Anri

21 years she/her writer

[anri-2]

Character: Mikage Reo / 1k±

POV: Alcohol, noise, music: a club party that almost ended in disaster. But Reo is always there where you need him. Even if you both pretend there's nothing between you. An embrace in the car, the smell of rain, and a line you will remember forever...

tags: sfw, flaff, romance, pre-friendship, awkward moment, mention of alcohol

Please do not translate my work, copy it, or use it to create bots. C.AI without my permission.

Let me stay like this for a minute... or two

It was around three in the morning. Club, parties — just another wild Friday. Only on nights like this, before the weekend, can you truly enjoy the evening: no worries, nothing necessary or boring, just a carefree atmosphere, as if you're sixteen again and your whole life is ahead of you. Loud music pounded against your ears. How much had you drunk? Unclear, but your head was spinning fiercely and your legs were giving way. The spotlight blazed onto the dance floor, from which you stumbled, drunk, and walked away.

You clumsily made it to the wall in the far corner. It was quieter there, the sound from the speakers less annoying, and you leaned against the wall. The cold surface sent pleasant goosebumps across your skin. You closed your eyes and let out a satisfied breath — you wanted to stand like that for a minute, maybe more. Catch your breath while the world spun and danced in different colors around you.

"Hey, cutie. Why're you standing here all alone? Feeling sad, are you?"

The voice came from somewhere nearby. At first you didn't know who was talking: a man or a woman, or even if it was a real person or just a hallucination from the alcohol. But when a figure appeared beside you — a man covered almost entirely in tattoos, holding two glasses of whiskey — you clumsily backed away from him.

"No, I... um... thanks," — your tongue felt like stone, the words barely stringing together — "I've had enough alcohol for tonight."

"Oh, come on," the guy said casually, placing a hand on your shoulder like an old friend — which he wasn't. "Let's have a drink together. Nothing's gonna happen."

He held out one of the glasses. But when he saw you shake your head, refusing, his brows furrowed.

"Too proud to drink with strangers? So what's the problem? We can get acquainted."

"I said no," — your voice came out too soft, not convincing at all.

"Don't be so stiff, sweetheart. Didn't you come here to have fun? I'm just trying to help you have a good time... all the way."

The guy leaned toward you, his lips now millimeters from your ear, his warm breath brushing your skin, and that unpleasant heat sent goosebumps down your body. You felt a lump rise in your throat, panic building inside. People were all around, dancing, drinking, having fun — who cared about a drunk girl cornered by a persistent creep? No one.

But then, in one moment, the crowd parted. Or maybe not parted — someone was walking through it, moving smoothly like a waltzing dancer. Someone walking so confidently that everyone stepped aside and let him through... Purple hair, carelessly scattered across his face, with a messy ponytail in the back that didn't even seem to hold the short locks. He clearly wasn't dressed for a club — white shirt, black tie, loose trousers — more like a gentleman than a partygoer.

It was Reo.

You recognized him almost immediately. Of course, a man like that was impossible to miss. He was your old friend, the one with whom you had that "pre-friendship." You balanced on the edge between friendship and something much deeper: partners. The usual playful flirting, teasing, and jealousy toward each other's partners. Mikage never commented on it, but it was clear he felt that strange connection between you too.

Now he didn't even grace you with a glance. His purple eyes narrowed and fixed directly on the man whose hand rested on your shoulder. You could have sworn there were sparks in Reo's violet eyes, clearly accompanying a threat. The tattooed guy started to say something, opened his mouth, but under the footballer's gaze he faltered. His hands tensed, as if some physical force were pressing down on him.

"Hey, let's go," — without saying a word to the man, Reo brushed his hand off your shoulder like it was the most insignificant thing — trash. "You've had plenty of fun for tonight."

The footballer took your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Your legs could barely keep up with his quick stride. You didn't pay attention to anything else anymore; the world narrowed down to you and Mikage's hand, leading you through this hell of music and furious beats. The man didn't say anything after you, only watched with a confused look, still holding the two glasses of whiskey.

Outside, a cool wind greeted you. It had rained recently, and puddles had formed on the asphalt. It smelled fresh — so pleasant and calm. Even as you staggered after Mikage, this pleasant wind and dampness made you want to close your eyes. Reo walked quickly, without looking back. His palm firmly gripped yours. You tripped over your own shadow, your heels slipping on the wet asphalt, but Reo didn't even slow down.

The car was parked by the curb — black, gleaming after the rain. Reo yanked open the passenger door almost violently and paused for a second: his violet eyes scanned you from head to toe. His purple hair was damp, several strands sticking to his temples and cheekbones. In the light of the streetlamps, his face looked pale, as if carved from marble.

"Get in," he muttered shortly.

You clumsily climbed into the car. Inside, there was a pleasant, tangy scent, something expensive. That very scent that belonged to Reo, the one that made your soul feel warm and calm. Calm — because Reo was near. Because Reo would never let you down, would always be there no matter what. Then the driver's door slammed shut. Mikage sat down, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes, exhaling. Silence filled the car: awkward and anxious at the same time.

"Um... Reo..." you began awkwardly, trying to string words into a sentence, but even his name you mumbled clumsily.

Your hands reached for him — you didn't even know why — but in the same moment they wrapped around his neck. You pressed yourself against him, desperately seeking comfort. He smelled nice, of expensive cologne, so familiar and pleasant. That very scent that always came from Reo.

The footballer froze. As if nailed to the spot. You felt his back tense, his hands, even his breathing almost stopped. His hands hovered in the air, not daring to hug you back, but not pushing you away either. He waited to see what you would do next, ready to pull you away in time if this crossed the line.

"Okay, that's enough, stop," his voice sounded strained, awkward.

But you didn't listen. You only tightened your arms around his neck and lifted yourself slightly to hug the footballer more comfortably. Your fingers clenched his white shirt, tightly, afraid that Reo would pry you off. His clothes were damp, his hair cold, unlike Reo's skin: hot and so pleasant...

"Let me stay like this for a minute, please..." — a couple seconds of silence, and you continued — "...or two."

Mikage didn't answer, but his back relaxed, and his arms dropped to his sides, not touching you. His violet eyes stared directly at the top of your head, waiting for your tactile need to end and for you to break the embrace. You closed your eyes — your soul felt calmer than it had minutes ago, so warm and cozy... Silence settled between you.

"You have no idea how scared I was," the footballer whispered after a couple of minutes, then paused for a few seconds, letting it sink in. "Seeing your location at that club... and your drunk voice message... it was awful. I couldn't imagine what they could have done to you there, especially in that state. You're not like that... you trust almost anyone, and then you're surprised the world isn't pink but such crap."

His hand found your back and settled between your shoulder blades, holding you. He could hear your heart pounding almost as fast as his, but he tried not to read anything into it. When you tried to answer, Reo interrupted you.

"Shut up. You don't need to say anything."

You pressed your lips together, no longer trying to speak, just hugging him in silence, warming yourself in his heat.

"You don't even know how much you mean to me, you fool..."

There was no anger in his voice, only a tired, almost fleeting weariness. He gently stroked your back, leaving faint goosebumps wherever he touched... No one else tried to break the silence.

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[anri-2]

end after end.

character: Naoya Zenin / JujutsuKaisen

part: 1

Please do not translate my work, copy it, or use it to create bots. C.AI without my permission.

— I am not a native English speaker, there may be mistakes. I tried very hard to write this part close to the canon. 🫣

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Naoya lay on the wooden tatami, his face mutilated, a deep wound in his abdomen throbbing, preventing him from moving properly. Half of his face was destroyed, leaving only a dent where masculine features used to be. The man crawled, grunting under the weight of his own body; the once excellent physique he could boast about to anyone had become his shackles. His muscles felt as if they had turned to stone, refusing to cooperate. Naoya crawled to a safe place, somewhere he could tend to his wounds and catch his breath after his defeat at the hands of Maki. That damned bitch had won, who would have thought!! Unheard of, for a WOMAN to defeat the future head of the Zenin clan!!

"Damned bitch..."— the man spat out, hacking up blood mixed with saliva to the side. The metallic taste in his mouth continued to intensify, becoming more and more disgusting.

His light hair fell over his face, blocking his view, which infuriated Zenin even more. His fist clenched involuntarily, thoughts of revenge, of brutally killing Maki and her cronies, immediately flashed through Noya's mind. Damn it, he'd show her what happens to those who cross him!

The sound of footsteps behind him made Zenin freeze. He could feel someone's gaze burning into the top of his head; this person clearly had ill intentions. 'Who is it? Maki, those blockhead brothers, miraculously surviving? No, this person has no cursed energy, so it's someone from a branch family, or a woman.' — thoughts raced through his mind. Naoya was still turned with his back to the uninvited guest, understanding that this person was either preparing, or wanted him to turn around. Naoya didn't want to grant the bastard either, but he had no choice. Biting his lip in irritation, the future head's head turned. He noticed his own mother-in-law standing over him, holding a table knife. Her intention was clear, and the realization threw Zenin into an even greater rage.

"What the hell is this nonsense, damn you! Who allowed you to pick up a knife and point it at me, you stupid sheep!" — it was clear Naoya wouldn't shut up until he'd released all the steam built up during the fight with Maki, or until he was simply stabbed to death.

The woman was silent; her hands didn't waver as she drew back her arm, her eyes so utterly devoid of emotion that one could see the very essence of darkness in them. It was as if she were hypnotized. She who had recently tied Naoya's shoes and followed him around, now burned with a passion to see the man suffer.

At the sight of the raised knife tip, Zenin froze. Of course, he was ready to deflect the weapon, but did he have the strength? Would his own hands protect him from the blow? Or would they too refuse to obey? Clenching his teeth and burning his mother-in-law with a furious glare, he prepared to counterattack.

One minute. Two. Time seemed to stand still, anticipating the most terrible consequences. Each second dragged on, as if someone were deliberately stretching this tension, amusing themselves with Naoya's battered state.

A sharp whistling sound, cold air pierced the very heart of the room. In an instant, the woman's head, already poised to strike, flew in the opposite direction from her body. A grimace of horror and fear twisted on her face. Blood gushed from the cut on her neck, staining the walls, the tatami, and Naoya himself crimson. The knife fell from the woman's hands, landing beside the man's injured leg. Her knees buckled, and her lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

Next to Naoya, you appeared.

A person from the clan's branch family, possessing a rare cursed technique. The technique of seeing the future. Of course, you didn't see it fully—it was hazy, incorrect, and very unclear. This technique consumed too much cursed energy, also draining your life force, which is why you used it extremely rarely. And why bother? In the clan's branch family, they taught you to be an obedient wife and virtuous mother, not a warrior. But despite this priority, you were hunted, people tried to kill you and use you—but nothing worked. The elders considered the ability dangerous, not believing a single word about the technique showing the truth. They all cried out in unison that it was merely an illusion of the future, a deception of reality.

Their first attempts to exterminate you were made when you turned 10. In the following years, they persistently tried various methods to bring you down, but they never succeeded. At first, you were even surprised by this luck, thinking it was fate itself helping you stay alive. But then things came full circle: you learned that your 'helper fate' was none other than the future head of the clan—Naoya Zenin. It was strange that he interfered in the affairs of a branch family at all, but you couldn't blame him, not when your life depended on his protection.

And now, you're repaying him. He was the only one who didn't dismiss your technique as nonsense and flights of fancy, and even though you rarely crossed paths, barely exchanged words—nothing else mattered. You would protect the life of the one to whom you owed yours.

"Consider this me repaying a debt." — you cast a quick glance at Naoya, seeing his body relax. He clearly didn't consider you a threat.

"Well, help then, since you've come barging in," — he snapped back, but there was no anger or mockery in his tone.

For a few seconds, silence hung between you. You lowered the katana you'd taken from Naoya's dead brother and began to lift Zenin. He was heavy. So heavy that you had to bend your knees and brace against the wall to get him on his feet. Once it was successfully done, you trudged away with him from the Zenin compound. You staggered, swayed, and fell simply because you were dragging him alone, and your body wasn't known for its strength. Naoya didn't try to help you, not deeming it necessary to even move his legs.

"I saw a vision. I want you to fight and protect me." — grunting, you finally managed to voice the words swirling on your tongue. You squinted, your gaze fixed on Naoya's face, assessing his reaction to such a request.

"And here I thought you considered it your duty to save your future master. You women are truly despicable." — he dramatically placed a hand on his forehead, as if his heart had just been broken. But the smile on his face said otherwise.

You couldn't tell from Naoya's expression, but he was glad to see you in good health. Ever since childhood, he'd taken a liking to you, maybe because of your technique or personality... And he didn't protect you out of pure goodwill either, but with the desire to declare you his fiancée as soon as he became clan head. Yes, that didn't happen, yes, he never openly showed his feelings, rejecting any thought of tenderness. He wasn't raised that way, and he tried not to indulge his infatuation.

"Oh, very well, I'll play along," — Naoya rolled his eyes, as if forced to say it, though deep down he knew it was to his advantage to keep you by his side until this whole commotion ended. Less worry about your life. — "But remember, this isn't a favor. You'll owe me."

His male hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a half-embrace, a possessive gesture he masked as seeking support. He began to move his legs, trying to quickly get to a safe place, rest properly, and heal his wounds. Naoya would definitely confront you with the fact of marriage, but not now... for now, it was enough that you were safe and nearby.

[anri-2]

Will you lie down with me?

Tags: angst, thriller, psychological thriller, chase, horror elements, sacrifice, despair/hope, flashbacks, character death, open ending

POV: Gunshots echo in the night. Friendship and the instinct of survival lead them to the light, which hides the main trap.

Character: Isagi Yoichi × reader

The sound of the gunshot made your body tremble. Your arms and legs ached, but you kept running. "How long have you been running? And most importantly, where?" neither you nor Yoichi knew. Perhaps that was for the best. Your pursuer didn't let up, showering you with the sounds of gunfire and bullets flying in your direction. This man was a true madman—a minion of Satan, wanting to kill two birds with one stone: make a sacrifice and get rid of the hater.

Twilight was approaching, the full moon had risen, casting its light on everything: from the paths to the pits and ravines. The dark shadows of the trees began to grow at an insane rate, becoming increasingly terrifying. The adrenaline pumping through your blood left you completely unfazed, and only one thing loomed in your mind: escape. Branches whipped your face and tree roots, refusing to let you go, forcing you to fall. The ravines were slippery and muddy from the recent rain... But did it matter? Probably not. You'd long since stopped caring about your appearance, so falling into the mud wasn't scary; falling into the clutches of a madman was far more frightening.

He'd hated Isagi for a long time. Hatred consumed him to such an extent that he'd decided to commit a horrific murder. He'd initially lured you in as a test subject, but after thinking it over, he decided not to waste time searching for victims for his ritual and to use you since you'd already caught his eye.

The only thing that prevented the man from catching you was the trap that had trapped your supporting leg. Before the moon had risen, you and Isagi escaped the den of evil. Yoichi's luck was a blessing from above, and you remained unharmed. But the killer, in the darkness, hadn't noticed his trap, stepping carelessly into a bear trap that stood abandoned near a building he considered his territory. He couldn't remove it; apparently, the trap was too tight; he dragged his foot, leaving a trail of blood. But now the sound of clanking iron accompanied his steps.

Another blow. You fell to your knees, tripping over the thick root of an old oak tree. Cursing softly, you tried to rise to your feet, as you had several times before, but it didn't work. Your knees refused to rise; they trembled with fatigue. Apparently, the adrenaline had worn off, replaced by natural energy. Glancing at your dirty hands, you noticed untreated cuts and wounds; they were bleeding, throbbing, and throbbing. But the pain was intertwined with the rhythmic beating of your heart. Hunched over, you tried to rise again, the sounds of gunfire drawing ever closer: if not now, then not anytime soon, and death would follow...

"Damn it, get up already! Come on, damn legs!" Panic gripped you, but your legs wouldn't obey. Your body was exhausted, ignoring your mind's commands.

At that moment, a blue head flashed past you—Isagi. He'd overtaken you a couple of minutes ago, but apparently, noticing your absence, he'd returned.

"Why did he come back? To become the second victim?" you thought, frowning, but ignored the displeasure of the revelation—it only made the already dire situation worse.

But seeing the respect on your friend's face, you realized he would never abandon you, even in the face of such danger. Ever since childhood, Yoichi had been a loyal friend, always helping you and supporting your wildest childish pranks. And now... now he's helping you too.

"Get up quick... Come on! We can't die like this... not here, Y/N..." Isagi hissed, frantically raising and lowering his head. Fear was a vivid reflection on his face. His eyes darted from the trees to your tired body. His hands trembled from the adrenaline rush. "Okay... I'll lift you myself... just don't get in the way of me carrying you... otherwise we'll both die!" Yoichi hissed, his old demeanor looking calm, even though his insides clenched at the mere thought of the danger that could overtake them in a second or two.

Before you could say a word, Yoichi grabbed you and began dragging you along. The complexity of your body and his own fatigue prevented him from moving quickly, forcing him to trudge, hoping to hide behind the trees.

A second. Two. The forest had grown quieter; there were no sounds of metal, no rustling grass—nothing. It sent shivers down your spine, as the article sensibly considered all the possibilities.

"Silence isn't good. Leave me alone, Isagi. I think I've sprained my leg," you whispered, looking at your leg. The adrenaline rush and fear hadn't quite made you notice that you'd injured something in the fall. The realization only came when you tried not to be a burden to Yoichi and walked on your own. Your leg couldn't bear any weight at all; it dangled like a foreign body part.

Isagi, too, was apparently in too much of a hurry to notice such a small detail. After all, his rational mind was now meticulously devising a plan to save you, not paying close attention to the surroundings. In this way, the guy tried to calm his own nerves, which were so taut they could have been strummed like guitar strings.

"What should we do... if we stop now, I'm sure he'll shoot us on the spot!" footballer thought, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the old man.

You hide behind it. You squeeze your eyes shut, immediately hearing a gunshot not far from your shelter, your heart stopping for a second.

"They've definitely found us, they've found us, and they're going to kill us now!" your mind told you, pushing thoughts ever more terrifying than the last.

Meanwhile, a light appeared in Yeiichi's eyes. He'd pieced it all together, he'd done it! Hope gleamed in the football player's blue eyes as he pointed to a dim, barely noticeable glow. You could easily tell from his face that he was silently saying, "There's the exit! We'll be saved!"

Your eyes shifted to the source of the light and lit up with hope just as brightly. Your legs seemed to become much more obedient, possessed by the thought of salvation. You practically ran towards it, stumbling, stopping, cursing...

Just a little bit—and you'd be safe, living a normal life without the risk of death.

You didn't notice any imperfections, not the trees, not the paths—nothing remained in your mind. Your thoughts revolved around one goal: light and survival. Only light. Only that. Everything else—the darkness, the pain, the ringing in your ears—faded into the background.

The man hurried after you, his legs moving with renewed intensity. He desired death, a sacrifice, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He no longer fired casually; he aimed deliberately at the trembling bushes. His leg, caught in the trap, ached, but he no longer cared; killing you was far more important.

Isagi stopped abruptly and froze. You had run toward that ray of hope your feet had brought you to... but was it real?

Yoichi froze abruptly, the light of an old lantern visible about a couple of steps away. The old barn from which the two of you had escaped a few hours ago... you had returned. You had circled around and reached the starting point. The fire in the boy's eyes faded, as did the grip on your hand—he'd completely given up.

You couldn't understand how this was possible. Weren't you sure you'd escape? Why had your common sense failed you? How was this possible? Questions swirled in your head, unanswerable.

A sharp gunshot. Isagi's legs could no longer support his body, and he fell to the ground with a crash. Barely visible red drops appeared from his chest, then grew into a small puddle. Your eyes widened in fear. Your lips barely stifled a scream, but you clamped your hand over your mouth, preventing the terror from making you scream. Your body began to tremble, and goosebumps of fear ran across your skin. Was it all over? Yoichi coughed, trying to do anything at all under the impact of that shot, but you both knew it was futile; he would die one way or another.

"How... how is this possible?" "You asked in a muffled sob, your eyes filling with tears. Fear had turned to despair.

A memory suddenly flashed through your mind: rain, mud, your foot stuck in a sewer grate. You're seven years old, and you're ready to cry out for help. And Isagi, soaking wet, knee-deep in mud, is reaching for you and screaming at the top of his lungs, "Hold on! I'm not leaving! I'll save you from this monster!!" You collapse onto the grass, both covered in mud and soaking wet, and he laughs, "Now we're like two little pigs!! You're Nif, and I'm Naf!!"

He didn't abandon you then. And he didn't abandon you now. Even when he had to run alone. Even when his choice causes him to die before your eyes...

The boy's blue eyes stare straight at you, slightly unfocused, as if he sees only a blurred silhouette, not a complete image. His lips part as he tries to offer words of hope or encouragement, but the attempt is interrupted by another gunshot and the loud sound of clanking iron behind him.

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!!English is not my native language!!

© anri-2| don't copy, repost or translate any of my work

[anri-2]

If you want, love me, if not...That's even better.

Suguru Niragi × reader

This wasn't love. You hated Suguru. He was a vile, completely dim-witted idiot; his words and dark humor made your skin crawl, not with fear, but with disgust. But despite your reluctance, you had to endure it, because this man was your "partner."

You did it for safety. "The beach doesn't favor the weak"—the Hatter's speech always reminded you of insecurity. The weak are weeded out in games, barely survive, and all for the sake of some dark cards... The leader's idea was insane, but for some reason everyone believed it, gave their lives for his twisted goals.

Being around the military is a guarantee of a better life. But is that really true? Suguru used you easily: as a whore, as a pawn in his games, as a guinea pig for his twisted mind. Did he see anything worthwhile in you? It's impossible to answer that question definitively. Maybe yes, maybe no.

One ordinary day, when the night's parties had ended and the beach was pitch-black. The people were leaving, and the fun was fading, leaving only a small group outside: the well-drunk or high. You were in your room, watching the beach being prepared for sleep. Watching, really, was just a way to pass the time. Insomnia had been plaguing you for a long time, tormenting you and forcing you to obey. Your already broken sleep pattern had become even more warped, like something out of an economic graph, only on the decline. The world outside the window looked so peaceful, as if you were at home, still standing on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, watching the clouds drift by. No deaths, no survival games, no black cards—nothing. But all those beautiful illusions crumble in the blink of an eye. Just as you were starting to think and get your head around "home," Suguru suddenly strolled into the room with a leisurely gait. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder—a sign of his superiority over the ordinary people on the beach.

"No action, you didn't even bother to knock on the door." Frowning and squinting, you didn't look away from the window. You didn't want to look at the face you hated so much.

"Come on, should I really have manners with the one I share a bed with?" His playful tone raised the hairs on your body, and it didn't go unnoticed. Suguru grinned maliciously, seeing the tension in your body.

You didn't reply, knowing full well that arguing would be a cold solution. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the man's long legs closed the distance between you by several meters. After all, Suguru was about to come up behind you and start whispering all sorts of perverted nonsense in your ear, but that didn't happen. With a slight groan of exhaustion, he plopped down on the bed, which creaked and gave way under its own weight. Another exhausted groan filled the room, and the rifle was already lying on the floor, like a completely useless object. A certain curiosity had finally gotten the better of you, and slowly turning to face Suguru, you glanced sideways at him, noticing his exhaustion.

"What? You're staring like you've never seen me before," he snapped, displeased, covering his face with his hands, apparently to escape your intense gaze.

You didn't stop staring, not even thinking about turning away and going about your business.

"Maybe I've never seen you like this before."

"Like this? Oh, you mean the leftovers? Then I hasten to inform you, humans are programmed that way." — Suguru theatrically raised his hand above his head and poked the back of his neck with his finger.

"I'm not in the mood to use you today, you can relax. You were huddled by the window like a marmot, shaking." Niragi chuckled at his own words, involuntarily shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm not a marmot, and I'm not shaking." You tensed every muscle in your body, crossing your arms over your chest. Your tone dripped with disbelief, a perk of fear.

"Oh, come on," a mocking smile spread across Suguru's face, but after a few seconds, it vanished. "You can tell you're afraid. Tell me honestly, am I that repulsive?"

And Niragi disappeared. At least, that's what you thought. Tired dark eyes with pitch-black eyelashes stared at you. The thin body that had once been Niragi's organizer was no longer his, but the organizer of some event. A stranger, who couldn't possibly be Suguru. The vile smile and madness in his eyes were gone. His face changed beyond recognition. He became an insecure, utterly ruined man, just like the first time you saw him. But it didn't last long, just a few seconds, and before you could memorize it a couple of times, the man closed his eyes, and the insecure boy was gone. All that remained was a madman and a pervert.

Just as you opened your mouth, wanting to say something, the black-haired man interrupted, unconcerned by the shock on your face.

"Yeah, something's definitely going to happen at the Beach... I'm just expressing my opinion. Do you think that idiot, the Hatter, will die soon? Because I think I'll be back to reality sooner."

"I don't know," you said, looking away and backing away. The tension in your body eased, as if after that calm second of Niragi's expression, you suddenly stopped being afraid of him. "But I think that if you feel it, that's exactly how it will be." Ultimately, you always predict the outcome.

"Pfft, and you, it seems, aren't even worried about your exit. Sid, like an obedient lunatic, guarding what you were ordered to guard."

"Will I even get out? Judge for yourself, if everyone, one by one, leaves the game, won't there be a stampede, eager to get out as quickly as possible? I don't think I'll even survive this riot."

"How obedient. If Death happens, will you just jump into oblivion?"

"No. I'm just not 101% sure I'll survive. No one knows what the next game will be, whether we'll survive or not."

"Stop talking about death. Enjoy the remnants of your worthless life. You're just as much of a scumbag as I am. We're alike. Don't you see our connection?" "For a couple of seconds, his voice trailed off, quieter, almost under his breath. Niraghi muttered, "I'll still get you out, as best I can. Whether you want me or not is irrelevant."

You barely heard the words; they seemed distant and very difficult to understand. Like a boulder that needed to be pulled over a cliff. It was then that it became clear: no matter what happened, Niraghi would take you, good or bad. By force or by choice. He doesn't care about your consent, thoughts, or feelings. All he wants is what you want. He doesn't care about any rules or morals; you are his thing, he has saved the most important moments in your life. And there is no escape. This is a cage, adorned with bars, dangerous traps, and manipulations, and you are a bird trapped within it.

His lips pursed with such playfulness, his brows furrowed, and his teeth clenched.

"Is he pretending right now, or is he truly exhausted? Although, I don't care..." A variety of thoughts raced through your head. You couldn't decide which one to believe and which not, and these conflicting emotions were reflected right in your posture, the grimace of your face. Suguru, curious, removed his other hand from his face and tossed it onto the bed; it fell with a thud. His black eyes were now piercing you, not the other way around. The chill and goosebumps returned; they had run through you more than once; you had become accustomed to this unpleasant feeling.

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© anri-2| don't copy, repost or translate any of my work

[anri-2]

Maybe in another universe...

Rin: Maybe in another universe, I can proudly play on the same field with my brother, without fearing his gaze, without hating him and without wanting to surpass him. As we wanted, together we became the best duo.

Kaiser: Maybe, being in another universe, I will learn to trust, love and care at my address, without fear of a knife in the back. Coming to a house where I will be happy, and not in an empty room that breathes horror and cold.

Hyori: Maybe in another universe, my parents will stop seeing me as a means to achieve their perverted goals. Having my own opinion and doing what I like, and not what my parents want.

Sae: Maybe in another universe, as a child, I will not be too arrogant about the huge future in a football career. I will stop blindly believing in the easy achievement of the goal and grab my head.

Ness: Maybe in another universe, existence will be real magic. One that will accept me and accept me as I am. Will not stand for someone I am not.

Bachira: Maybe in another universe, I will have open friends. Those with whom I can talk about different topics, even discuss cats running on the street. Those who will not consider me strange, crazy and will see my "monster".

Shidou: Maybe in another universe, they will stop taking me for a stupid and complete idiot. They look inside and see a truly worthy person, and not a clown walking on the field.

Oliver: Maybe in another universe, my talent and desire will not destroy the coach. Do not be convinced of the worthlessness of the dream. I have the opportunity to play as a scorer and blossom in this video.

Reo: Maybe in another universe, my parents will not pressure me with responsibility. In order to be an assistant, an obedient and respected "heir to the corporation". And it will give a quiet life where you can make mistakes.

Nagi: Maybe in another universe my parent won't give a damn about me. They will worry and be concerned about their son, and not sponsor him in a solitary life. Maybe... I even feel what "mother's love" is.

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© anri-2| don't copy, repost or translate any of my work

[anri-2]

Rin, Isagi, Kaiser, Ness, Sae × reator

Sleeping with them

Rin:

Sleeping with Itoshi Jr. is like working part-time as a stuffed animal. He may be very withdrawn and unresponsive during the day, but at night everything changes. Rin seems to become smaller, like a child, clinging to you. His arms never miss an opportunity to hold you close, no matter how: intertwined arms, hugs, or something else. He agrees to anything, just to feel you close.

Once, he casually admitted that he was afraid of the dark. But then he immediately fell silent and told you to shut up. Imagine your surprise during the first days together with Itoshi, when you found out that he slept with a stuffed animal... but very soon you took the place of the toy.

Sae:

Sae loves to hug you. You are soft, warm and dear - so why should he be embarrassed? The football player especially likes to sleep when you lie on top of him, hugging your back. In his opinion, there is no better sleeping position. He does not cling if you are against hugging. But, most likely, Sae will just take the whole blanket for himself, crumple it and hug, imagining you in his arms.

The footballer will never admit that he likes to hug you at night. Sae either denies it or changes the subject. He does not like to talk about his weaknesses, not with you and not with anyone else.

Kaiser:

Michael often falls asleep far from you, but always wakes up in your arms. As strange as it may sound, Kaiser cannot accept love from a partner even in a long-term relationship; he is afraid, and he is afraid of all this tactility, not understanding its meaning. This fear makes him think that you will hurt him, no matter what - physical or mental. Therefore, the guy never tries to hug you first. And if you try to hug, he will most likely refuse. He'd rather wait, be patient, and fall asleep alone, despite the unpleasant tingling in his heart. By morning, he always finds himself in your arms, and more often than not, he himself, unconsciously, reaches out to you in search of warmth.

But Michael will never admit it; according to him, it's you who cling to him every night, and he's being merciful. But you know perfectly well that's not true...

Isagi:

You shouldn't be surprised if this guy puts a soccer ball between you. For him, everything that's most important should be close by. And more often than not, at night, he hugs this ball, not you, and this leads to all sorts of misunderstandings. Eiichi is incredibly calm about this, completely unable to understand why you're so angry.

If you manage to make the soccer player part with the ball, he'll sleep with the pillow crumpled in his hands. He tries not to touch you while you sleep, completely unaware of how you will react.

Ness:

He will stick and never let go. Whatever you want, in any position - he will hug you. Even if he is hot, even if he is cold - he will not let go. He madly loves to hold you close, stroke your head and feel your warmth next to him. If you refuse, he will be sad, like a puppy who was scolded.

Even though he puts your well-being first, Alexis simply cannot live without hugs at night. It is important for him to feel you near and know that everything is okay, otherwise he simply will not fall asleep.

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© anri-2| don't copy, repost or translate any of my work

[anri-2]

A wonderful husband

He was the kind of beautiful young man who might no longer exist in this world—tolerant, strong, full of passion. Your beloved. You could proudly say this to any stranger, though most would dismiss such a man as fictional and you as delusional. But it didn’t matter. Even after four years of marriage, Nanami still made your heart race as fiercely as it had in your first month together.

The sun cast its golden rays upon the earth, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. The wind blew against you, tousling your hair and ruining what had once been a neat style. The scent of nearby flowers filled the air—lined up like twins, swaying in an unseen dance. The rustling of leaves was barely audible beneath the wind’s whisper.

Lost in the joy of your long walk and his company, you hadn’t noticed the blisters forming on your feet. Laughter and lighthearted teasing had dulled the discomfort, and playful jabs at your husband kept you smiling, eager to fluster him. But the pain soon grew undeniable—sharp stings with each step, then a slight limp. At first, you ignored it, determined to savor the moment. Until it became impossible.

– Darling, you’re limping. - His voice, though rough with concern, was unmistakably tender.

- Ah... seems I’ve rubbed my feet raw. - You ran a hand through your wind-tangled hair, suddenly self-conscious.

You tried rising onto your toes to ease the pressure, but it was futile. Biting your lip, you gripped Kento’s shoulder like a lifeline.

- Worse than I thought, - you admitted with a wry smile.

Your eyes darted around for an empty bench, but luck wasn’t on your side. The nearest ones were occupied—either by chattering elders or boisterous teens. No one’s giving up their seat. You glanced at your husband, who was already scanning the area with that sharp gaze of his.

The wind played with his blond hair, disheveling it into something resembling a plague doctor’s hood. A laugh bubbled in your chest, and you pressed your lips together to stifle it. You were ready to hobble halfway across the park if needed—until the world tilted abruptly. Before you could process it, strong arms lifted you off the ground.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you could manage—but one stern look from him silenced you.

- Don’t even think about walking. I’m your husband. Let me take care of you.

Your cheeks burned. In that moment, you felt like you’d won the lottery—no, something far greater. This was the man who’d melted your heart years ago, still doing it with just a few words. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you let him carry you, his steps steady despite the whispers and odd glances from passersby.

You didn’t care. Kento Nanami wasn’t just beautiful—he was yours.

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please NOT translate, copy, or pass it off as your own

[anri-2]

They're like cats

Krawling:

He’s the kind of kitten who observes his owner first—studying their actions, their appearance—before deciding whether to trust them or not. If someone raises their voice or scolds him, he’ll immediately bolt for the farthest hiding spot. Krawling can’t stand arguments or conflict; even a slightly raised tone sends him fleeing. Yet despite his skittishness, he’s endlessly curious and gentle. He’s always on the lookout for new safe spots to avoid human attention, and he’d never scratch anyone unprovoked, let alone pick fights with other cats.

Scarletella:

This is the kitten who would cling to his owner with unwavering devotion. Once a stray, dirty and alone, now a pampered, affectionate house cat. To him, life has no meaning without his savior. Separation is agony—if left without a proper goodbye, he’ll act out in protest. His world revolves around two things: chasing after his owner or purring in their arms. There is no in-between. He scorns strangers, hissing and swatting at anyone who isn’t his person. He avoids fights with other cats, but if cornered, he’ll strike first.

Hood:

The living embodiment of calm. While other kittens are busy being playful, fearful, or angry, Hood remains unshaken. He’s never been hyperactive, rarely loses his temper, and has zero fear of other cats. He’d be his owner’s steadfast guardian, always ready to stand between them and any perceived threat. Loyal to a fault, he’d follow his human anywhere, convinced that as long as he’s there, no harm will come to them. He fights only when necessary, but if pushed, his claws come out—quiet doesn’t mean passive.

Chopped:

A walking ball of sunshine and chaos. Chomped is endlessly curious, overly dramatic, and magnetically drawn to trouble—only to flee the moment things go south. His mission in life? To entertain his owner. He’ll sleep in the most absurd poses (upside-down, legs in the air, like a derailed train) just to make them laugh. If he senses sadness, he’ll meow relentlessly, demanding attention. Emotionally attuned, he can read his owner’s moods with eerie accuracy. Physically outmatched by most cats, he avoids fights entirely—unless escape is impossible, in which case he’ll yeet himself out of danger.

Silver:

A cat of quiet intensity. Silver dislikes noise but tolerates it when necessary. He’ll spend hours staring out the window, analyzing the world like a feline philosopher. Affectionate with his owner yet wary of strangers, he’s a paradox—sweet yet unsettling. At night, he watches his human sleep, tracking their breath and heartbeat with unnerving focus. It’s as if he understands far more than a cat should. He rarely fights, but when he does, he wins.

Machete:

A certified menace. The kind of cat people describe as "batshit crazy." Zero worries, zero regrets. Hyperactive and fearless, he’ll knock over vases, shatter dishes, or upend entire rooms—just because he’s bored. In his mind, he rules the household, and if his owner escapes unscathed (no scratches, no bites), it’s only because he’s feeling generous. Picking fights? Routine. He’ll dive into other cats’ squabbles uninvited and emerge victorious.

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[anri-2]

A wonderful husband •

The sun bathed the room in golden light, its playful rays dancing across the potted plants on the windowsills, their dry soil silently begging for water. Outside, the streets burned under the relentless +34°C heat. No one dared step out, choosing instead to wait out the scorching afternoon. Only the occasional voice or the distant hum of a car radio broke the stillness. There was no wind—not that it would have offered any relief from the sweltering air. The scent of ozone lingered, the sole companion of the deserted streets. Animals sought refuge wherever they could—some huddled in the shadows of buildings, others dug shallow holes and buried their snouts in the cool earth. Everyone had their own way of escaping the heat.

Inside the house, an unusual silence reigned—a rare occurrence, especially since the children had arrived. Those little bundles of energy were relentless, filling every moment with games, shouts, and laughter—a routine that could wear down even the most patient parents. As much as you loved them, any attempt to steal even a moment of quiet usually ended in chaos. But today, for once, luck was on your side.

The children slept like two tiny kittens, curled up under the blanket, pressed close to one another. Soft, rhythmic breathing drifted from their room. You carefully closed the door, holding your breath, afraid the slightest sound might wake them—the last thing you needed. Megumi looked just as exhausted, leaning against the doorframe of the opposite room, his gaze fixed on you.

- Looks like we could use a nap too, - you whispered, a lighthearted comment to ease the quiet tension.

Fushiguro smirked, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Moving almost soundlessly, he made his way to the couch and sank into it, the cushions dipping under his weight. His hand patted the spot beside him—a silent invitation. The house was nearly as hot as outside; the air conditioner struggled to keep up.

- Come here. Let’s rest together.

Slowly, as if drawn in by the quiet magnetism of his gaze, you walked over and sat beside him, letting your hands rest over his. When he gave a satisfied nod, you shifted, lying down with your head pillowed on his lap—warm and soft, like a second cushion. His fingers gently carded through your hair, slow and soothing, his touch lulling you deeper into comfort. He murmured something, but the words didn’t matter—only the quiet intimacy of the moment did. The warmth, the peace, the faint sounds of the children’s breathing and the distant hum of the outside world all faded into the background. Right now, the universe had shrunk to just the two of you.

Your eyelids grew heavy, your breathing steadying. Bit by bit, you slipped into sleep, reality gently releasing its hold.

Fushiguro looked down at you, already lost to dreams. A small smile touched his lips. He continued stroking your hair, pausing now and then to twirl a strand between his fingers. Without realizing it, drowsiness crept over him too. His thoughts blurred, his eyelids weighing down.

- Maybe… you were right about that nap, - he admitted quietly, his own eyes fluttering shut. - Sweet dreams, love…

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please not translate, copy, or pass it off as your own