James wheezes as he gets the wind knocked out of him, hunching over in pain, “Careful H, holy sh—” He swallows down the rest of his thought as you raise an eyebrow at his language, instead scooping Harry into your arms and sitting him on the edge of the desk.

“Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that at Harry’s age, his brain is like a sponge—there’s a lot for him to learn and he’s obviously a lot like his daddy, so Daddy’s going to have to be more conscious of what he has to say.”

Oh the irony.

“Daddy will then, yeah?” he chokes out, restraining himself at the joyous look on his kid’s face when Harry says, “Miss Pretty, can you be Daddy’s teacher too?”

You pat the boy’s head and pinch a chubby cheek, “He’s got a lot to learn too, right Harry? Daddy was always in detention when we were little too.”

James is stirring in his seat and feeling hot under your gaze as he watches you interact with his son. He kind of regrets letting Lily take the reins with all of Harry’s parent-teacher meetings because clearly, he’s been missing out.

“Daddy was also Head Boy, but okay.” The two of you are giggling at the disgruntled look he gives your comment and James feels outnumbered, but not in a way that bothers him. If he’s being honest, he can understand why Harry was so intent on always getting his homework done right.

A while after, you all walk towards the door and Harry’s proudly walking out with a “Dinomite!” sticker on his forehead as James and you catch up on trivial things and then…

“DADDY! YOU RUINED THE DINNER!”

Harry’s pointing at the overturned table in the hall that he seems to have missed earlier and James cringes as he feels an imminent tantrum—if you call him a hurricane wait until he starts crying like a tornado siren. But you come to the rescue and bend over to shake his shoulders, “It’s okay Harry that just means you can make Daddy dinner again!” The little one is rubbing his eyes and whining a bit more softly and his father is looking at you like you’re an angel on Earth.

“That’s our cue to go,” he laughs, squeezing your arm and shaking his head, “Wish I could bring you hom—That’s not. That didn’t come out right,” he stutters, “I mean that you’re kind of a miracle worker and clearly doing better than how I fare sometimes with him. I think we’re too alike.”

“You’re doing great and he’s an amazing kid,” you reassure him, pulling out a sticker and pressing it onto his lapel. It’s of a triceratops and says “No one tops you!” He reads it and smirks, the famous James Potter smolder coming out to play and you roll your eyes. Harry is tugging at both your hands and when you look down at him, he’s hopeful and looking at you with determination he must’ve got from his mother.

“Since Daddy’s ruined dinner would you like to teach him now Miss Pretty? He’s got a lot to learn like you said.”

You’re at a loss for words, trying to stutter your way out of this one but James thinks it’s the best idea he’s ever heard.

After all, like father, like son.

“Think I could even go for extra credit if I’m allowed, Miss Pretty.”

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#james potter x reader #james potter fluff #marauders x reader #marauders era

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ankababy · 3 months ago

Text

A Home (part 6)

Part 1 Part 5 Part 7

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Y/N, the lovebug, the sweetheart ever—oh, and those two ig…

“…And over there,” you pointed to a faded storefront with a half-shattered window. “was where I used to go shopping with my friends. God, we spent so much money on the dumbest things. It was never even about what we bought, really. It was about the excuse to just… be out. Y’know? Just walking around, talking, looking at boys, giggling.”

You laughed to yourself. “There was this one time, right outside that door—” you gestured vaguely at the entrance. “my friend almost got hit by a car because she was too busy ranting about how much she hated a boy. She just stepped into the street like a complete idiot. We had to grab her by the back of her hoodie and yank her back before she got flattened.”

Niragi, walking to your right, let out a sharp breath through his nose. “Dumbass.”

“Right?” you beamed at him. “She was so mad at us after, too, like we had embarrassed her, but it was fun. We had fun. I miss them.”

You didn’t say it with sadness. Just a simple truth. You missed them, but you weren’t dwelling on it. There was no point in that.

On your left, Chishiya still wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was listening. He always listened.

Niragi, though, was half-distracted, glancing into broken windows and abandoned stores, searching. “We better find a damn gun shop soon.” he muttered. “Or at least some assholes carrying the right bullets.”

“Mm.” you hummed thoughtfully. “What do you even do with that many bullets?”

Niragi shot you a look. “What the fuck do you think? Shoot people.”

You gave him an unimpressed glance. “Obviously, but like, how do you not run out all the time? You shoot at everything.”

“Yeah.” he said. “So I need more.”

Chishiya finally spoke. “You’re acting like he has any self-restraint.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Niragi shot back.

You smiled to yourself. Even their bickering had settled into something more natural, something less venomous.

You adjusted the bag on your shoulder, glancing around at the empty streets. It was eerie, walking through what once was a lively city, now nothing but quiet. But you kept talking. Filling the silence, filling the space between you and the two broken boys at your sides.

And they let you.

You stepped up onto a broken concrete barrier, testing its stability before deciding it was safe enough to balance on. The edge was uneven, cracked, and worn down by time and nature, but you didn’t care. It gave you something to do while you talked—something other than just walking.

Niragi barely spared you a glance, too busy peering into the ruins of an old electronics store, while Chishiya didn’t even react.

Still, you kept going, balancing carefully as you continued to ramble. “This place was so much better before everything went to shit.” you said, arms stretched out slightly for balance. “There was always something to do. Always somewhere to be. I could be out all day and still feel like I hadn’t done enough.”

You took another careful step forward, teetering for just a second before catching yourself. “Now it’s just… empty. I mean, I get it, obviously. Death games and all that. But it’s weird, right? The silence?”

No answer.

Of course, no answer.

You glanced down at them, unimpressed. “You two are so fun to talk to.”

Chishiya didn’t even bother looking up. “You talk enough for all three of us.”

“Wow.” you said, dryly. “That almost hurt my feelings.”

Niragi snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over your chest. “I am a delight, actually.”

Niragi just rolled his eyes, looking back toward the stores. “Sure.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, taking another step forward—but the concrete under your foot crumbled slightly, throwing you off balance.

Without thinking, you grabbed onto the closest thing to you.

Which just so happened to be Chishiya’s head.

He let out a soft hnn of irritation, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t push you off. He just let you use him for balance, barely sparing you a glance.

“…Alright.” Niragi smirked, watching. “That was fucking funny.”

You finally steadied yourself, fingers still in Chishiya’s hair for a second longer than necessary before you pulled away. “That almost felt like you helping me, Chishiya.”

“I did nothing.” he muttered, brushing his hair back into place.

“Exactly.” You grinned. “And that’s exactly what I needed. You’re so stable.”

He shot you a look, unimpressed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yes.” you said, completely serious. “I’m going to start using you for support more often.”

“Don’t.”

“No promises.”

Niragi snorted, kicking at a stray piece of rubble on the ground. “I swear, the shit you get away with…”

“What can I say?” You hopped off the barrier, landing lightly on the ground next to him. “I have a certain charm.”

Niragi just rolled his eyes again, but you caught the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Chishiya, as expected, said nothing. But he didn’t complain when you kept walking next to him, a little too close, just to bother him.

“How many days do you guys have left?”

Chishiya didn’t even hesitate. “Four.”

Niragi, on the other hand, just blinked at you, clearly not having an answer.

“…Niragi?”

He shrugged, kicking a piece of debris out of his way. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter.”

You frowned. “What do you mean, doesn’t matter?”

“I’ll go play today.” he said, completely unbothered. “I’ll be fine.”

Wow. Okay.

You stared at him for a second longer, something unsettled twisting in your stomach.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal—to him, at least. But it was to you.

Still, you didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just sighed, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you kept moving.

“Alright.” you said eventually “Just don’t die, okay?”

Niragi shot you a look. “What, you’d miss me?”

“Yes.” you said immediately, no hesitation. “Obviously.”

That caught him off guard for a split second. Just a second. Then he scoffed, rolling his eyes as if he didn’t believe you.

You let it go. For now.

Instead, you found other things to focus on—like the fact that there were plenty of climbable structures around you.

“Hold on.” you said, pausing near a rusted-out car. “I wanna try something.”

Neither of them reacted, which meant neither of them told you not to do it. Which, in your mind, meant you had full permission.

So, naturally, you stepped onto the hood, testing its stability.

Nothing happened.

Good enough.

You took another step, then another, making your way up until you were balanced on the roof of the car.

Niragi didn’t even look at you. He was busy rummaging through the ruins of an old sporting goods store, checking shelves for anything useful. Probably bullets.

Chishiya, unsurprisingly, didn’t care either.

Still, you kept going, stepping up onto the ledge of the store’s broken window frame.

And then, for the fuck of it, you jumped—landing lightly on the edge of an old streetlight pole that had fallen at an angle, one foot in front of the other as you balanced your way down.

Still, no reaction.

You huffed, shaking your head as you hopped back down onto solid ground. “Tough crowd.”

Chishiya gave you a glance, completely disinterested. “You say that like it’s new information.”

“I keep hoping it’ll change.”

“Your mistake.”

You groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down your face before turning to Niragi, who was still focused on his little bullet hunt.

“And you.” you said, hands on your hips. “Nothing? Not even a little bit impressed?”

He snorted. “I’ve seen better.”

You gasped. “Excuse me?”

He just smirked, shaking a box of bullets in your direction before shoving it into his pocket.

You narrowed your eyes, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, you just kept moving, hopping over debris, balancing on curbs, talking way too much.

And the whole time, they stayed beside you. Not because they were entertained—not because they cared about what you were saying—but just because.

And that was enough.

You walked ahead of them, hopping onto the curb and balancing your way across it like you were walking a tightrope, talking and talking, the way you always did.

They let you.

They always let you.

But they didn’t really listen.

Not really.

Chishiya walked with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, eyes half-lidded, letting the noise of your voice filter in and out without attaching much importance to any of it. He was perceptive, sharp as ever—he always knew where you were, what you were doing, if you were about to do something reckless—but that wasn’t the same as caring.

And Niragi? He walked beside you like you weren’t even there, flicking through boxes of bullets, stuffing them into his pockets, only responding when you directly addressed him.

And even then, he was a dick about it.

But why wouldn’t he be?

Neither of them had a reason to be nice to you.

The three of you were together out of convenience. That was all.

They weren’t your friends.

They weren’t fond of you.

They weren’t bonding with you.

They were using you.

Maybe not in some grand, intentional way—but you were useful.

You cooked for them. Cleaned up after them. Brought them things. Did the kind of things a normal, kind person would do.

And they took it.

They let you give and give and give, and they didn’t think twice about taking from you.

Because why would they?

Chishiya wasn’t sentimental. He wasn’t the type to form emotional attachments, didn’t care about things like warmth and kindness. He watched the way you doted on them, and he let you, but he didn’t feel anything about it.

And Niragi? Niragi was a sadist. If he liked you, it was for the wrong reasons.

He liked watching you react to him. Liked how easily he could get a rise out of you. Liked how you let him push and push and push without ever pushing back.

And maybe, in some deep, twisted, rotted part of him, he liked the attention. The way you always seemed to orbit him, always checking in, always caring.

Not that it mattered.

Because at the end of the day, if you were gone, if you disappeared, if you never came back—they’d survive.

They’d move on.

And that was something you hadn’t realized yet.

Or maybe you had. Maybe, on some level, you knew what this was.

Maybe you were just ignoring it. Maybe you thought if you were good enough—sweet enough—they’d learn to care.

Maybe you thought you could fix them.

But you couldn’t.

Because Chishiya was a sociopath.

And Niragi was a psychopath.

And you?

You were just a stupid, sweet thing with a bleeding heart.

And Niragi knew the way your hands always found their way to him—little touches, little grazes, a hand on his arm, on his shoulder, in his hair.

You touched him like he was something soft. Something fragile. Something human.

Like you actually cared.

And that was the problem.

Because he liked it.

More than he wanted to admit.

It wasn’t just that it felt good—though, fuck, it did. It was the way you did it. The way you offered it, like you wanted to touch him. Like it was just natural for you to do it.

Niragi didn’t get that kind of touch.

Not before the Borderlands. Not ever.

People didn’t touch him. Not like that.

They hit him. Dragged him. Held him down.

But this? This was something else.

And the longer he had it, the deeper he got into it.

Like a drug. Like a sickness.

Like something he didn’t want to need, but did.

And it pissed him off.

Because you were too fucking good at it. Too sweet. Too easy. You weren’t even trying to pull him in. You were just doing it. Just being you.

And he knew, deep down, that was what made it worse.

Because it wasn’t fake. He was used to fake. Could deal with fake. Could sniff it out and spit it back in their faces.

But you meant it.

And it was fucking him up.

Because no one ever had.

And then there was Chishiya. Chishiya, who saw it all.

And he knew.

Knew that Niragi was getting hooked.

That Niragi was drowning in something too deep, something he couldn’t control, couldn’t claw his way out of.

And Chishiya? He found it interesting.

Because you weren’t doing anything on purpose.

You weren’t trying to manipulate, to twist, to trap.

You just loved.

Freely. Easily. Without thinking.

Like an idiot.

Like someone who had never been hurt the way they had.

And that was the most fascinating part.

Because why the fuck would you love Niragi?

Why the fuck would you love either of them?

What the fuck was wrong with you?

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical.

And Chishiya hated things that didn’t make sense.

But he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wondering. Couldn’t stop waiting to see what you’d do next.

How far your bleeding heart would go.

How deep you’d let yourself fall.

You sat curled up on the couch, staring at the door.

It was late.

Too late.

You were tired, your limbs heavy, eyes burning, but you waited.

Because Niragi hadn’t come back yet.

And you weren’t going to bed until he did.

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside—empty streets, broken streetlights, a dead world that never really slept.

Neither did you.

Not when he was still out there.

And then—finally—the door swung open.

Your body jolted with relief before your mind could even catch up.

“Niragi.” you breathed, pushing up from the couch.

He was fine.

He looked fine, at least. A little scuffed up, maybe, but no blood, no injuries that you could see.

Still, you moved to him fast, your hands already reaching, already checking, already touching.

And fuck, he loved it.

Not that he’d ever fucking say it.

But he ate it up.

The way your hands skimmed over his arms, over his chest, down his sides, pressing gently, making sure nothing was wrong, nothing was broken.

Your fingers traced over his wrist, his knuckles—checking for cuts, for bruises.

Your hands were so soft.

So careful.

Like you actually gave a shit.

And Niragi just stood there, letting you do it.

Letting himself have this.

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t shove you away. Didn’t sneer at you or say some cruel thing to make you flinch.

Because he didn’t want you to flinch.

Didn’t want you to stop.

He wanted to stay in this moment, feeling your hands on him, feeling you worry for him, care for him.

It was fucking disgusting.

He should hate this. Should push you off, tell you to fuck off, to quit acting like you mattered.

But he couldn’t. He just stood there, soaking it in, letting you be sweet to him.

Letting you be you.

And knowing, deep down, that he’d never let anyone else touch him like this.

Though Niragi stiffened under your touch the second his eyes flicked up—and there Chishiya was. Standing at the entrance of the living room, leaned against the doorway, watching.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Niragi snapped, voice sharp, defensive.

Like a cornered animal baring its teeth.

But you barely even reacted. Didn’t even flinch. Just turned your head, eyes widening slightly, just noticing Chishiya standing there.

“Oh, hi.” you said simply. So soft. So sweet. Like always.

Then you turned right back to Niragi, resuming your gentle little check-up like Chishiya wasn’t even there.

And that—that made him take a real look at you.

At the way you touched Niragi like he was something fragile. At the way you worried for him, cared for him, without expecting anything back. At the way you gave him everything—your patience, your attention, your affection—so freely.

Chishiya didn’t like people.

Didn’t care for them.

Didn’t want them.

But he liked you.

Not in a deep way, not in some grand, meaningful sense.

Just in the simplest way.

He didn’t hate you.

Didn’t find you annoying.

Didn’t want to twist you apart just to see how you worked.

He just… liked you.

But what he found interesting—what he found worth noticing—was that this thing you had with Niragi…it had changed.

At first, you were just too good to Niragi.

Soft where he was sharp, warm where he was cold, patient where he was volatile.

But now?

Now, you were too good for Niragi.

Chishiya saw it clear as day.

You were light. Niragi was rot. You were soft. Niragi was jagged edges and broken glass.

And yet—you still loved him.

Still touched him like he deserved it. Still waited for him to come home. Still gave and gave and gave, without ever asking for anything in return.

Chishiya wondered how long that would last.

Because Niragi would take.

Oh, he’d take everything from you.

Until there was nothing left.

At first, Chishiya assumed you were just like every other fool in this world—naïve, weak, desperate for companionship in a place that had long since burned away any need for softness.

But you weren’t weak. You weren’t desperate. You chose to be this way. Chose to care, chose to wait, chose to be the kind of person who would sit here, hours past a reasonable time, waiting for someone like Niragi.

And the worst part?

You were too good for him, too.

Chishiya wasn’t like Niragi. He wasn’t violent, wasn’t cruel just to be cruel, didn’t thrive off of making people squirm.

But he wasn’t kind either.

He wasn’t warm.

Didn’t care about anyone but himself.

That was the truth. That was the foundation of his survival.

So why was he still here? Why did he still let you talk to him, let you touch him, let you pull him in with that unbearable gentleness?

He had no reason to.

He didn’t need you.

And yet—here he was. Standing in the doorway. Watching you with Niragi. And it wasn’t Niragi he was paying attention to.

It was you.

Because you had changed something in him, too.

Not in a dramatic way, not in the way you probably hoped you changed Niragi, but something small, something subtle.

He wanted to stay.

And Chishiya didn’t stay for anyone.

But for some reason, he stayed for you. Just like he did when you sat in the tub.

Maybe it was curiosity.

Maybe it was the way you never seemed afraid of him.

Maybe it was the way you made him feel like he didn’t have to be anything other than what he was—cold, distant, detached—and you’d still talk to him the same way, still look at him like he was worth talking to.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t even real care.

But it was something.

Something he wasn’t used to.

Something he found himself unwilling to let go of.

So he stayed.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t.

Even though he knew you were too good for him.

He stayed anyway.

You exhaled slowly, still looking Niragi over, though he was clearly fine. He was covered in sweat, the scent of gunpowder still faint on his clothes, but he wasn’t hurt. No limp, no blood, no signs of any real struggle—he had made it through whatever game he played just fine. That didn’t stop you from fussing over him, brushing over his shoulders, his arms, his chest, making sure there weren’t any hidden wounds.

“You should shower.” you told him softly. “Then go to bed.”

Niragi scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Not really. “I don’t fucking need you to tell me that.”

“I know.” you hummed, your voice still gentle. “Do you want me to make you something before you sleep?”

He stretched his arms behind his head, acting like he was thinking about it, but then shrugged. “Nah. I’m not hungry.”

You nodded, letting him go without a fight, watching as he stalked off toward his room. You heard the door close.

Finally, silence settled over the apartment again.

You sighed and sank onto the couch. It was only then that you noticed Chishiya was still there.

And not just standing.

He sat down next to you.

You blinked, a little surprised. He usually wasn’t the type to linger when he didn’t need to.

“Didn’t think you’d stick around.” you admitted, turning to him with a small, tired smile.

“You seem exhausted.” he commented, tilting his head slightly.

You let out a soft laugh, leaning back. “I am exhausted.”

“You don’t have to wait up for him, you know.” Chishiya said simply. “He’s not a child. If he dies, he dies.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t actually care if Niragi lives or dies?” you teased, nudging his arm lightly.

Chishiya hummed, nonchalant. “I care about you.”

Your breath caught for a second.

It was a small thing. A tiny admittance.

But from Chishiya? That was practically a confession.

Still, he didn’t let you dwell on it for too long.

“I just think it’s a waste of your energy.” he continued, shifting his attention toward the ceiling, like this conversation was barely worth his focus. “You’re always giving.”

“I like giving.” you murmured.

“I know.” he said, glancing at you again.

Like he wanted to understand.

Like he couldn’t.

“Why?” he finally asked.

You frowned slightly. “Why what?”

“Why do you love so much?”

Your lips parted, taken aback by the wording.

Love?

You didn’t really think of it like that.

But Chishiya saw things most people didn’t.

And maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe it was love. Even if it was reckless. Even if it was stupid.

You sighed, stretching your legs out. “Because I know what it’s like to not get any in return.”

Chishiya was quiet. Not his usual, detached quiet. It was something heavier. Something thoughtful. Like, just for a second, he was looking at you and seeing something he recognized.

But instead of saying anything about it, he only hummed.

And the two of you sat there, in the dim light of the apartment, neither one of you moving.

It was comfortable.

It was simple.

It was good.

“You’re running yourself ragged.”

You tilted your head toward him, blinking slowly. “Hm?”

“You wait up for Niragi. You cook for us. You take care of everything without asking for anything back.” He glanced at you, unreadable as ever. “Why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes. “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“You told me why you love.” he said. “Not why you let yourself burn out over it.”

You exhaled through your nose, letting your hands drop to your lap. “I dunno. It’s just who I am, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You let out a tired laugh. “It’s the only one I’ve got right now.”

Chishiya didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at you. Like he could pick apart your brain if he wanted to, lay you bare—and you’d let him do that without him picking your brain apart, wink wink nudge nudge—and analyze all the little pieces. And maybe he could.

But instead, he only let out a quiet hum, leaning back into the couch, as if he had decided to leave it at that.

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head, exhausted. You had been running yourself into the ground, and now that Niragi was home safe and you were sitting down for more than five minutes, it was all starting to catch up with you.

Chishiya noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You should sleep.”

You hummed in agreement, but you didn’t move. You were comfortable like this, the couch just soft enough, the apartment just warm enough.

And maybe… maybe you didn’t want to be alone just yet.

You curled up slightly, resting your head against the back of the couch, letting your eyes slip shut. “Just a minute.”

Chishiya didn’t respond.

But he watched.

You were falling asleep.

Next to him.

You were comfortable next to him.

And that meant something.

Trust.

Something so small, so simple—so natural to you.

But to Chishiya? To Chishiya, trust wasn’t something that came easily. It wasn’t something that should be handed out without second thought.

And yet, you had given it to him so freely.

He stared at you, at the way your lashes fluttered slightly, at the way your breathing slowed, at the way your body settled like you belonged there.

Like he was safe.

And maybe he was.

Maybe, for once in his life, he actually was.

Even though Chishiya had never cared much for safety. Not in the way normal people did, at least. Self-preservation was a basic instinct, sure, but that wasn’t the same as wanting to live. Wanting to be safe. Wanting to keep going because life itself had meaning.

He didn’t see the world like that.

He played these games with the ease of someone who had nothing to lose. There was no desperation in him, no deepseated will to fight for his survival. He observed, he analyzed, he calculated. If he lived, he lived. If he died, he died. The only thing that interested him in this world was the people in it. Their psychology, their choices, the way they cracked under pressure or thrived in chaos. He didn’t want to find someone that fascinated him, but if he did, then maybe this whole thing would be worth watching for a little while longer.

You were interesting.

Not in the way most people were. Not in the way Aguni was, not in the way Mira was, not even in the way Niragi was, violent and cruel and unpredictable.

You were interesting because you weren’t like them.

You were the opposite.

Soft where the world had hardened. Gentle where life had been cruel. Giving where most had nothing left to offer.

It didn’t make sense.

You were too good for this place. Too good for Niragi, too good for him, too good for the entire twisted system of the Borderlands. And yet, here you were, offering yourself up like it wouldn’t get you killed.

Like it wouldn’t get you used.

Because that’s what he and Niragi were doing, wasn’t it?

Using you.

Chishiya was well aware of it. Niragi might not have been as conscious about it, but he was. You were valuable. You cooked, you cleaned, you took care of them. You were something warm and bright in the middle of a world that was nothing but death and brutality. You offered safety and comfort like it was nothing, like you didn’t even consider the weight of it, like you didn’t even care if people deserved it or not.

But Chishiya? Chishiya knew better than to believe in things like unconditional love.

He knew better than to believe in things like you.

And yet, here he was. Sitting next to you, watching the way you slept so easily beside him.

Because you trusted him.

Because you were comfortable with him.

That meant something, didn’t it?

It should have meant nothing to him. He should have written it off as just another one of your foolish little choices, another thing that made you weak. Trusting people was a liability in a place like this.

But there was a part of him, deep in the pit of his hollowed-out chest, that didn’t want to break it.

Didn’t want to lose it.

Which was ridiculous.

He didn’t like himself.

Didn’t want to like himself.

He was empty. Utterly empty. He had nothing to live for, nothing to die for. He played these games not because he wanted to survive, but because he wanted to watch, to see, to understand the twisted depths of humanity. And yet, somehow, he had ended up here.

With you.

You, with your too-soft voice and your too-gentle hands. You, who made Niragi lean into your touch instead of flinch away from it. You, who smiled so easily, like this world hadn’t already taken everything from you.

He didn’t understand you.

But he wanted to.

He hadn’t wanted anything in a long time.

And that was a problem. Because if he wanted something, that meant it could be taken away.

And if there was one thing Chishiya had learned in this world, it was that nothing lasted forever.

Waking up on the couch was an experience.

Not one you were used to, but not necessarily a bad one, either.

The cushion beneath you was slightly stiff, the air in the apartment cool against your skin. You blinked, eyes adjusting to the soft morning light that bled in through the windows, and slowly sat up.

You were alone.

At least, in this room.

That was okay.

You ran a hand through your hair, sighing softly as the memories of last night settled in your brain. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep out here, but you had. Right next to Chishiya, too.

That was… unexpected.

You didn’t remember him moving, didn’t remember him telling you to get up, didn’t remember anything past the slow lull of your conversation.

Had he stayed? Had he left the moment he realized you had drifted off? You weren’t sure. Either way, you were alone now, so you pushed yourself up from the couch and made your way toward the kitchen. Your body felt slow, still heavy with sleep, but you ignored it. You pulled out a chair at the counter and sat down, elbows resting on the surface, mind already wandering.

Thinking.

Thinking a lot.

You had that problem sometimes.

Your thoughts never really stopped.

Even in the quiet of the morninng, they rattled around in your skull, picking apart the things you said, the things you did, the things they did.

Chishiya.

Niragi.

They were so different, yet somehow they were the same. They weren’t gentle, they weren’t kind, and yet… you stayed.

Why did you stay?

You had options.

Not many, but they existed.

You could have taken a room somewhere else in the Beach, you heard about that place. You could have joined another group. You could have attached yourself to someone softer, someone easier, someone who would give you something back instead of taking and taking and taking.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you were here.

With them.

Maybe it was because you saw something in them. Something fragile beneath all that cruelty.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that Niragi was a psychopath. You knew Chishiya was a sociopath. They weren’t good people. But maybe that was exactly why you wanted to be here.

Because someone had to love them.

Someone had to look at them and say, You deserve kindness.

Maybe it wasn’t true.

Maybe they didn’t deserve it.

But that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to give it.

Because you had spent your whole life giving.

And you never really got much back.

You sighed, rubbing at your face, trying to shake the weight of your thoughts. It was too early for this. Too early to sit here and psychoanalyze yourself. Too early to pick apart why you were so drawn to people who were incapable of loving you back.

You needed to move. Needed to do something.

So, you stood up. And you started making tea. The soft clink of the kettle settling onto the stove filled the quiet apartment.

But even that peace didn’t last long.

You heard the heavy drag of footsteps down the hall, sluggish. Then a loud, exaggerated yawn.

“Fucking hell.” Niragi grumbled as he entered the kitchen, rubbing a hand through his mess of hair, which wasn’t tied back now. “You’re loud.”

You hummed, unbothered. “Didn’t know making tea was a crime.”

He scoffed, walking past you to the fridge, digging around with barely opened eyes. “If it wakes me up, it is.”

You poured water into the kettle, setting it to boil, glancing at him. He looked like shit. Not in a particularly bad way—just in a Niragi in the morning way. His shirt was lopsided, one shoulder exposed, and his pants hung loose at his hips like he had barely bothered putting them on right.

“Want some?” you asked, tilting your head toward the tea.

He side-eyed you, face still slack with sleep. “Tea?”

“Mhm.”

“No.”

Didn’t expect any other answer. You nodded, turning back to the stove.

He pulled out a carton of something from the fridge, staring at it like it personally offended him. Then, he sighed. “What’s for breakfast?”

“You tell me.” you said simply, already knowing where this was going.

He shot you a glare. “You’re making it.”

“I’m making tea.”

He clicked his tongue. “You always make breakfast.”

“Then it’s your turn.” You turned to him, arching a brow. “Unless you can’t cook?”

He rolled his eyes so hard you thought he might see the back of his skull. “I can fucking cook.”

“Then there’s your answer.” You gestured to the kitchen. “Go wild.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Like he was considering making a scene, picking a fight, shoving the responsibility back onto you. But then something in his brain seemed to shift.

Because if he did argue, that would make it seem like he couldn’t cook. That he needed you to do it. And his pride was too big for that.

So, without another word, he turned, grabbed a pan, and started making breakfast himself.

You smiled to yourself.

As much as Niragi loved to be a menace, there were ways to handle him. Push him in the right places, challenge him the right way, and he’d do whatever you wanted just to prove you wrong.

You went back to your tea, listening to the faint sounds of him moving around the kitchen. The clatter of a pan on the stove, the rustle of a bag, the soft sizzle of oil heating up. He wasn’t slamming things around, wasn’t throwing a fit about it.

Because Niragi could cook.

And he’d be damned if he let you think otherwise.

You leaned against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen. He didn’t look like he particularly enjoyed cooking, but he knew what he was doing. The oil sizzled as he cracked an egg into the pan, not a single wasted motion, no hesitation.

“So,” you started, voice light.“what’re you making?”

“Food.”

You smiled. “No way. I thought you were making explosives.”

He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, but he didn’t look at you, too focused on flipping the egg.

You tilted your head. “I mean, you do know how to make those, right?”

Niragi grinned. “What, you want me to teach you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Could be fun.”

He turned to look at you then, eyebrow raised, like he was checking to see if you were joking. You weren’t. He snorted. “You’d fucking blow your hands off.”

“Wow. No faith in me at all?”

“Not when it comes to handling shit that explodes.” He went back to his cooking. “You can barely handle me.”

“Oh, but I do handle you.”

His hand hesitated over the pan for just a second before he picked up the spatula again. His grin didn’t falter, but you saw the way his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly.

Interesting.

“You’re getting bold.” he muttered.

You just smiled, pouring the hot water into your cup, letting the tea steep. “Maybe I’m finally rubbing off on you.”

Niragi scoffed, scraping at the pan a little harder than necessary. “Keep dreaming.”

But the thing was, you kind of were.

The fact that he wasn’t throwing a fit about cooking. The fact that he was talking to you this easily. The fact that—despite his bad attitude—he was still here, still listening, still responding.

He wasn’t used to someone like you. Someone who didn’t cower or get annoyed, who didn’t push him away or try to control him. Someone who just let him be—let him be an asshole, let him be himself, and still treated him like he was worth something.

You watched him for a moment, the way he moved, the way he functioned.

“How’d you learn to cook?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, “What, you think I was born knowing how to do this shit?”

“No.” you said patiently. “That’s why I’m asking.”

He made a low noise, like he was debating whether to answer at all. But then, after another moment, he muttered, “Had to.”

That was it. No elaboration, no explanation. Just had to.

Your fingers curled around your cup, warmth pressing into your palms.

People like Niragi—people who grew up like him—didn’t learn things like cooking because they wanted to. They learned because no one else would do it for them. Because there was no one else to care.

You just nodded, taking a slow sip of your tea. “Well, you’re good at it.”

He side-eyed you, as if suspicious of the compliment. “No shit.”

You just laughed. You took another slow sip of your tea, watching Niragi as he flipped the eggs onto a plate. Even in the smallest, most mundane actions, he was rough. Like he didn’t know how to be gentle, like he didn’t care if the eggs broke or if the pan got scratched. It was all just muscle memory, getting things done in the most efficient, thoughtless way possible.

But then again, why would he care?

You tilted your head slightly, chin resting in your palm as you looked up at him. And you really did have to look up at him. You were shorter, and with the way he stood—like he was always trying to take up as much space as possible, standing tall, broad, arms loose but ready—it made the height difference feel even bigger.

“Yesterday was a two, I’m playing again today.” he said, like that explained everything.

It didn’t.

“And?”

“And that’s not worth shit.” he scoffed, finally glancing at you. His expression was almost annoyed, like you were asking something painfully obvious. “I need something bigger.”

You frowned slightly, stirring your tea.

You didn’t understand. Not really. His visa wasn’t in danger yet, so why? Why throw himself into a game the very next day? What was the rush?

Before you could ask, a familiar voice came from the doorway.

“I’ll come.”

Both you and Niragi turned.

And there, standing just at the entrance of the hall, was Chishiya.

Again.

Niragi’s face immediately twisted into something incredulous. “Why the fuck are you always in doorways?”

Chishiya blinked at him, unimpressed as always. “They’re good vantage points.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Niragi stared at him for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if he was being fucked with. Then he just scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a little freak.”

Chishiya didn’t react.

You smiled a little, sipping your tea. “You’re going together?”

“I guess.” Niragi muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

Chishiya hummed, stepping fully into the kitchen, leaning slightly against the counter. “Might be interesting.”

You knew what that meant.

Chishiya didn’t need to go. He wasn’t playing because of necessity, because of his visa. He was playing because he wanted to. Because he was looking for something to entertain him, something to stimulate that cold brain of his.

Just like Niragi.

You watched them both carefully, but neither of them looked at you. They weren’t friends, they weren’t allies. But they worked together when it suited them.

And somehow, despite their differences, it did suit them.

You set your cup down gently. “Be careful.”

Niragi smirked at you, grabbing a fork and stabbing into his food. “You worry too much.”

Chishiya didn’t say anything. But his gaze flickered to you, just for a second. If he really was going to a game today, he’d need to eat something. You already knew Niragi wouldn’t give a shit about that, so—

“Do you want something?” you asked, voice light, warm, just as naturally sweet as ever.

Chishiya glanced at you, then at Niragi, who was stabbing at his eggs with zero grace, chewing aggressively.

“I’m not making his fucking food.” Niragi stated, loud and clear, as if the mere thought of it was offensive.

You almost smiled, unsurprised. “Didn’t ask you to.”

“You would, though.” Niragi muttered through a mouthful of food, jabbing his fork toward you.

“I’ll take tea.” Chishiya said simply.

Niragi turned his head, brows raising. “That’s it?”

Chishiya just blinked at him. “I don’t need anything heavy before a game.”

You hummed, already moving to make it. “You say that, but you could still eat something small.”

“I could.” Chishiya said, not committing.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Do you want to?”

Chishiya just tilted his head slightly, considering.

And Niragi? Niragi scoffed, pushing his plate away slightly. “If you make him food, I’m not eating next to him.”

That made you sigh. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I don’t fucking like him.” Niragi shot back.

Chishiya, of course, was entirely unaffected.

You, however, just smiled, grabbing another cup to pour the tea. “You two live together, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to eat with him.” Niragi muttered, crossing his arms.

You didn’t argue further, setting Chishiya’s tea down in front of him, and looking at him expectantly. “So? Small bite of something, yes or no?”

Chishiya exhaled lightly, as if the entire conversation had exhausted him. Then, after a pause— “Fine.”

You beamed.

Niragi groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“You’ll live.” you told him sweetly.

Niragi grumbled under his breath, picking his fork back up and stabbing into his food like it had wronged him.

And Chishiya? Chishiya just watched you.

The day had passed in silence, for the most part. You had spent it in your room, away from them, letting them exist without you hovering, without your warmth pressing in on them when you knew—despite how much Niragi pulled for your touch and how much Chishiya lingered in your presence—they needed space. They weren’t used to people like you, weren’t used to someone always being there, always giving a fuck, and even though they tolerated it, you knew when to let them be.

So, you left them to it. Whatever they did, wherever they were, you didn’t ask. You didn’t go searching. You just curled up in your room, lying on your stomach, flipping through a book that you weren’t really reading. Your mind drifted to things you’d never say out loud, things you weren’t even sure why you thought about. You wondered if Niragi was still as angry as he always was when you weren’t in the room. If Chishiya, left to his own devices, ever let his mind wander to you the way yours wandered to him.

You wondered if either of them even needed you, or if you were just something warm and entertaining.

Still, you didn’t regret being you. You never did.

It was sometime in the late evening when you finally emerged, stretching out your stiff muscles as you walked into the living room. Niragi was there, sprawled out lazily in one of the chairs, flipping his knife over and over between his fingers. The one you gave him. His eyes flickered to you the second you stepped in, a habit of his now, like he had to acknowledge you every time you were near.

You didn’t think much of it.

“…Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” you asked, tilting your head.

Niragi huffed. “Yeah, yeah.” But he didn’t move.

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you still here?”

He spun his knife a little faster, then caught it, flicking his eyes up at you. “I don’t wanna walk with him.”

Oh.

You blinked, then exhaled a soft laugh. “Really?”

Niragi scoffed, stretching his long legs out, slouching further into the chair. “He’s annoying.”

“You’re going to miss your game just because you don’t want to walk next to him?” you asked.

“Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer, nudging his leg with your foot. “Come on.” you coaxed, voice gentle, light. “Don’t be a baby. Go.”

He gave you a look, like he found it funny when you pushed at him.

Then, before he could get another word out, you lifted your hand, pulling the black hair tie off your wrist and stepping behind him.

You gathered his hair, fingers threading through the strands, tying it up into that half-up style he always wore. It was second nature to you, the way you handled him, the way you touched him so easily, as if you weren’t touching someone who had probably never been handled like this in his life.

Niragi stiffened for a second, his usual instinct, but then—he let you.

You felt his shoulders relax under your hands, felt the way his head tilted slightly into your touch as you secured the tie, keeping his hair out of his face.

It wasn’t even a thought in your mind that this was something he should have done. It wasn’t something you even considered he might not want. Because Niragi wasn’t the type to say no to you when it came to touch, not anymore. And you? You weren’t the type to stop giving it.

“There.” you murmured, stepping back slightly, admiring your work.

Niragi tilted his head slightly, rolling his shoulders. “Mm. Not bad.”

You smiled, patting his shoulder lightly. “Now, go before you miss your game.”

He scoffed, stretching his arms above his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Still, he didn’t move right away. And you caught it, the way he lingered, the way he let his fingers twitch against his thigh like he was debating something, like he wanted something.

You thought about it, then, about how easy it was for him to take when he wanted something, and yet, when it came to you, he waited. He didn’t demand it. Didn’t just grab at you.

He waited.

And that was all you needed to know.

So, with a little smile, you leaned down, pressing a warm hand against the side of his face, your fingers just barely brushing his ear. A simple touch, but a grounding one. A comfort, soft and unspoken.

“That should last you a while.” you hummed.

Niragi’s tongue flicked over his teeth, his eyes half-lidded as he rolled his jaw, tilting his head ever so slightly into your touch.

You didn’t comment on it. Didn’t say a word.

And neither did he.

Then, just as easily, you pulled away, stepping back, gesturing toward the door. “Go. Win your game.”

Niragi exhaled, standing up with a stretch. “Fine, fine. I’m fucking going.”

You grinned. “Good.”

He gave you a look, something unreadable flashing through his eyes before he clicked his tongue and made his way toward the door.

You watched him go, your head tilting slightly.

The night was quiet, the streets even more so. The only sound was the distant faint echo of something far off in the city—maybe another game, maybe just the wind. The air smelled like blood and sweat, the remnants of the game they had just won, but neither of them seemed to care.

Niragi sat on the pavement, one knee propped up, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling it through his nose. The embers burned red in the dark.

Next to him, Chishiya sat with his arms resting on his knees, staring straight ahead. He didn’t look tired, didn’t look affected—just there, as if he hadn’t just walked out of a game where death had been a very real possibility.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

“…Didn’t think you’d actually come.” Niragi muttered, flicking the ash off his cigarette.

Chishiya hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I’m here.”

Niragi scoffed, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah. Here you fucking are.” He took another drag, exhaled, then turned his head slightly toward Chishiya. “What, you wanted a front-row seat to me dying or something?”

Chishiya barely glanced at him. “I would’ve left if that was the case. Boring way to go.”

Niragi let out a sharp laugh, bitter. “You really are a fucking asshole.”

Chishiya didn’t deny it.

Silence stretched again, the only movement coming from Niragi bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Then, after a moment, Chishiya shifted, resting his chin on his hand.

“You know,” he said, voice as flat as ever. “for someone who acts like he has nothing to lose, you sure do have something keeping you around now.”

Niragi’s eyes flickered to him, narrowing slightly. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Chishiya smirked, barely. “You know what it means.”

Niragi clicked his tongue, tapping his cigarette against the pavement. “Tch. You think just because she babies me, I give a fuck?”

Chishiya gave him a look, one of those slow, unimpressed ones, the kind that made it clear he didn’t buy a word coming out of Niragi’s mouth.

Niragi held his gaze for a moment, then scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t need her.” he muttered.

“No.” Chishiya agreed easily, shifting his gaze back toward the street. “But you want her.”

Niragi’s jaw twitched.

Chishiya wasn’t wrong, but fuck, did it piss him off to hear it out loud.

Another silence stretched, Niragi finishing his cigarette, flicking the butt onto the pavement. He pressed it out with the toe of his boot, watching the embers die out before exhaling a slow breath.

“…And what about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower, more serious.

Chishiya didn’t answer right away. He sat there, still, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he was thinking. Then, finally, he said, “She’s interesting.”

Niragi scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“Believe what you want.”

Niragi wasn’t stupid. He knew there was more to it than that.

He also knew Chishiya well enough to know he wouldn’t say it.

Still, he had a feeling they were on the same page about one thing.

That girl—their girl—was different.

And no matter how much they tried to ignore it, she was changing things for both of them.

Niragi pushed himself up with a grunt, stretching his arms over his head. His joints cracked, his muscles ached, but he felt alive. Winning felt good, even if the game itself had been bullshit. The adrenaline had long since settled, replaced with exhaustion that he refused to acknowledge.

Chishiya stood up too, though with far less effort, far less noise. That was the thing about him—always so fucking quiet, like a ghost slipping through the cracks. He brushed some dust off his pants, then shoved his hands into his pockets, looking about as unbothered as ever.

Niragi rolled his shoulders, then tilted his head toward Chishiya with a smirk. “Hope you enjoyed the show, asshole.”

Chishiya didn’t even glance at him. “It was predictable.”

That pissed Niragi off, just a little. “Predictable?” he repeated, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t have lasted a fucking second if you had to play without me.”

Chishiya finally turned to face him, that same infuriating smirk on his lips. “And yet, I did.”

Niragi sneered, stepping even closer, looming. “Yeah? You wanna test that theory, little man?”

Chishiya didn’t move. Didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He just let the words hang between them, let Niragi stand there with all his anger, all his frustration, and met it with nothing. That was the worst part about him—he didn’t fight back, not in the way Niragi wanted. He just existed, untouchable, always one step ahead, and fuck, was that irritating.

Finally, Niragi exhaled sharply through his nose, clicking his tongue. “Tch. Whatever.” He turned on his heel, shoving his hands in his pockets, starting down the street. “Let’s go.”

Chishiya followed, not because Niragi told him to, but because he was going back to the same place.

Back to you.

Neither of them said it, but both of them were thinking it.

It was late, their bodies ached, their minds were running on fumes, but they both wanted to go back to that apartment. It wasn’t home. It never would be. But you were there, and for some fucked-up reason, that was enough to keep them walking.

Niragi was the first to break the silence. “If she fucking cries or some shit when she sees me, I’m gonna kill her.”

Chishiya hummed. “No, you won’t.”

Niragi shot him a glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

Chishiya just smirked. “She’s probably still awake.”

Niragi scoffed, but yeah. You probably were. Waiting, worrying, being the soft thing that you always were.

It annoyed him.

It also made him walk a little faster.

The moment the door cracked open, you were already moving.

It was late—too late. You had been sitting in the living room, hands curled around a cup of tea that had gone cold hours ago, waiting for them. When you heard the click of the lock, you shot up from your seat, setting the cup down with barely a thought.

And there they were. Niragi first, stepping inside with that cocky grin, and Chishiya just behind him, calm.

They were fine. At least, that’s what it looked like.

But that wasn’t enough for you.

You hurried over, your hands already reaching for Niragi before he could say a word. You grabbed his arm, checking for cuts, bruises, anything. His shirt was open, a little disheveled, and your hands smoothed over the fabric, searching.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice soft, full of worry.

Niragi rolled his eyes. “You’re so fucking annoying.” But he didn’t push you away.

You ignored him, moving to check his hands next, turning them over in yours. His knuckles were a little red—maybe from gripping his gun too hard, maybe from something else—but no real damage. That was good.

Then, you looked up at his face. His eyes were dark, tired. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat, and there was a hint of something metallic—blood, but not his.

You sighed. “You scared me.”

“Tch.” He pulled his hands away, stuffing them into his pockets. “I didn’t ask you to wait up.”

“I know.” You looked at him, really looked at him. And there it was—the smallest flicker of something, something beneath the sharp words and the smug expression. He liked that you waited. He liked that you worried. He just didn’t know how to deal with it.

You smiled at him anyway. Then, you turned to Chishiya.

He was watching you. Of course he was.

He always watched.

You stepped closer, and unlike Niragi, he didn’t move away. You reached for his sleeve, fingers brushing against his wrist. “You?”

“I’m fine.” Chishiya said simply, but he didn’t pull away.

You checked anyway. Your hands ghosted over his arms, his shoulders, even though he showed no signs of injury. He let you, let you fuss over him, let you touch him, and the fact that he didn’t stop you told you more than words ever could.

“You’re both okay.” you murmured, more to yourself than anything. You finally exhaled, some of the tension melting from your body.

There was silence for a moment.

Then Niragi scoffed, shifting his weight. “Are you done playing nurse or whatever?”

You looked back at him. “I could make something for you before you sleep.”

Niragi snorted. “I’m going to bed.” But the way his eyes lingered on you for a second too long told you he liked the offer.

You didn’t push. You just nodded, watching as he walked off toward his room, muttering under his breath.

That left you and Chishiya in the quiet.

You turned back to him, tilting your head. “And you?”

“Not hungry.”

You smiled anyway. “Alright.”

And just like that, it was over. They were home, they were safe, and you could breathe again.

For now.

You reached out, fingers just barely brushing against his sleeve again, a soft touch. Chishiya looked down at it, then back at you. His expression didn’t change—still unreadable, still detached—but he didn’t move away.

“Go to bed, sweetheart.” you murmured. Your voice was warm, affectionate, like honey poured over an open wound. It didn’t ask. It didn’t demand. It simply was.

Chishiya should have scoffed at that. Should have rolled his eyes. Should have thrown something back at you, maybe something condescending, maybe something cruel, the way he did with everyone else.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just stared at you, silent, weighing something in that brilliant, calculated mind of his. He was trying to figure you out again, picking apart your words, your tone, your kindness. Because people like you—soft, good, endlessly patient—were people he was supposed to hate.

And yet.

He shifted, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his posture as lazy as ever. “Hm.” he hummed, something noncommittal. And then, he turned and walked off, heading toward his room without another word.

You watched him go, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Chishiya should hate you. He really, really should. You were everything he despised—overly trusting, endlessly warm, a person who believed in people even when they had given you every reason not to. He hated people like that.

Because they were stupid. Because they were naive.

Because they got hurt.

Because he couldn’t be that.

But you weren’t stupid. You weren’t naive. You knew the kind of people you had let into your home. You knew what Niragi was, what he was. You knew, and yet you still loved them.

That should have disgusted him.

Instead, he found himself listening to the quiet sound of your breathing as he walked away. Instead, he found himself thinking about how you didn’t even flinch when Niragi got mean, how you didn’t snap at Chishiya for his words, how you just existed between them—sweet, steady, unshaken.

Instead, he found himself doing exactly what you said.

Going to bed, sweetheart.

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mochii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess

#alice in borderland #aib chishiya #aib niragi #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #niragi suguru #niragi x reader

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bdxpelik · 4 months ago

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I am overdue for an Episode 1 review, but...

Not really a review per se but scenes that remind me of why this series is so beloved, well written and thought of.

Gyokuyou just knows.

She's the ultimate gosp queen in town and she's actively sniffing out the tea. In this case, she's dying for some spice between the two kiddies (like the rest of us ofc). Mild "spoiler" but later on Gyokuyou expresses how Jinshi is like a little brother to her and teases like this remind me of that, it's so precious.

2. Maomao is Jinshi's 'advisor'

This is one of my favourite Jinmao dynamics in which Jinshi genuinely seeks out and takes Maomao's expertise seriously, from the very beginning. Remember early on in eps 1/2 of season 1 where Jinshi tested her abilities to see if she's legit? Once he confirmed she was the real deal, he's always trusted her opinions and knowledge. And I am so happy to see it continue in this season. Albeit sometimes it seems he takes her advice on board TOO quickly, but he is a very logical person and knows how to put people to good use.

3. I'm not gonna say anything.

But this shot is genius. Got me cackling like a witch.

4. Sexual education(?)

I almost forgot how saturated this series is with sex-related topics and jokes, but they do it in such a way that it doesn't feel inappropriate. With Maomao's business-driven mind, it's actually genuinely funny. And Jinshi getting flustered at being caught interested in said racey books (he was just looking at the printing quality, OKAY???) is just cherry on top.

Maomao's face, I can't-

5. Maomao showing affection in a very Maomao-like way

This friendship is so beautiful to me. And if you read further on in the light novels, you'll start to realize that Maomao's actually a very friendly person (again, in her own Maomao-like way) that just makes other girls genuinely want to spend time with her. And that she's not too shabby at making friends. After all, a small circle of friends is worth more than its weight in gold.

6. Cat lover

I am a sucker for cat metaphors in TV shows and I always think back to this scene in the manga cuz everything was so ON POINT. Maomao basically described her relationship with Jinshi in perfect detail and Jinshi gained some sort of epiphany (lol), learning that he is in fact in love with a cat.

There are others things I want to point out but more suitable to be addressed in future episodes. And is it seriously only one episode a week??? Urghhhh how can I possibly stay sane...?

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #maomao #jinshi #jinmao #knh season 2 #knh manga spoilers #knh light novel spoilers

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snowysosturn · 3 months ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 12

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension, arguments, mentions of alcohol, being intoxicated

I sat cross legged at the small vanity in my room, blending out the last bit of highlighter on my cheekbones. My outfit I had planned to wear was already laid out on the bed behind me, ready for the evening ahead. My hair was half done, still tied back loosely as I finished off my makeup. It felt nice to have a little time to myself to unwind and prepare, especially after the long day of travelling.

I was in the middle of putting eyeliner in my waterline when I heard a knock at the door. "Come in" I called out, not looking away from the mirror as I focused on not poking my eye.

The door creaked open, and I glanced at the reflection to see Matt stepping in, a glass in his hand. "Vodka lemonade" he said, his voice still carrying the unmistakable slur of someone who had had a little too much to drink.

I turned fully to face him, raising an eyebrow. "You remembered what I drink?"

He shrugged, his grin lopsided but genuine. "Of course. Hard to forget when its the only thing you drink"

I rolled my eyes, taking the glass from him. "Thanks, I guess" I said, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. The moment it hit my tongue, I winced, coughing slightly. "Oh my god Matt! All I can taste is vodka!"

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe like it was holding him upright. "Yeah well, you’ve got some catching up to do. Consider it motivation."

I shook my head, setting the glass down on the vanity. "It’s almost like you’re trying to kill me" I teased, but there wasn’t any bite to my words.

He gave me a wink, nearly stumbling in the process, and we both laughed. For a moment, it was like we never hated each other. It was weird. Today, we’d actually been nice to each other. From the plane to downstairs to now, it was almost like we’d turned a corner. Or maybe the alcohol had simply dulled his usual sarcasm.

Matt straightened up and glanced around my room, his eyes landing on the green crochet outfit on the bed. "That what you’re wearing tonight?" he asked, nodding toward it.

"Yep" I said, turning back to the mirror to finish my eye makeup. "I’m just hoping it comes to get the way I have it in my head."

"Bet it’ll look good" he said, his tone softer than I expected. When I glanced back at him, he was already heading out the door. "Hurry up though. Dinner waits for no one, especially when you’re as drunk as I am."

"I’ll be down soon" I replied, watching as he gave me a lazy wave and disappeared into the hallway. After Matt left my room, I set the vodka lemonade on the dresser, deciding to pace myself as I continued getting ready. As I stood back to admire the final look, I adjusted my halterneck top, making sure everything sat just right.

I slipped on my nude heels, grabbed a small clutch, and downed half of the vodka lemonade Matt had brought up. The burn of vodka was strong, but he wasn’t wrong, I did have catching up to do if I wanted to match their buzz. By the time I walked down to the foyer, everyone was gathered there.

“You took long enough” Nick teased with a grin as I joined them.

“Beauty takes time, Nicholas” I shot back, earning a laugh from the group.

We stepped out of the villa together, the warm evening breeze carrying the faint scent of sea salt. The walk to the restaurant wasn’t far, but navigating the uneven path in heels was proving to be a challenge. After a few steps, I stumbled slightly on a dip in the road.

“You alright?” Matt asked, catching up to me.

“Yeah, these heels and this road aren’t exactly the best of friends, a bit like us” I muttered, half laughing at myself.

Without saying a word, he offered his arm. I hesitated for a moment before looping my hand through it.

“Don’t make it weird” he said, smirking down at me.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it” I replied with a sarcastic smile, though I appreciated the gesture.

We arrived at the restaurant, a cozy spot with string lights draped across the patio. As we approached our reserved table, I heard Nick let out a quiet yell.

“What are you guys doing here?!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and excitement.

I looked up to see a couple seated at our table, their parents. Their mom stood up with a wide smile, pulling Nick into a hug.

“We’ve been in Hawaii for the last few days” she said warmly. “We wanted to surprise you!”

Their dad chimed in, “But don’t worry, we’re staying on the opposite side of the island. We’re not here to crash your whole trip.”

Nick let out a laugh, still processing the surprise. Chris and Matt looked equally stunned but pleased to see them.

The waiter approached to seat us, and we quickly rearranged our tables, one table with four seats and one table with three. I glanced at Matt, who caught my eye with an amused look.

“This should be fun” he said.

“Let’s just hope they don’t figure out how drunk you three are” I whispered back, earning a small chuckle from him.

We settled into our seats, Nate sat across from me, Matt was next to him, and Chris was beside me, while Nick took one of the seats at the table with his parents.

Chris leaned forward toward his parents while pointing at me, his tone casual yet proud as he introduced me to his parents. “This is Y/n” he said. “She works with me for Fresh Love. We’ve been working hard on the new drop, couldn’t do it without her!.”

I smiled politely, but before I could say anything, Nick chimed in from the other table, his grin as wide as ever. “And she’s also my best friend” he added, his playful tone leaving no room for debate.

Their mom smiled warmly, nodding in approval, but the moment didn’t last long. Nick dove into conversation with his parents, leaving the four of us at our table to converse with each other.

Nate glanced up at Matt and Chris, his lips curling into a smirk. “Actually, I never asked how’d Vegas treat you two? Looked like you guys were.. occupied” he said, his words almost like he was implying something.

Chris chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Occupied is one way to put it. Christina practically glued herself to Matt” he teased, earning a scoff from Matt.

Hearing another woman’s name left a bitter taste in my mouth. I had no reason to feel jealous, and yet, the idea of Matt being drooled over by someone else stirred something in me that I couldn’t quite place. It was irrational, and I knew it, so I kept my thoughts to myself, silently picking at the edge of my napkin.

Nick’s voice broke the conversation as he turned to Chris. “Hey, wanna head outside for some pictures real quick before we order?”

Chris nodded, standing up and following Nick without hesitation, leaving just me, Matt, and Nate at the table.

There was a brief moment of silence before their mom, who I assume was half listening to our earlier conversation, leaned over with a smile. “So Nate, do you have anyone special in your life right now?”

Nate chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not at all” he replied, his tone light.

Matt, of course, couldn’t resist. “Harsh one.” He snickered under his breath, looking directly at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him, confused by his comment. Before I could even ask what he meant, Matt took things further. He smirked and leaned back in his chair, his voice loud and clear. “Y/n and Nate went on a date last week, you know that?”

My heart sank, my face flushing red as all eyes seemed to land on me.

“What?” I stammered, but Nate jumped in before I could say anything more.

“It wasn’t like that at all” he said firmly, shaking his head. “We just grabbed dinner as friends.”

Matt wasn’t ready to let it go, though. “Oh, come on, Y/n” he teased, his voice making a mockery out of me. “Why so quiet? Feeling the sting of public rejection?”

My stomach twisted in humiliation. I could feel my face burning as I desperately avoided eye contact with anyone at the table. The old Matt was back just like that.

“Matt, stop being so rude” their mom interjected sharply, her tone firm. She turned back to her husband, trying to steer the conversation away from Matt’s antics.

“Yeah c’mon man we’re just friends” Nate tried to make it clear.

But Matt wasn’t done. His next words hit like a punch to the gut. “Oof, imagine just being a quick fuck and then friendzoned.”

The air left my lungs. The humiliation was overwhelming, and I could feel the sting of tears forming in my eyes. None of what he said was true, but the damage was done.

“I.. I’m actually not feeling the best right now.. I think it's the heat.. excuse me” I said quickly, my voice cracking as I stood up. I turned to their parents, forcing a polite smile through the lump in my throat. “But it was lovely to meet you.”

Without waiting for a response, I walked away from the table, the tears streaming down my face before I even reached the door.

As I pushed through the entrance, I nearly ran into Nick and Chris, who were heading back inside.

“Y/n?” Chris asked, his expression immediately shifting to concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel well” I mumbled, not stopping to explain. Before either of them could say another word, I kept walking, desperate to escape the restaurant, the humiliation, and, most of all, Matt.

I still felt the heat on my face, not from the warm Hawaiian night, but from the lingering embarrassment curling in my stomach. I really hoped his parents didn’t hear him say that. I was halfway down the quiet street when I heard the sound of running footsteps behind me.

“Y/n, wait!”

I clenched my jaw, picking up my pace, but Matt was faster, jogging until he caught up beside me. “Come on, don’t be like that” he said, slightly out of breath. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

I stopped abruptly, whipping around to face him. “Oh, really? Because bringing up that in front of your parents sure didn’t make me feel like the star of the evening.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his usual cocky demeanor fading. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just messing around, you know how I am-”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I do. That’s the problem.” I turned back around, ready to keep walking, but he stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” His voice was softer now, the arrogance stripped away. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

I folded my arms, giving him a glare. “And yet it did.”

He exhaled heavily, clearly frustrated, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let him smooth this over with some half assed apology.

“Y/n” he tried again, “I just-”

“I don’t care, Matt.” My voice was cold, firm. “You always do this. Say something without thinking, then act like it’s not a big deal when it is. I don’t need an apology. I just need you to stop.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to figure out a way to fix this, but I wasn’t interested in hearing it. So I stepped around him and walked away, leaving him standing in the middle of the dimly lit street, finally at a loss for words.

He didn’t follow me this time. Maybe he finally got the message, or maybe he knew pushing it any further would only make things worse. Either way, I didn’t care. My chest still burned from embarrassment, and my head was buzzing with frustration as I made my way back toward the villa.

I reached the villa, slamming the door behind me before kicking off my heels and making my way to the room. The relief of being alone and actually having a bedroom door for privacy was short lived because not even five minutes later, there was a knock.

I sighed, already knowing who it was. “Go away, Matt.”

“Just let me in for a second” he called through the door. “Please.”

I rolled my eyes, but something in his voice made me hesitate. It wasn’t his usual cocky tone. It sounded.. tired. Frustrated, even.

Against my better judgment, I walked to the door and swung it open. “You’ve got sixty seconds.”

Matt stepped inside, his jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Look” he started, pausing for a second before meeting my eyes. “I was a dick. I know that.”

I folded my arms. “Great self awareness. Anything else?”

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I was trying to be funny, or maybe I was just being an idiot, probably both. But I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

I scoffed. “You said I was a quick fuck that got friendzoned, Matt. How else was that supposed to come out?”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you said it” I shot back, my voice rising. “In front of your parents, no less. Do you even think before you speak, or do you just say the first thing that pops into your head?”

“I-” He stopped, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t think you’d care so much.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “Care? Are you serious? You embarrassed me, Matt. You made me look like some desperate fool who got used and thrown away. Why wouldn’t I care?”

Matt’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place, frustration, maybe, or something worse. I could tell he wanted to argue, to push back, but I wasn’t going to let him.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” I continued, folding my arms. “It’s not just what you said, it’s that you acted like you knew everything. Like you had some inside joke at my expense. And for what? A laugh?”

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that-”

“Then what was it like?” I challenged, my voice rising. “Because you made it sound like I was some easy target for Nate. And for the record, nothing ever even happened between us.”

Matt’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me.” I snapped. “That night? Seven Minutes in Heaven? We didn’t even kiss. We sat there and talked, thought we’d mess with everyone's heads. And when we went out when you were in Vegas, and we made it clear we were just friends. There was nothing more to it.”

Matt blinked, like the idea had never even crossed his mind. “So you-”

“I never hooked up with Nate.” I interrupted, my tone sharp. “Not then. Not ever. So whatever picture you had in your head, whatever assumptions you made, they were wrong.”

He was quiet for a second, his hands still shoved in his pockets. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, you didn’t” I said bitterly. “Because you never asked. You just assumed.”

I could see it sinking in, the weight of his words finally hitting him, but I didn’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. I just felt tired.

Matt let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was an asshole.”

“Yeah” I said, my voice flat. “You were.”

He glanced at me, like he wanted to say more, but I was done.

“I don’t have the energy for this” I muttered, stepping back toward the door. “I’m done, Matt. I don’t care how sorry you are. Just leave me alone. It’s best if we just stay out of each other's way for the rest of the trip.”

His jaw tensed, but this time, he didn’t fight it. He just nodded.

“Alright” he said quietly. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

I didn’t reply. I just closed the door, locking it this time.

a/n : everything is .. not changing?

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers #matt sturniolo fanfic

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lethesbeastie · 3 months ago

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I showed a few parts of this larger ref while responding to asks yesterday, so might as well post the whole thing akfhskfhskf

Version without texture overlay + character design thoughts and lore under the cut!

I'm gonna start this off by saying that I am not a biologist and that my attempts at speculative biology are operating by "rule of cool" in some parts of this design.

Wraith's design is largely based on cephalopods, with mimic octopus, bobtail squid, and cuttlefish playing a key role as design inspirations. My goal for their design in this form was to keep their anatomy and physiology as close to the typical structure of cephalopods as possible without sacrificing the necessary physical features that would allow them to adapt to life outside of the water. I wanted them to look alien, but still endearing, and to emphasize the fact that they are very much still a child despite their size and strangeness.

A quick note on some terms from the flavor text on the image:

Buccal mass: mouthparts of a cephalopod, including the beak and the musculature that allows it to open and close

Mantle: the main body of a cephalopod that protects and contains all of its major organs

Flavor text:

Arms Vs. Tentacles: on cephalopods, Arms refer to appendages which have suckers along the entire length of the limbs underside, while Tentalces only have suckers at the club-like end

1. Blue of blood shows through in membranes/thinner areas of flesh

2. Primary mouth/buccal mass

3. External gills

4. Siphon

5. Ridges flare when threatened

6. Tentacles and rear arm merge, acts as counterweight to aid in bipedal locomotion

7. Lower anterior arms merge to form legs; lack of proper bones means bipedal locomotion is unsteady

8. Upper arms adapted hands to better manipulate objects

9. The two rear-most appendages are proper tentacles, and are capable of manipulating objects almost as effectively as main hands

10. Two mouths, one form consumption, one for speech*

- 10A. Secondary mouth hidden by barbles, chitin** structure within resembles a fused set of teeth. This mouth can be used to eat, but there's a high risk of choking

- 10B. Resting position of beak in primary mouth, retracted into buccal mass

- 10C. Extended position of beak in primary mouth; capable of breaking down mollusk shells and biting through bone

11. Natural posture when unfurled

12. Defensive stance

13. The skin covering the mantel forms a cavity into which the head can partially withdraw

14. Capable of spitting ink from secondary mouth when in distress

15. Eyes are large with highly reflective pupils; excellent dark vision

16. Nictitating membrane rises to protect the eye when biting, may also rise when distressed

17. Retractable claws inside suckers

Extra design lore and speculative biology:

18. Blood is a deep blue, appears black under water, and turns clear as it dries. Texture is thick and viscous

** in the image I wrote keratin, but research has shown me that a squids beak is actually made of chitin rather than keratin! Keratin may still be present, but it's not the main polymer in the makeup of the beak structure. I know this is a silly fun character design, but I try to remain somewhat accurate with how I engage the biological aspects, so I wanted to correct my mistake

At the current moment of this design, Wraith is 11 years old, and stands at 5 ft 4 in [168 cm] when using their legs. They measure 6 ft [183 cm] long from head to tail when unfurled/in the water. Their height and size relative to their age is above average compared to humans, but is more or less in line with the normal growth rate for deep sea tritons, which are the largest of the triton variants. Their height out of the water is limited by their physiology; Wraith lacks proper bones, so maintaining an upright form requires a lot more effort and energy. They rely heavily on mobility aids (rollator, cane, wheelchair) if they'll be walking or standing for long periods of time in their true form.

The changeling magic that enables their shape-shifting provides a level of structural stability to their body when in disguise that makes life outside of the water easier, but they still require more rest and breaks from standing than other able-bodied children of their own age. The form that provides the most stability is their "default" triton disguise, which they've carefully tailored to be as comfortable as possible so they can have a more active lifestyle. Smaller disguise forms are easier to manage, as the compression of their body makes those forms more stable to hold. Their triton disguise form measures out to only 3 ft 5 in [103 cm] tall which is much easier for them to maintain out of the water.

#Waters Rising #WR: Wraith #artists on tumblr #character art #character ref sheet #Ive been wanting to draw more of wraith with their mobility aids #They dont travel in their true form very much because of how exhausting it is #but even in baby triton form walking can be very exhausting #Ive got thoughts on the types of accomodations the crew provides for them #Irving and Abalone are both amputees so the crew as a whole is used to accomodating disabilities #if ur interested in this character and their lore my ask box is always open #I can take a while to respond cause I like to answer asks with art when i can akfbskfjs

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mxrcurysb1tch · 5 months ago

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Rating my astrology placements (and yours... maybe)

Inspired by @abyssalfaith

Cancer venus- 8/10 I feel like I feel this one quite strongly. I fall in love (or the idea of it lol) quite quickly and I can really romanticise people. I can't always tell if I am in love with someone or just really admire them platonically, which is a bit confusing ngl. I can never have a crush on more than one person at once. I have so much empathy and love for my friends and I'd genuinely do anything for them. I think there is so much beauty in longing and just emotions in general. ALSO I am obsessed with the friends to lovers trope.

Gemini rising- 9/10 Honestly if it wasn't for this placement I'd be the biggest freaking recluse ever. I literally have to give my opinion/share my experiences on everything especially online lol. I find socialising very exciting. My mind is all over the place and I have so many conflicting thoughts at once. Very adaptable, good at blending in with social situations. Having a broad knowledge of a lot of things is helpful too but sometimes I struggle when it gets too specific. I luuuurve being percieved as witty and funny. Sometimes I find it difficult to calm down or to focus on one thing. ALWAYS losing, dropping, forgetting stuff. INDECISIVE AF and childish in a good way.

4h Stellium- (sun, mars, mercury, jupiter) 6/10 Honestly have a love/hate thing with this one. I have such a weird relationship w/ my family, especially extended family. I love my home and I feel deeply connected to it, especially that I've lived in the same house all my life. My home is a sanctury to me and I want it to be as cozy as possible. Being an only child, it has always been my dream to grow up and have a fairly big family, 3-4 kids.

Capricorn moon- 7/10 Sometimes I wish I was more able to be soft. I am very nurturing but in my own way. So loyal and steady and reliable and strong but people don't always appreciate these things. Emotional nurturance growing up was almost non existent. Very sensitive underneath. This placement is kind of like an armour. I have to say though, although I am very dedicated to my work and use it to avoid my feelings, I have never met a capricorn moon that wants a corporate job and is the stereotypical 'workaholic'. We're actually susceptible to getting burnt out pretty easily. Very cautious even when I was a kid, hate taking risks. The pessimistic thing is absolutely true though, we're just good at hiding it.

2h venus and saturn- 8/10 I have never really had to worry about money which is great. Tricky relationship w/ food for most of my life but I really do love it and use it as a comfort.

8h moon- 5/10 This is a placement that everyone knows sucks. And yeah it kinda does especially as a child. Financial and physical support, big inheritance from family but basically no emotional support at all (+ capricorn so you can imagine). Guilt and other very heavy emotions imposed by family. BUT I do feel like this is a very baddass placement. I can feel the energy of people and places without even having the words to describe it. I have become very good at knowing who is good for me and who is not. I can always see things coming ages before it happens. Doesn't mean I listen to it though LOL so I am always disappointed but never surprised.

Leo mercury (retrograde) 6/10 Oh man. Having mercury retrograde is interesting. Leo mercuries are funny and bright and communicate with 'flare' I feel like. And while I do this to a certain extent, it can get a bit convoluted along the way. I am a pretty entertaining storyteller, I talk fast, I am pretty dramatic (outwardly at least) and I love making people laugh and love talking. I dislike small talk, I just kind of find it boring and pointless and kind of uncomfortable at times but I can do it fairly well, its not like I don't know how to, I would just prefer not to. (I feel like being a gemini rising kind of counteracts some of the issues I have with mercury being rx in my chart). Im very introspective but I think about myself way too much, too much internal jumbled dialogue, like pls just SHUT UP. Growing up I LOVED being on stage and I would still probably be doing it had life not taken me down a different path.

#astrology #astrology community #astrology signs #astro notes #astroblr

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infamous-light · 4 months ago

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You Belong to Me Ch. 11

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch.10

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior, canon typical violence

The grand doors of Castle Dimitrescu groaned as they swung open, allowing the silver moonlight to spill across the polished marble floors. Lady Dimitrescu stepped inside, cradling your limp form in her arms. Your body trembled, delicate and frail, as the aftereffects of the strange, cloying substance from Lady Beneviento’s garden still coursed through your veins.

“Mother,” Bela greeted, stepping forward with a spark of delight glinting in her amber eyes. “I’m so pleased to see that you’ve brought her back. I was beginning to worry she might’ve been lost to us forever.”

Cassandra and Daniela positioned themselves on either side of their older sister, their eyes flickering between their mother and the pitiful sight of you.

“Likewise,” Lady Dimitrescu replied, her eyes narrowing with barely concealed rage as she glared down at you, making her displeasure clear. “She should consider herself fortunate to have returned to my care, unharmed, I might add.”

Her grip on you tightened for a moment, a firm, possessive squeeze that made you shrink in her grasp.

“She is lucky to be in one piece,” Cassandra remarked, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “The Lycans out there would tear her apart without a second thought. The village is no place for a delicate little thing like her.”

Daniela’s laughter followed, a dark, almost sinister giggle.

Lady Dimitrescu, however, made no comment. She merely hummed as she carried you toward the plush couch by the crackling fireplace. Gently, she lowered you onto the soft cushions, her touch almost tender despite the anger surrounding her.

For a brief moment, your gaze wandered to the Lady’s daughters as they moved around their mother. Bela stood poised beside her mother while in stark contrast, Cassandra slouched lazily into an armchair, one leg draped carelessly over the armrest. With a casual flick of her wrist, she unsheathed her sickle, her fingers tracing its sharp edge as she absentmindedly twirled it in her hand. Daniela, standing just behind Bela, fidgeted with an almost restless energy, her fingers twitching at her sides as though itching for action.

Your attention returned to Lady Dimitrescu as she rose to her full, imposing height, her presence casting a shadow over you. With her hands planted firmly on her hips, she glared down at you in clear disapproval.

“I must say, I am deeply disappointed in you, pet,” she began, her voice unnervingly calm. “Escaping was an act of sheer foolishness. You should have known better than to believe you could actually get away.”

Lady Dimitrescu went quiet, her eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. For a moment, she seemed almost… hurt.

“I have provided everything for you,” she pressed on, bitterness sharpening her tone. “The food you eat, the clothes on your back, the very shelter that keeps you safe from the outside world. You have been cared for in ways no one else could ever offer you, yet this is how you repay me – by behaving like a spoiled, ungrateful brat.” The final word was spat with venom.

The foyer sank into a thick, oppressive silence, the weight of her words settling like a heavy fog. Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t wrong, not entirely – she had given you all those things. But underneath it all, you were nothing more than a pet to her. A possession. A creature she controlled, drugged, and twisted for her own needs.

You didn’t ask for any of this!

The truth lingered at the back of your tongue, but you dared not voice it. Not right now, at least.

Then, with a slow, menacing drawl, she spoke again, her voice dripping with chilling finality. “If you even consider escaping again, remember this: I know exactly where your family lives.”

A cold wave of horror washed over you, slowly wrapping around your heart and settling deep in the pit of your stomach. “No…”

A malicious smile formed on Lady Dimitrescu’s lips as she leaned in, almost relishing the fear emanating from you. “Oh yes, while you’ve been scurrying about, Bela kindly informed me of your family’s whereabouts. Though, I would’ve eventually pieced it together on my own. It just made tracking you down far simpler than I anticipated.”

Your eyes darted to Bela, whose expression was unreadable. The memory of her question from days ago resurfaced: she’d asked, almost casually over lunch, if you had any family left in your village. At the time, you wanted to avoid the subject, to say nothing, but you knew that Bela and her sisters would easily see through any lie. You had no choice but to answer truthfully.

Now, a bitter understanding settled in – you realized that was exactly how Bela intended to use that information against you.

“The villagers, too, were remarkably helpful, offering up all sorts of details. It didn’t take long before I paid your family a visit.” Lady Dimitrescu’s smile grew wider, her head tilting as her eyes sparkled with dark amusement. “I know exactly who they are, where they are, and just how easy it would be to pay them another... visit.”

A tremor ran through your body, every nerve on edge. She knew where your parents lived, and she could hurt them if she chose to.

“I hope you understand now, pet, that there’s no use in running. I will always find you.” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice trailed off before her expression hardened. “Don’t make me remind you of the consequences of such reckless actions again. You won't like what happens next time.”

Her words sank deep, like ice settling in your chest. The long-forgotten dreams of freedom, of returning home, felt so distant now, like a fading memory slipping through your grasp.

“So, my little runaway,” Lady Dimitrescu began, a sardonic smile curling her lips. “Care to enlighten me? How, exactly, did you manage to find the house key?”

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, still reeling from her prior words. You had hoped she would forget about the method of your escape, but it seemed that hope was in vain. All you could do was stare up at her, helpless.

“Well?” Lady Dimitrescu prompted.

There was no way you could tell her the truth. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words that might get someone hurt – or worse, killed, because of your confession.

Should you risk lying?

The dilemma churned inside of you like a relentless storm. No matter how you tried to spin the story, you knew the Lady and her daughters would sense your deception. But perhaps you didn’t need to tell her every little detail – just enough to satisfy her questions.

You took a shaky breath before responding, “I found the key in Miss Bela’s bedchambers, my Lady.”

Lady Dimitrescu raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her irritation palpable.

“I know where the key was, you foolish little girl,” she said, her voice thick with impatience. “What I want to know is how you knew to look there.”

Her gaze held you captive, demanding an answer.

For a fleeting moment, the image of that young woman slipping you the note flashed across your mind. Your throat tightened as guilt and desperation warred within you. If you told the Lady the truth, you'd be handing her the woman's head on a silver platter.

“Pet,” Lady Dimitrescu warned. “Choose your next words wisely. I will uncover the truth, one way or another.”

A shudder ran through you, and you shut your eyes tight, bile rising in your throat. You despised yourself for what you were about to say.

“The maid who brought us breakfast yesterday gave me a note. It told me where the key was hidden. That’s how I managed to escape.”

Four pairs of eyes fixed on you, their gazes like fiery brands, burning into your skin.

“I suspected you didn’t orchestrate this on your own.” Lady Dimitrescu muttered to herself.

You could almost see the cogs turning in her mind, replaying yesterday’s events. Her eyes snapped back to you, as sharp as a dagger. “That would explain your erratic behavior that morning.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze locked on you, calculating. Gradually, she turned her attention to her eldest daughter.

“Bela,” she said, her voice colder than before. “Which of the staff has access to clean your bedchambers?”

Bela’s frown deepened, her brows knitting together as suspicion settled on her face.

“Ingrid and Ana,” she said slowly. Then, her expression grew darker as a sudden realization flickered across her features. “It seems one of them has been rummaging through my belongings if they knew where the key was hidden.”

Lady Dimitrescu turned back to you, her gaze chilling. “Who did you ask for help?”

Your heart raced, and your mouth moved in a silent plea, but no words escaped as the pressure in your throat tightened.

“Answer me, pet!” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice rang out as she closed in on you. “Who else helped you? And don’t even think of lying to me – I’m well aware that either Ingrid or Ana tipped off that maid about the key’s location. She’s new and belongs to the kitchen staff only; she wouldn’t have known on her own. And I highly doubt you knew to approach either of Bela’s maids for help first, so tell me, who did you ask for help initially?”

Your heart was beating so fast you could have sworn it was about to burst from your chest at any moment.

Her gaze was pure steel as she bit out each word. “Who. Was. It?”

The image of Catalina appeared in your mind.

You didn’t want to betray her. She was your dearest friend, the one who had stood by you through so much. You owed her everything. You couldn’t – wouldn’t – do this to her. The thought of it made tears begin to well in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Without warning, Lady Dimitrescu seized your jaw, her fingers digging painfully into your cheeks.

“Tell. Me.” Her voice was a deadly growl. “Or I’ll have one of my daughters drag a servant in here and have her be flayed alive. And you will watch.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as her threat rattled through you. The thought of someone innocent – someone who had no part in this – being dragged in here and killed for no reason, made your stomach twist. You couldn’t let that happen and Lady Dimitrescu knew that. Defeated, your gaze lowered to the floor, and a single, broken whisper fell from your lips. “Catalina.”

Lady Dimitrescu inhaled sharply through her nose.

“So, it appears I have a nest of rats scurrying through my castle,” she hissed, her fingers releasing the grip on your jaw. “Girls, wake the entire staff. Have them gathered here. Immediately.”

Your eyes widened at the command.

“It seems I must remind everyone of the consequences awaiting those who so blatantly disregard my rules.”

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze lingered on you, a silent warning in her eyes.

***

The main foyer of Castle Dimitrescu was awash with a tense silence.

The staff stood in a nervous cluster, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and unease, darting toward you before quickly averting their gaze, as if your very presence might condemn them. Then you saw her – Catalina. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a bloodless line. Her wide, horrified eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place. You struggled to meet her gaze, the weight of what you’d done making your chest feel hollow and heavy at once.

You stood by the fireplace, its flickering warmth doing little to calm the relentless hammer of your heart against your ribs. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela surrounded the staff, their sharp gazes dissecting them like wolves surveying a pen of sheep.

At the forefront of the foyer, Lady Dimitrescu loomed, her lips pressed into a tight, displeased line.

“Ingrid, Ana, Petra, and Catalina. Step forward.” Lady Dimitrescu ordered.

The four women moved forward hesitantly, their steps faltering, as though the floor might give way beneath them. Their heads remained bowed, avoiding Lady Dimitrescu’s intense glare.

“It seems that you all have taken it upon yourselves to defy me. To aid my pet in an audacious attempt to… escape.” The last word dripped from her lips like poison.

Her gaze sliced toward you for the briefest moment and a shiver snaked down your spine under the force of her stare.

The staff exchanged nervous looks, but none dared to speak.

Lady Dimitrescu shifted her full attention back to the four women, now quaking before her.

“Petra,” she purred, her voice a dangerous caress. “Tell me, who was stupid enough to reveal the location of the main house key to you?”

Petra’s face drained of color, and she trembled, her fingers nervously twisting the frayed edge of her apron as if it could somehow steady her.

“I-It was Ingrid, my Lady.” She stammered.

Ingrid’s eyes widened, panic swirling within them. Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze snapped toward Ingrid, who flinched as if struck.

“Is that true?” Lady Dimitrescu demanded.

Ingrid’s lips quivered, unable to form any words at first. Then, she nodded frantically, her voice breaking. “Yes, my Lady! But it wasn’t my fault! I-I only did it because Catalina asked me to! She came to me first!”

Catalina’s face twisted in desperation as she let out a strangled cry. “Please, my Lady! I –”

Lady Dimitrescu raised a hand and Catalina’s voice died mid-sentence. Her gaze swept over them before settling on Ana, who stood frozen, her hands shaking at her sides. She studied Ana in silence, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that made the woman’s knees nearly buckle.

“Ana,” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice softer now, but no less commanding. “Get back in line.”

Ana nodded quickly, her voice a shaky whisper. “Y-Yes, my Lady.”

Ana retreated into the crowd, her shoulders quaking, a mix of dread and relief coursing through her.

“So,” Lady Dimitrescu drawled, her voice lethal. “You three find it acceptable to conspire against me? To assist my pet in such a brazen act of defiance?”

They shook their heads in unison, eyes wide with terror.

Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes settled on Petra, and a slow, cruel smile appeared on her lips.

“You disappoint me, Petra,” she said, her tone deceptively soft. “Two weeks. You’ve been under my roof for a mere two weeks, and already you’ve committed an offense that I cannot overlook.”

With a sharp flick of her wrist, five gleaming blades extended from her fingertips, catching the faint light like the fangs of a beast. Petra gasped, her eyes widening in sheer horror as Lady Dimitrescu’s other hand shot out, grabbing her forearm and lifting her up in midair.

“No! Please, my Lady! Have mercy!” Petra begged, but her cries were cut short as Lady Dimitrescu’s claws plunged into her chest with a sickening crunch, tearing through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency.

A frightened yelp slipped past your lips, and you instinctively clamped a hand over your mouth in shock, unable to tear your eyes away from the grisly scene. The staff erupted in horrified gasps and screams as Petra’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor, her blood spreading in a dark, viscous pool around her.

Ingrid’s chest heaved with shallow, panicked breaths, her eyes flickering anxiously between the Lady and the door. Desperation overtook reason as she bolted past Lady Dimitrescu and headed straight for the exit.

She didn’t make it far.

Cassandra appeared in a blur of movement, her sickle gleaming as it arced through the air with lethal precision. It found its mark, embedding deep into Ingrid’s calf with a wet, visceral thud. Ingrid’s scream tore through the foyer – a raw, guttural cry of pain and terror – as she collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Looming over her, Cassandra grinned wickedly, her smile stretching unnaturally wide. With a cruel twist, she ripped the sickle free, drawing another tortured wail from Ingrid. Cassandra chuckled with sadistic delight.

Lady Dimitrescu shifted her focus back to Catalina, who had collapsed on the floor in a trembling heap, a strangled sob escaping her lips. She shook so violently that it seemed as though her fragile body might break apart. A cold knot of terror formed in your gut as Lady Dimitrescu began to advance on Catalina, her blades still glinting with Petra’s blood.

You couldn’t let Catalina die.

“No!” The cry ripped from your throat, raw and desperate.

Before you could process what was happening, your body moved on its own. You rushed forward, wrapping your arms tightly around Lady Dimitrescu's legs as best as you could.

“Please!” You pleaded, your voice breaking as you buried your face against her dress. “Don’t hurt her! I promise – I’ll never try to escape again! Just please, spare her!”

The words tumbled out in a frantic stream, muffled against the rich fabric as your tears soaked through. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, too afraid to meet the wrathful glare you could feel boring down on you. Yet, even as your heart raced and fear clawed at your insides, you tightened your hold, hoping against hope that your plea would be enough to save Catalina’s life.

Every second stretched into an eternity as Lady Dimitrescu remained still.

Then, ever so slowly, her claws retracted. A large, iron-like hand curled possessively around the nape of your neck and tugged you away from her legs. She leaned down, her lips grazing your ear as she whispered in a voice meant only for you to hear, “Very well. I will spare her. But understand this – her life is now in your hands, pet. Do not make me regret this decision.”

A wave of relief washed over you, causing the tension in your body to ease slightly. However, as her words sank in, a flicker of nervousness twisted in your stomach. The realization that Catalina’s life – her very survival – was now solely dependent on your actions.

Straightening up again, Lady Dimitrescu fixed her burning gaze on Catalina.

“Get out of my sight.” She sneered.

Catalina scrambled to her feet; her sobs muffled as she fled the foyer. The rest of the staff stood motionless, paralyzed by fear. It wasn't until Lady Dimitrescu's icy gaze passed over them that the tension in the air seemed to break.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Lady Dimitrescu’s voice echoed. “Disobedience will not be tolerated. And if any of you dare assist my pet in escaping, let me make this perfectly clear: I will hunt you down and ensure that your suffering is far greater than anything you could ever imagine. Dismissed.”

The staff immediately scattered like roaches.

Lady Dimitrescu glanced at Cassandra, a smirk beginning to pull at her lips. “Take Ingrid to the cellar. Do what you will with her.”

“Yes, mother.” Cassandra's smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with predatory hunger as she gazed down at Ingrid, who clutched her bleeding leg. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Ingrid screamed in agony as she was roughly hauled away by the sickle lodged deeply in her leg. Cassandra cackled maddeningly and a sense of dread filled you as you feared for Ingrid's fate. But as the sound of Ingrid’s cries faded, your gaze shifted, drawn to Petra’s lifeless body.

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled at Cassandra’s antics before turning toward her two remaining daughters. “Bela, Daniela, fetch me a pair of manacles and deliver them to my bedchambers, please. Oh, and have someone clean this mess up.” She motioned toward Petra's bloody corpse, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Yes, mother.” They replied in unison, their forms dissolving into a swarm of flies before vanishing to carry out their mother's command.

The mention of manacles being brought to her bedchambers should have sounded an alarm in your mind, yet you remained trapped in a strange, dazed trance. Your eyes stayed locked on Petra, the horror of the scene almost too much to process. The sight of her, so cold and still, made you sick. You had always known Lady Dimitrescu was capable of such cruelty but seeing it up close was still difficult to bear.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze flickered over to you, catching your reaction. With a heavy sigh, she bent down and scooped you up into her arms.

“This had to be done,” she explained, her tone softening. “The staff needed to learn their place. They need to understand that you are mine and they will respect that – whether they wish to or not. I cannot allow disobedience like this to happen again.”

You remained silent, the words hollowing out your chest. Petra had suffered this fate only because she had tried to help you, and you loathed yourself for it.

Lady Dimitrescu continued talking but it sounded distant, muffled, as if you were submerged underwater. The world around you seemed to slip away, and you barely registered the sensation of being carried through the halls. It wasn't until she lowered you onto the vast, plush bed that your surroundings began to make themselves known.

Moments later, Bela and Daniela appeared, each holding a set of heavy manacles. Their gazes darted to you briefly before focusing on their mother.

“Secure them to the bed.” Lady Dimitrescu said.

Bela and Daniela moved swiftly as they fastened the manacles to the bedposts. Bela grabbed your left wrist, her touch firm, and for a brief moment, you glanced up at her in confusion. Before you could react, she clicked the manacle into place. Daniela mirrored her sister's actions, grasping your left ankle and locking it into its own restraint. With a mischievous grin, she gave the manacle a light, almost mocking pat.

“There we go.” Daniela remarked, her smile wide.

You stared at Lady Dimitrescu in disbelief. “What...?”

Her gaze swept over you as she sat by her vanity, her fingers starting to remove the hairclips.

“I don’t trust you,” Lady Dimitrescu stated simply. “Despite the promise you had made earlier, it would be foolish of me not to take any precautions.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. Deep down, you had known that something like this would happen once she found you again, but it still didn’t make you feel any better.

“Don’t pout, pet,” Lady Dimitrescu cooed. “If you prove yourself obedient, I might consider removing them. But for now, during bedtime, you will remain restrained.”

Your face fell further, a blend of anger and resignation swirling within you. Lady Dimitrescu tsked softly before turning her attention to her daughters.

“Thank you, girls. You may go.” Her lips curved into a smile, carrying a hint of warmth.

Bela and Daniela returned their mother’s smile before slipping out of the bedroom, their footsteps gradually fading into the quiet halls.

Lady Dimitrescu rose gracefully from her vanity and approached the bedside where you lay. Leaning over, she placed a hand on your chest, her touch gentle as she guided you back against the pillows. She drew the bedcovers up, smoothing them over you as she tucked you in.

“Rest now, my dear,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her eyes lingered on your face, a flicker of something genuine – concern, perhaps – dancing in their golden depths. “I'll see you in the morning.”

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8

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ethosiab · 5 months ago

Text

we've been here before, 5 or 6 times

Etho and Tango hang out. A new game is soon to begin, so they talk.

They find it’s not exactly a matter of if they’ll join, but how soon.

beta read by @silliest-sideblog and partially inspired by these fics by @oh-snapperss

(read on ao3 - archive locked)

----------------

When they receive the message, Etho and Tango are hanging out in their corner of the shopping district, in the bowels of Ravager Rush. Sheets of paper are scattered about everywhere at Etho’s feet where he’s sat sifting through them.

They could have chosen a better spot to be doing this, but hey! If Etho gets an epiphany about one of the numerous bugs he’s been dealing with since deciding to rework the scoring system, the game is right there. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has abandoned the other on one of their so-called ‘dates’ to fix a redstone issue.

(Pearl likes to call it that- a date. Even though neither of them are really interested in that sort of thing, and they spend the whole time barely saying a few words to each other, content to work on their own projects as long as the other is nearby. They don’t really mind it though, so maybe Pearl’s onto something when she says it.)

Etho flips through a stack of pages, each scribbled with notes, ideas, and small diagrams that he’s jotted down quickly in between doing other tasks around Frogger and his base. Generally, he’s able to keep his notes more organised than this, but between fixing all the bugs as they came up after the game’s opening, and redesigning the scoring system after the other hermit’s competitive insanity, he hasn’t had much time to sit down and simply sort through them.

Tango, meanwhile, sits a couple metres away from him, lying on his stomach. He’s propped himself up on his elbows and is currently staring very intently at a document open on his communicator with a sour look on his face.

“I can’t believe I missed some of these. What sorta redstoner am I?” Tango says, lifting a hand to flick through the list. “I mean, surely if I’d been less lazy when I got into this I wouldn’t have half of these bugs.”

Etho looks up from the papers. “If it makes you feel better, I spent hours trying to figure out why the game wasn’t turning on last night,” He says, “It turned out a silverfish had burrowed into a stone block and broke the redstone on top of it when it came out.” That was a new one. The kind of bug you only get when you’re placing redstone while half asleep. Bdubs had been around, and even then phantoms can’t get to him underground, so there hadn’t been much reason for Etho to actually sleep. Unfortunately, he doesn’t function well when tired, and acknowledgement of that fact has not magically fixed his sleep schedule.

Tango makes a variety of exasperated and unbelieving noises at the confession. “Wh- Yeah that does make me feel better!” He pushes himself up from the floor, and leans back onto his knees. “What are you doing building on natural stone for, man! That’s disgusting!”

“Look, I was−”

Tango interrupts him. “Gah! Can’t believe we gave Joel all that flack about not using smooth stone or wool, when you Mr Hopper Clock himself, can’t even be bothered to-”

He stops when the holographic display of the bug list he had open in front of him fizzles out, and the touchscreen of his comm stares up brightly at him in its place. In the same moment, Etho’s own comm materializes at his hip.

The devices chime with an incessant and annoying note, designed to grab the players’ attention—and keep it—until they do what it wants.Etho hasn’t heard that sound in almost a year. He silently wishes that year had lasted longer.

He doesn’t need to unlatch it from his belt and open it to know what it says. He does so anyway.

<████> Join the Game?

He can’t read the IGN of the player who sent it. They gave up trying to figure that out a few games back.

Etho swallows back a lump in his throat. “It really couldn’t give us a rest for a little longer, could it?” He says, chuckling a little. It wasn’t funny.

Tango gives a frustrated huff from where he’s stood up. He half looks prepared to chuck his communicator along with its stupid join prompt into the nearest wall.

“I’m going outside,” he says, “Getting some fresh air.” His tail flicks side to side with obvious pent up anxiety. The fire in his hair has come to life, and Etho would fear for his low hanging redstone if he didn’t know for a fact that Tango’s flames are practically harmless, not like a real blaze’s fire.

Etho has grown to understand Tango’s large emotive reactions to things like these. He can’t see his own hair, but given the growing ball of static he feels in his chest from the prospect of a new game, he can imagine the clouds are more unruly than normal.

He keeps a hand on the stack of papers he was sorting through, worried the cold breeze would scatter them, and ruin the last half hour of work he’s done. It often followed him, the breeze, especially when he was feeling like this. It’s almost starting to become normal.

“Don’t leave without me,” Etho says, looking up at his friend. The words surprised even him. He doesn’t know why he thinks the possibility would ruin him.

Tango’s smile is small, but it’s there. “Never.”

------------------

They sit at the edge of Tango’s factory base, legs hanging off the ledge and looking out on the horizon—on the rest of the server. There’s redstone under Etho’s nails, from his work last night. He should really clean it out before he burns himself by accidentally activating it. Doc’s always pestered him about wearing gloves, especially ever since he lost his eye. He does agree, he’d like to never experience pain like that again. Redstone reacting with his blood, infecting an already corrupted wound. Etho’s not a smart guy when it comes to this sort of thing, though. He likes his fingerless gloves. He likes the itch of redstone dust under his fingernails. He finds it grounding.

Tango’s head rests on his shoulder, a similar grounding force. His tail is partially wrapped around Etho, swishing side to side and knocking into Etho’s shoe every now and then. Etho’s not even sure Tango knows he’s doing it.

“Are you going to join?” Tango asks.

Etho huffs a bit in response. Is he? Every game so far has only served to drive him further to the edge. He’s almost reached a tipping point many times. And yet, every time his comm chimes with that unignorable message, he can’t help but consider it. He’s played in death games before, holds the scars of those days gone by, but he’s older now. He should be more level headed about joining a hardcore server designed specifically to drive him to murder and kill his friends. Is he a bad person for considering this?

“I mean, I haven’t missed one yet.”

Tango pauses. “Didn’t they have another one?” He questions, half speaking into the fluff on the hood of Etho’s vest. “Earlier this season? A lot of the guys disappeared on April fools. Something about an ‘out of body experience’. I know you weren’t there for that.”

That makes Etho freeze a little. Of course, Cleo won that one. He missed the join notification because he specifically put his comm as far from himself as possible so he could avoid distractions while sorting through the junk all over his single player world. Did he really forget something like that? “Hm. Yeah you’re right. Had a lot of stuff at home to clean up, I guess. Cleo did mention it though. Said it was fun.”

“Heh, I don’t know if the others all really agreed with her,” Tango chuckles. “Apparently Joel couldn’t stop throwing up for at least a day or two after. Really fucked with his code, that one.”

Etho could relate. He got sick towards the end of the last game and was almost relieved when Scar drew his sword through his stomach for the 3rd time. The rough respawn meant he was stuck curled up in his bed in his Decked Out 2 cubby until Tango found him. He did get up, after a regen potion or two. No death game would stop him from running the dungeon, after all.

(Tango wasn’t happy with him for that. He wanted to force Etho to be on bedrest for a bit. He was convinced in the end though, probably recognizing how late in the season they were, and how disrupting it would be for Etho to miss out on the final phases.)

Etho doesn’t voice his thoughts though. “Maybe this one will be similar. Fun, I mean.”

He doesn’t really believe himself when he says it. Cleo’s game was short, probably didn’t last long enough for anything to really hurt. Something tells him he won’t be as lucky this time.

Tango apparently doesn’t believe him either. He scoffs. “Yeah, right. And I’ll win! We’re saying things that won’t happen now, is that what we’re doing?”

Etho leans back. He puts his comm to the side for now, but doesn’t power it off or tuck it back into his inventory. Tango shuffles to the side slightly, lifting his head to give him space.

Etho turns to look at him. He shifts the subject slightly. “You gonna team up with me?” He asks, once again saying the first thing to come to mind. What the hell is Tango doing to him? “We could uh- really show them what 37th and 39th place could do.”

He adds the second part, almost as an afterthought. A joke, just to keep it- It can’t get too real.

Tango does him the service of ignoring the crack in his voice, and lightly whacks him. “HEY! 34th place actually!”, he exclaims, “I’ll have you know I’ve moved up in the world since I had you lot draggin’ me down.”

Which does hurt a little, Etho admits to himself. But it’s a joke, he knows, so he ignores the ache in his heart. He just chuckles.

Tango lets his hand drop, actually considering the question now. He’s still smiling, but it’s faltering and he can’t quite seem to look Etho in the eye. The horizon looks mighty fine, about now. They can see a lot of the server from here. Tango’s unfurnished and frankly abandoned steampunk cottage, Gem’s research facility and mountain skull, Skizzle’s pyramid, Pearl’s beautiful orchard. The fact that they’re both so close to abandoning it all for weeks, on purpose, for something that’s only ever hurt them—it sits wrong with him.

Tango continues, “But uh, yeah. I’m not giving those sorts of promises man. We can’t- I can’t control what happens in there. You know that.”

Tango’s voice is quiet as he says the last bit. He looks troubled. Upset at the words he’s saying, maybe. Etho knows they can control what happens in the games, to a degree. They’re not compelled to do wrong by some outside force. He supposes that’s what makes it so scary. It’s easier to think of their betrayal and implosion as inevitable, than to face the prospect of having the choice but choosing wrong every time.

So Etho doesn’t verbalise his disagreement. He nods. “Mhm. I know.”

The message on his comm still sits there, glaring at him harshly in the low light.

Join the Game?

#until i do more writing this is going in that tag #ethoslab #tangotek #hermitcraft #wild life smp #life series #slabtek #this is not explicitly romantic but theyre not. not in a relationship #hermitcraft season 10 #wuahg. ty jam for beta'ing this for me #you're amazing.#nics writing

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susiekern · 1 month ago

Text

on ice - Sukuna x fem!reader

a/n: Guess who's back with something other than The Fallen... me, hi. Since I've been in a bad slumber lately I finally edited the Sukuna piece I wrote in november probably mixing my hyperfixation on jjk and hockey

general: modern au

warnings: swearing, suggestive language, Sukuna probably ooc but idc, Naoya probably deserves his own warning

word count: 4.191

There’s soft music playing in the bathroom as you go through your morning routine. Wash your face, put on skincare, have a few sips of coffee, apply makeup, and then curl your hair. It’s peaceful and relaxing almost.

Barely 6:30 am on the clock, and you’re almost ready to head out. After curling the last strand with the straightener, you take another sip from the pretty ceramic mug that’s been waiting patiently on the counter and clean up the little mess you’ve created getting ready. With all of the cosmetics and hair tools in place, you grab the mug and small Bluetooth speaker, taking them with you to the bedroom for your final and hardest task of this morning. Getting the 6’2 tall hockey player out of bed. Every time, you find it amusing how the sounds of you making the coffee or even the music you always put on don’t wake him up. It’s like he’s hibernating and won’t wake up on his own until the spring comes. Actually, when you think about it, the 210-pound clump of muscles, under the giant duvet, kind of reminds you of a bear in its cave.

“Kuna, get up; we need to leave soon.”

You place your mug on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over his sleeping body. Your voice is not much louder than a whisper, but after doing it so many times, you know it’s enough to wake him up. He’s able to sleep through 5 alarms, but as soon as you whisper “Kuna”, he’s out of sleep slumber in seconds, like he has some kind of y/n radar. A bit funny, but mostly adorable. A soft smile pulls on your lips when his brows slightly furrow, and he wraps one strong arm around your figure. With one pull, you’re lying flat on the mattress, half of your body under his weight, his head nuzzling in the crook of your arm and neck. There’s a grunt coming from his throat as he breathes in your perfume, and the arm that’s around your waist brings you even closer, if that’s possible.

“Kuna, seriously, we’ll be late.” You try again, even though your fingers instinctively tangle in his pink strands that softly tingle your cheek.

“Let’s stay in today. It’s not like we have anything important to do.” Sukuna murmurs in your neck, and you can’t help but laugh at his words.

“Oh, right, Mister Team Captain. How stupid of me to think your training, game, and my presentation are important enough for us to leave the bed.”

“Exactly.” He nods and sighs after a few seconds. Giving your neck a small kiss, he pulls himself up to sit and stretch his arms. “I fucking hate it when you’re right.”

“So, always?” Teasing a little, you admire the view. All of the hours he spends at the gym and on ice pay off because just the sight of his upper body muscles stretching makes you almost drool on the bedsheet. Every time you see him shirtless, there’s a strong urge in your brain to bite into his pecs and/or abs. And you did it before, many times. “On second thought, maybe I should drop out, you leave the team to Yuji, and we stay here forever?”

“As much as I like how that sounds, I have to decline the offer.” It’s Sukuna’s turn to laugh. He leans in to give you a quick kiss and gets up. Giving you one last smirk before he locks himself in the bathroom. “Besides, you’ve already got yourself all dolled up; we can’t let that go to waste. Right, doll?”

With a deep sigh, you move up too, following another step in your routine. Teasing by Sukuna? Check. His breakfast protein shake and coffee? Work in progress. You’re standing in front of the coffee machine, preparing his usual double espresso with one teaspoon of sugar, when he walks in and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Your shake is on the island, and coffee is almost ready.” One of your hands rests on his forearm as you lean back into his chest. Not sure how, but Sukuna is like a walking heater; his body temperature is always a bit higher than it probably should be. That makes him a perfect sleeping partner for cold winter nights, or for someone who’s always freezing, every night.

“God, I don’t tell you how amazing you are nearly often enough.” The man sighs and, using one of his giant hands, turns your head by the chin to kiss you. You smile but pull away as soon as he bites your bottom lip. It’s either stand back now or be late for everything, because if his tongue makes it in, there’s no way he’s letting you go with just kissing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m perfect, I know. Now drink and get ready, because Yaga will kill you if you’re late again.” With one last peck, you leave him alone to get fully dressed in the bedroom and finish your own coffee.

“You’re staying at mine after the game?”

15 minutes later you’re both in Sukuna’s jeep as he drives towards the campus, and you go through the notes for the presentation one more time. His warm hand is on your thigh, thumb caressing in circles.

“You just assume I’ll be at the game, huh?” He squeezes your leg lightly as a warning not to play with him. At least not that early in the morning.

“I can’t play without my lucky charm, can I? We can go to yours, but I doubt that Shoko would appreciate it.”

“You always say that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I have better things to do in the morning than listening to ‘my sleep schedule is fucked and you fuck it up even more with your mating sounds of a feral rabbit’ lecture again. You, for example.” You roll your eyes but nod and flip the page in the notebook. The rest of the drive is silent; you focus on your notes, and Sukuna decides not to interrupt but keeps his hand on you for the whole time. When he stops in front of your faculty building, you grab your bag and turn to him. “So, I’ll see you at the rink…?”

You’re not sure if that’s a question or a statement, and honestly, Sukuna’s not sure either.

“Yeah, boys would kill me if their captain sucks, because his ‘charm’ is not there.”

“Are you really still doing that weird thing with Sukuna?” A few hours and a presentation later, you’re sitting in the cafeteria with your friend Yuki, sipping another coffee.

“What weird thing?” You ask, not sure what she means.

“Relationship without an actual relationship, duh.”

Okay, here’s a thing. Or to be fair, there isn’t. Because you and Sukuna aren’t together, at least not officially. You are together most times, sure, but you haven’t put a label on it so far, and there’s no forecast of it changing anytime soon.

You met him over a year ago, when your good friend and his cousin, Choso, introduced you at the party, and you kind of clicked from the first moment. You were intrigued by his ‘I don’t care about anything’ image, and obviously, he’s attractive as fuck. And you caught his interest when his attempts at flirting with you were laughed at. After that night he got your number from Choso, asked you out for a coffee, then for a drink, his game, a movie, and suddenly one day you’re being introduced as his friend. And it was PG-friendly for the first few months. Sure, there was teasing and flirting for fun, but you never went further than cuddling while watching a movie. You both appreciated what you had and didn’t want to fuck it up by… fucking. It’d mean crossing the invisible line that was drawn at the beginning of your friendship.

Until you did cross it. The hockey team had an important game that even Sukuna was nervous about, and you were probably the only person who knew how not to make it worse. Even scolding your mutual friends for violating his space when he just needed some silence and peace, not 100 texts from everyone. And then you showed up at the arena wearing his jersey and a smile that somehow calmed his nerves as soon as he saw it. That’s why when, after the victorious game, you offered to drive Sukuna home so he could get ready for the after-party, and you were still in his jersey, with his name on the back, sprawled in his bed, waiting ‘till he got out of the shower? He was all over you in no time. There was no awkwardness, no regrets after, and no weird moments you’d experience during the first time with someone new. It felt natural, like you’ve done it a million times before. It felt right. Safe to say, you didn’t make it to the party, too absorbed with each other.

And ever since, you’ve been in this… weird state. You’re not together, but neither of you has even looked at someone else since your first night; you spend most nights at his or your place, and you know each other's schedules and routines. Hell, you even have your own for shared evenings and mornings now. At this point, almost half of your closet is in his apartment, and after the first month of going back and forth, Sukuna secretly took photos of your cosmetics to get you a set for his place so you wouldn’t leave him early in the morning.

All of your friends just assumed one day you’d randomly make it official, seeing how deep you fell for one another. Honestly, at first, you thought so too. That maybe after a few weeks, one of you would start that ‘what are we’ conversation.

But you know Sukuna’s not a relationship type of guy, and you don’t want to risk losing what you have for a dumb label. Even if it hurts like hell every time you tell people you’re ‘just friends.’

“We’re just having fun, Yuki.” Your answer is not the one she was hoping for, but it’s the one she expected.

“You’ll hurt yourself, babe. And I’ll be the first to tell you ‘told ya.’ Then we’ll buy cheap wine and drink from the bottle, watching some shitty rom-coms.” She sighs when you smile at her and turn your attention to your phone when it pings on the table. She doesn’t need to check to know you’re texting Sukuna, because who else would you reply immediately to? “Dumb, dumb girl.”

It’s almost time for the game, and the arena is buzzing, full of excited people. Your team is playing against their main competition for the playoffs, and every time they meet on the ice, it’s intense and brutal. And people can’t wait to see it tonight. You’re standing with Choso, Yuki, and Nobara, Sukuna’s brother’s friend, in the no-civilians zone, one of the perks of being close to the captain. Your conversation is cut short when the enemy team makes their way in. Funny enough, you know at least half of them from high school, since you’ve only moved here when you’ve started college.

“Well, well, isn’t that y/n y/l?” Hearing a familiar voice, you turn around and smile lightly. “Shit, it’s actually you.”

“Hi, Naoya. It’s been a while.” The blonde man smiles back and pulls you into a hug. You and Naoya were friends when you were still in middle and high school, meeting young when your families were doing some business together. For some time you even dated, but that ended up pretty quick when you decided to leave the town. Many said that Naoya was shady; you’ve heard about him a few times in the last two years, about how he changed, more and more similar to his father, the biggest asshole you’ve ever met.

“Year or two, yeah. How are you?” He asks when you separate after a moment and looks you up and down. “Looking good as always.”

“Stop, gosh. You don’t look bad yourself. Keeping the hair longer now?” You ruffle the stands a little, and he scoffs, pushing your hand away.

“Quit it, woman. It’s already messy without your help.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good, thanks. Studying business, so a little busy, but…”

“Too busy to grab a coffee with an old friend tomorrow?” He interrupts. “I really missed having you around, and I’d love to catch up. So what do you say, y/n?”

You don’t even get to answer, ‘cause a second after his question, there’s a tattooed arm over your shoulder, and you feel the warmth you know so well.

“She’s busy. So quit it, Zenin.” You look up at Sukuna and almost shiver. His face is like a stone, jaw tense, and if looks could kill, Naoya would be reduced to ash already.

“And since when are you a guard dog?” The blonde man snorts but looks between you with the tiniest specks of confusion and much more annoyance. Just now he notices that you’re wearing a jersey with a proud C on your chest, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess it says “Sukuna” on your back. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Naoya, let’s go!” One of his teammates yells at him, but his gaze is still stuck on you.

“Think about it, princess. For old time’s sake. You have my number.” With that, he winks and turns to join his team.

“What the hell, Kuna?” You move from under the tattooed arm and cross your own on your chest. “What was that?”

“What was what?” The man in front of you furrows his brows and checks the time on his phone. “We’ll talk about it later if you want, but I have to go get ready.” He says, but stays right there, looking at you expectantly. You scoff and lift your chin up a little.

“Need something?”

He does, and you both know it. Before each game, he finds you to collect his good luck kiss(es), since the one time you did that jokingly, he scored 5 points on his own that evening. Now it’s a must-have, and if they have a game away, he’ll collect it right before he has to leave.

“Doll, don’t be a brat. Told you we’ll talk about it at home.” He sighs, and you roll your eyes, trying to hide the fact your heart went mad. Home. Not my or your place, home. What the hell?

“Fine, grumpy. Only because I want you all to win; I hate to see Yuji sad.” You take a step closer, and Sukuna leans down a little so you can reach his face and cradle it in your hands. One kiss on the forehead (that Sukuna cringes about), one on the lips. However, it’s never just one. You hold back a moan that tries to slip out when he pulls you closer by the waist and deepens the kiss, his tongue making its way into your mouth.

“Suku—oh, shit, sorry.”

You pull away, hearing Yuji’s embarrassed voice from behind you. Sukuna’s younger brother stands in the locker room’s doorway, holding the door with one hand, the second scratching his neck nervously, not used to seeing his brother in situations like this.

“I’m coming, Yuji, chill out.” The older one says his way and looks back at you. “Wait for me after the game, doll.”

“Yeah, okay.” You simply nod and watch his back as he disappears with his brother. Only then does a deep sigh leave your lips before you go to find your friends on the bleachers, guessing they left during your conversation with Naoya. What a mess.

You can barely sit still throughout the game. Being at almost every one, since meeting Sukuna, you got used to seeing aggression on ice. But this? This is a new level.

Both teams went through almost every player they had, penalties were thrown left and right, and at one point you were sure that the guy named Todo missed his destiny and should try MMA instead of hockey, ‘cause what the fuck.

Somehow your team managed to score three points in all of that chaos, two on the power play and the third with pure luck, but it counts. Which made their opponents even more bloodthirsty with only one period to go and 3:1 on the table. That’s also why Geto gets the meanest elbow to his sternum, Toji, your goon gets thrown into a wall by Todo (you worry for a second that the wall would break with how hard that was), Yuji gets tripped and run into and ends up with an actual deep cut from this asshole’s skate on his leg.

There are 7 minutes left on the clock when Sukuna goes against Naoya in a face-off. So far he was calm, surprisingly, seeing as his brother had to be taken to the medical room, and there were barely any emotions on his face. Until Naoya starts talking. He says maybe two sentences before Sukuna drops his stick and pins him to the ground with actual murder intentions in every single one of his punches.

You’re on your feet, as close to the wall as you can, and you swear your heart stops when Naoya manages to land a few punches too. It takes four players to pull Sukuna away from him, and before he skates straight to the penalty box, knowing very well he’ll probably stay there until the end of the game, he spits a mix of saliva and blood, landing it mere centimeters from Zenin’s face.

“What the fuck did he say?” Choso wonders, as you all watch how Naoya’s teammates almost scrape him from the ice.

“I’ll take a wild guess and bet it involved y/n.” You hate how you have to agree with Yuki. But what could he say to flip the murder switch in Sukuna?

The team won, but no one is really in a celebratory mood. Yuki and Choso wait with you outside of the arena, but as soon as they see Sukuna, they leave, not wanting to piss him off anymore. You take a look at him and sigh, taking in damp hair, a busted brow, and bruised knuckles that took damage even through the gloves.

The silence seems ironically loud as you drive the car to his apartment, but neither decides to break it before you get there. Only when you get inside does Sukuna drop his duffel bag onto the floor and lean his hips on the kitchen island, that you decide to speak, not sure where to start.

“Why?”

“You have to be more specific, doll. Why what?” He sighs and crosses his arms on his chest, fingers tapping on one bicep, a nervous habit of his and the only sign he was actually stressed about this conversation.

“Cut the bullshit, Ryomen.” Well, that got a reaction. You’ve never before called him by his actual name; hell, you weren’t sure if anyone ever used it before. Even his brother and cousin called him just Sukuna. Not letting his stare intimidate you, you keep talking. “You know exactly what I’m asking about. But do you want to hear it? Sure. Why did you try to scare Naoya off before the game, and why did you beat him later?”

“I wasn’t trying to scare him off.” He starts, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Please, I’ve known you long enough to know your ‘look at how big and dangerous I am’ stance.”

“Will you fucking let me talk?” There’s annoyance in Sukuna’s raised voice after you interrupt him. “You want to be right so badly? Fine. I was fucking jealous. And yeah, I acted like a damn guard dog.” He admits and pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. For a few seconds, he stays silent, and you furrow your brows.

“But why, for the love of god? And is talking to me a good enough reason to almost kill a guy?!”

“This guy is one of the shittiest people I’ve ever met, and your history with him doesn’t fucking change that!” He’s standing straight now, every muscle in his body tense, and he looks like he’s about to punch something to release some of it. “Still, no, that’s not a good enough reason. But this fucker is talking shit about my girl, how he’s going to ‘ruin your pretty body again’ and how he misses how easily you bruise ‘cause he can mark you, is.”

“W-what?” Sukuna is taking deep breaths to calm himself down while you try to process what he just said. ‘My girl,’ ‘ruin your pretty body again’…

“That’s fucking why, y/n. I don’t care that you’ve slept with this fucker in the past. But if he ever tries to touch you when you’re mine, I’ll rip his damn arms off. And I won’t fucking regret it for even a second.”

“Mine?” You ask quietly, looking into his crimson eyes like they alone could give you answers to so many questions you have right now. At the same time, you can’t put the words together to even ask one.

“Yeah. Mine.” Sukuna nods and takes a step closer.

“Since fucking when? And don’t tell me you’ve just decided, ‘cause if that’s just your stupid testosterone ass talking, I might actually punch you.” You groan and rub your temples, feeling overwhelmed.

First, your ex-(boy)friend turns out to be an ass; now your current (boy)friend has an enlightenment moment about your relationship? What’s next? Yuki goes to the church? Choso wears colors?

“Of course not, who do you think I am, doll?” He looks actually offended, and a part of you wants to laugh. “You’ve been mine since the first time you’ve put on my jersey. I thought that was obvious?”

And you’re laughing.

“What the actual fuck, Kuna? That was like eight months ago. You’ve never thought that I don’t know, we should maybe fucking talk about it? Like adults do?”

“You clearly have a mouth that I know can do a lot more than talking. Why didn’t you say anything either?” You brush away the hair that fell onto your face during the laughing fit and sigh.

“Because you’re the Ryomen Sukuna. You’ve been here only a year longer than me, and you’ve already had a reputation when we met. The first thing I learned about you, other than your name, was that you don’t do relationships.” Either you’re losing your mind or Sukuna is nervous. No, he’s definitely nervous, biting his cheek from the inside.

“I’ve been ‘doing a relationship’ with you for almost a year now, y/n. Yeah, okay, we should’ve talked about it, but I thought I was pretty clear with… my actions, for example? Damn it, woman. We cuddle! I can count on one hand how many people I’ve cuddled with.” You bite your lip to stop the laugh that’s trying to escape because Sukuna, THE Sukuna, always so calm and stoic, is gesticulating. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“It’s just… I haven’t seen you this emotional about anything ever, I think.” Hearing that, he’s back to crossing his arms and furrowing brows at you.

“Sure, laugh at your man being emotional. That’s called a stereotype, and it’s hurtful, doll.” He has a point, obviously, but there’s a soft smile on his lips, and you can only focus on one thing he said.

“My man?” You take a step towards him and lean your head back a little to maintain eye contact.

“Um, yeah? That comes in a pack, doesn’t it? If you’re mine, then I’m yours, y/n. I’m not into polygamy.” Sukuna sighs for the nth time tonight and moves his hands to your hips finally. He can almost feel how just touching you soothes his nerves.

“Say that again.” You whisper, resting your palms on his chest, the warmth of his skin spreading throughout your body, even if you only feel it through the t-shirt material.

“I’m yours, weirdo. I’ve been for a long time now.” As amused as Sukuna is about your reaction, he finds that wide smile on your face adorable.

“Damn, you’re actually serious. And all it took was an idiot talking shit about me? Wild.” You can’t help but laugh and shake your head a little at how stupid this situation is.

“I’m kind of opening my heart to you, and you bring up this fucker again? Seriously?”

“Sorry.” You take a deep breath in and caress his cheek with your thumb, careful about the bruise that’s forming around his brow and cheekbone. “So I can actually tell people that you’re my boyfriend now?”

“You haven’t before? Wait, what have you been telling people?”

“Um… that were really good friends? You?”

“Everyone knows you’re my girl, doll. I didn’t even have to say it. But I did, just to be clear, you know.”

“So half of this campus knew we were together before me? So romantic.”

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