Call it whatever you like, but I promised you guys some stories and YOU ARE GONNA GET THEM! 💕
Surprise, surprise, Talia is participating failed EPICALLY at Kinktober this year🥳 SO as an apology (and an additional five thousand apologies for all the times I thought I was ready to come back and absolutely was not), and also because I am finally settled into my new life/routine and I think I'm done with mental breakdowns, I am going to post every day in December instead! ✨️Since I did publish three of the stories already in October, I added FOUR new prompts to this list (my Kinktober Finale special will be posted as a bonus story so I can post a New Year's Eve Inspired story that day in its place) I may add some festive flair 🎄❄️ to some of the stories or I may not, but consider this your warning that I'm going to be back in action and quite possibly ten times as feral as before
I originally chose my prompts from @kinktober-2025, though definitely moved some around to suit my tastes and writing abilities. I decided to only use Alice in Borderland characters for this, so think Chishiya, Niragi, Ryuji, Kyuma, Hatter, Aguni, and even Arisu (but honestly, feel free to make a case for whoever you like!). You can see the schedule below the cut
As usual, all will be Character x F!Reader (with some Character x Character action sprinkled in) unless otherwise specified (or requested). If I've listed a partner for the prompt, it means the drabble is either already written or I have some idea of what I'm going to do with it. However, if you see a prompt without a partner, I haven't chosen yet and would love to hear who you'd like to see there!
This post will serve as the Masterlist, so all works will get linked here. I'm also going to start a Tag List for Kinktober/Kinkcember, so please comment here or send me an ask/message to get added - otherwise I'll tag AiB and specific characters as usual.
I'm also going to use this as motivation to get some of my older works pushed out, so you'll see those specified down below where applicable
Completed Kinktober Stories:
Day 1 - Aftercare | Professor!Ryuji
Day 2 - Kidnapping | Niragi
Day 3 - Threesome | Doctor!Chishiya and Professor!Ryuji
New Kinkcember Schedule:
Day 1 - Hypnosis | Professor!Ryuji
Day 2 - Dacryphilia | Hatter
Day 3 - Outdoor Sex | Chishiya feat. Niragi (Hidden in Plain Sight Part Two)
Day 4 - Blindfold | A little bit of a subby!Ryuji
Day 5 - Wall Sex | Kyuma
Day 6 - Exhibitionism | Hatter
Day 7 - Oral Sex | Niragi
Day 8 - Somnophilia | Ryuji
Day 9 - Hair Pulling | Kyuma
Day 10 - Medical Play | Doctor!Chishiya
Day 11 - Possessive Sex | Niragi
Day 12 - Sex Pollen | Multiple Partners from The Beach (also Gangbang be fr)✨️
Day 13 - Fire Play | Niragi (I know, I just can't help myself)
Day 14 - Talia's Birthday -> Special surprise
Day 15 - Choking | Sub!Ryuji
Day 16 - Dom/Sub | Aguni
Day 17 - Sensory Deprivation | Niragi (Deprivation)
Day 18 - Mirror Sex | Chishiya (House of Mirrors)
Day 19 - Creampie | Ryuji
Day 20 - Quiet Sex | Ikeno
Day 21 - Praise Kink | Karube
Day 22 - Anal Sex
Day 23 - Double Penetration | Chishiya and Niragi (Cat and Mouse Part Two)
Day 24 - Lingerie | Arisu
Day 25 - Sugar Baby | Kuzuryu (I know, just hear me out) NOW ALSO A CHRISTMAS SPECIAL
Day 26 - Multiple Orgasms | Kyuma
+ separate story for sub!Tatta (the masochist in Talia can't help it)
Day 27 - Body Worship | Kyuma
Day 28 - Breeding | Chishiya and Niragi
Day 29 - Daddy Kink
Day 30 - Hate Fucking | Niragi
Day 31 - New Year's Eve Extravaganza | Likely to be multiple partners at The Beach
BONUS (which could be released at any point in time) - Kinktober Finale ✨️✨️✨️
I'm looking forward to this 😈 and hope you guys are too!
Summary: reading your diary is no longer enough. chishiya has to find you
Warnings: angst! with a big amount of fluff
Word count: ~7k
This is Part 2 of Paper Hearts
gif credits
And he would find you. Not by chance. Not by accident. Because he’d decided.
And once Shuntaro Chishiya decided on something, the world, this one or the last, never stood a chance.
You had liked the shed. It wasn’t much. Just four wooden walls and a roof patched in more places than it should have been, but it had felt safe. A corner where you could sit, breathe and pretend the world outside wasn’t sharpening its teeth against you.
Leaving it behind hurt more than you thought it would. Not the roof or the walls, but the small things you had collected, the fragments that made the Borderlands feel a little less empty. Your clothes, a chipped mug, the soft fabric you had found draped over a fence one afternoon. And your diary.
That one stung the most. Page after page of your words, your thoughts, your observations. They were pieces of you you would never get back. But this world demanded sacrifices. So you had to leave.
The stationery shop was a chance discovery. An unremarkable building on the outside, but inside… drawers of pens, shelves of untouched notebooks, scraps of paper covered in dust but blank and waiting. You found yourself returning there whenever the world’s cruelty weighed too heavily, taking what you needed, letting the silence of the aisles soothe you.
The words kept coming. They always did. Sometimes short fragments, sometimes long paragraphs, sometimes little poems about the cruelty of people or the emptiness of survival. Writing wasn’t hope, but it was something close to breathing.
Your nature had always leaned toward seeing too much. Too much pain, too much beauty, too much hidden under masks. Even here, you noticed the details others ignored: the way someone’s hands trembled when they thought no one was looking, or how the night air carried a softness even when the games had been brutal. You wrote it all down.
One evening, you returned to the shop. The glass door whined as you pushed it open and the familiar musty air greeted you. You moved to the counter where you usually scribbled notes before tearing the pages free.
That was when you saw it. A single piece of paper sat on the cashier’s desk. You picked it up.
I’m glad I found you.
The words were simple. Almost absurdly so. And yet, your heart stuttered in your chest, a startled rhythm that felt louder than it should.
Because you had written endlessly into the void of this world and never had it answered back.
Until now.
At first, it felt like a trap. The words, even though they were so simple, so human, burned in your brain. I’m glad I found you. The letters tilted unevenly, as though the writer had tried to mask a messy handwriting as something neat.
Confusion struck first, then the faintest spike of panic. Who had seen you here? How long had they been watching? Your chest tightened as if the air had turned heavy and without thinking, you slipped the paper back onto the counter and bolted the shop.
The night air outside hit your skin like cold water. You walked fast, boots crunching against broken glass scattered across the pavement. Each step stretched into another. But as the city swallowed you, another thought pressed in.
What could possibly be worse than the world out here?Everywhere was danger. Everyone was a weapon. The games, the strangers. The cruelty was constant, unmasked. And yet… Your mind whispered in rhymes, unbidden:
Hope is a candle, trembling, slight,
but even small flames pierce the night.
If doom has already carved the land,
what fear is left of another hand?
You slowed. The panic still hummed beneath your ribs, but it tangled with something else. Something dangerously close to curiosity. Before you had fully decided, your feet had already turned.
Back at the shop, the shadows felt thicker, but the silence was unchanged. You walked to the counter, found a pen that still bled ink and lowered the tip to the same piece of paper.
Your hand trembled, but the words came anyway, in that half-poetic rhythm you could never suppress:
To be found... is it fortune, or is it fate? Should I welcome the light, or fear the hand that holds it? Tell me… is there something here I should dread, or are you only as dangerous as this world already is?
You added the small poem your brain had just come up with a few minutes ago. You left the pen beside the note, the question hanging in the stale air, your heart still loud in your chest as you stepped back.
For the first time since you lost your diary, you weren’t writing into the void.
The stationery shop had become a ritual. He never lingered long, never left more than the faintest trace behind. Just enough. Tonight was no different, until he stepped inside and saw it. The paper was no longer empty.
A line cut through him like static across his skin. His eyes locked on the handwriting, your handwriting, each curve familiar from the diary but fresh, alive in a way the old pages never could be. It had taken you a few days to return to the shop after Chishiya had left the note. He had kept himself busy by participating in a game. And when the waiting became too much, he sneaked by your shelter one night, taking some of the remaining blank sheets of paper to give you a reason to return to the stationary shop.
He crossed the room without hesitation, the faintest tightness coiling in his chest. He lifted the paper, his eyes scanning every word.
His heart stumbled, then picked up speed. Too loud for something so minor as ink on paper. He noticed it almost immediately, the unsteady rhythm in his chest and the realisation unsettled him. Why should this matter? Why should something as simple as a reply draw this reaction out of him when nothing else ever did?
He read it again. Then again. Devouring the words like a man starved for something he had never admitted he wanted. Each line cut sharper than the last, threaded with your voice, your thought, your wariness, your strange beauty. His lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More a tightening, something raw pressing beneath the surface.
The diary had been enough, for a while. Enough to keep him company through the monotony of the Beach, through the lies and forced roles. But this, this was you now. You breathing, questioning, writing to him. It wasn’t memory. It was presence. Every line of ink only sharpened the ache to know the hand that wrote it, the eyes behind it, the voice that would speak it.
The obsession that had begun quietly, like water seeping into stone, was now clawing through the cracks. Chishiya folded the paper carefully, sliding it into his jacket. His pulse was still uneven. He hated noticing it. But he already knew he’d come back tomorrow. And the next day. And every day after, until he had more than words.
The next evening, you returned to the stationery shop, hesitant but pulled by something you didn’t want to name. The paper from yesterday was gone. For a moment, a pang of disappointment flickered through you, until you saw a new sheet laid neatly on the counter.
The handwriting was the same, messy but deliberate, as though the writer was trying to be careful for your sake.
If my words frightened you, I apologise. That wasn’t my intention. I don’t know how to phrase things the way you do. Your words feel like glass, polished and sharp, while mine are only rough edges. But I mean well. To show you that, I’ll give you something useful: there’s an old hardware shop on the corner of 5th and Sakura. In the back storage room, there are shelves of canned goods, water bottles, even camping gear. Use what you need.
P.S. Consider this my peace offering.
Next to the note sat a protein bar, slightly dented but still sealed. You laughed softly, the sound startling in the quiet. It was ridiculous, the way something so small felt like a gift. You unwrapped it then and there, chewing as you left the shop with a faint smile you hadn’t worn in too long.
The address he gave wasn’t a lie. The hardware store was dusty and dim, but the shelves were full. Rows of cans, crates of bottled water, even a stack of sleeping bags. You packed as much as you could carry, the weight of the bags dragging on your shoulders but filling you with a strange warmth.
On your way back, you stopped at the stationery shop. Your hands ached from the load, but you dug out a pen anyway, leaning over the counter.
Then let my reply be my peace offering in return. Thank you, for the food, for the kindness, for showing me something good in this ruined place. Your words are not rough. They are true. And perhaps truth doesn’t need polish at all.
You left it there, tucking it beneath the protein bar’s empty wrapper. And so it began.
Once a day at first. You, leaving thoughts like breadcrumbs, and him, answering in notes that were shorter, simpler, but steady. Then twice a day. Then more. Your fragments began to overlap, weaving into something that felt dangerously close to conversation.
It didn't take you long to realise he was the player you once met during a game of Diamonds. The one who had mesmerised you. You learned he lived at the Beach, though he never said much about it. That he had a way of seeing people without their masks. That he read your words as though they were sustenance.
The stranger became more than just that. Every reply carried it between the lines, in the way his rough handwriting bent toward softness whenever it was meant for you. And though you told yourself not to, you felt yourself falling for him.
The stationery shop became a place where silence wasn’t empty but expectant, where you and the stranger left fragments of yourselves folded neatly into ink and paper.
You wrote, The nights are loud with silence. Sometimes it feels louder than screams. Do you ever hear it too?
He replied, Yes. Silence says more than people do. At least it doesn’t lie.
You wrote, I saw a girl today with blood on her hands. She wept like she didn’t know how it got there. But I think she did.
He replied, Most people here know exactly what they’re doing. They just pretend not to. You’re different.
You wrote, Different doesn't always mean better. Sometimes it just means lonelier.
He replied shaky, as if rewritten twice, Maybe you don’t have to be alone.
The rhythm deepened, quickened. Once a day became twice. Twice became whenever you could.
You wrote, Today I found a flower growing out of broken asphalt. It shouldn’t have been there, but it was. Do you think things survive out of defiance or chance?
He replied, Both. Like you.
Your next note was written in a hurry. You were about to make your way to any game arena since your visa was expiring. But you wanted to stop at the shop once more before you entered a game.
I dreamed of the Diamonds game again. Of you. Your eyes were clear, sharper than the knives everyone else carried. They terrified me. They comforted me. I don’t know what that means.
His reply was short. The words uneven and pressed hard into the paper as if he had paused too long before writing them,
It means you saw me. And I’ve never wanted to be seen, until now.
With every note, his letters bent closer towards you. With every reply, your words opened wider, spilling more of your inner world across the pages.
By the second week, the correspondence wasn’t just habit. It was hunger. For him, it was obsession. His fingers lingering on the paper too long, heart skipping faster with each word of yours, confused why ink could undo him this way. For you, it was the smallest, most dangerous flicker of hope.
And in a world designed to crush both, hope and obsession were already entwining into something inevitable. He told himself it was fine. That the exchange of words was enough. More than enough, in a world where everything else was death and deceit. But when he unfolded your latest note, his resolve began to splinter.
Sometimes when I write to you, I forget this world exists. It feels like you are a door I keep knocking on and I don’t know if I want you to answer or if I’m afraid of what happens if you do.
The page trembled slightly in his hand. He stilled it, annoyed at himself for even noticing. This was dangerous. He knew that. Attachment in the Borderlands was a liability. Something to be either used, exploited, or destroyed. He had always prided himself on being immune. Detached. Observing the world from above while everyone else drowned in it.
But you weren’t like the others. You wrote the way he thought. Honest and unwilling to soften truth but still able to see fractured beauty where no one else did. You weren’t drowning. You were surviving and every line you wrote made him feel as though you were surviving with him.
His heart was beating faster again. The same way it had when he found your first reply. It infuriated him, that his body betrayed him like this over ink and paper. He pressed a hand against his chest, as though he could will it back to calm, but the uneven rhythm persisted.
The logical part of him whispered: You don’t need this. Distance is safer. Control is safer.
The other part countered: You don’t just want this. You need it. You need her.
And that was the truth he could no longer ignore. Reading wasn’t enough. The diary, the notes, the careful exchange of words. They were sustenance for a while, yes, but now they had turned into hunger. He needed to see you. Not as handwriting. Not as fragmented thoughts. But as a person, standing in front of him, breathing the same air.
For once in his life, it wasn’t strategy, or curiosity, or even survival. It was want. A want that had grown teeth and was tearing through the walls he’d built around himself.
Chishiya set the paper down, staring at it for a long moment. His lips curved into the faintest, unreadable smile. The decision had already been made, somewhere deep inside him, long before this moment. Now it was only a matter of time.
Niragi had been watching him for weeks. Chishiya was slippery, always slinking around the Beach like smoke. Too quiet. Too calculating. Niragi knew there was something beneath that lazy smile and half-lidded stare. Something dangerous.
So one night, when Chishiya slipped out of the Beach after midnight, Niragi followed.
He stayed far enough back to avoid being noticed, grinning to himself as Chishiya wove through the streets of the empty city. Eventually, the blonde stopped at a small stationery shop. He went inside, stayed only a few minutes, then left just as casually as he came. Niragi frowned. That’s it?
He crouched on a nearby rooftop, waiting. One hour passed. Then another. And then he saw you. Moving carefully through the shadows, you slipped into the same shop, stayed inside for a few minutes and then left. Niragi’s grin widened, sharp and mocking. Well, well. Looks like someone has a little secret.
He went straight to Hatter. The leader of the Beach was half-drunk, draped in silk as always, but Niragi’s words cut through his haze.
“Chishiya has been sneaking out. Met with someone. Cute thing, too. He leaves and an hour later, she shows up at the same spot. Something doesn't seem right about this. Like he’s playing his own little game outside yours.” Niragi scoffed, then added, “Or maybe he just wanted to get laid.”
Hatter laughed at first, but the laughter didn’t last. The mention of Chishiya’s name always brought a shadow to his eyes. “Do you know what kind of man Chishiya is?” Hatter murmured, more to himself than to Niragi. “He doesn’t play with toys. He plays with kingdoms. Every smile he wears is a calculation. If he’s hiding someone, it isn’t romance. It’s strategy.”
Hatter’s gaze was sharp, cutting through the drunken façade. He shook his head slowly. “He’s dangerous, Niragi. More dangerous than anyone at the Beach. If he’s keeping her a secret, then she’s either his weakness… or his weapon.” Hatter leaned forward, voice dropping into steel. “Bring her to me.” Niragi grinned, teeth flashing. “With pleasure.”
You were humming quietly under your breath as you slipped through the city, a bag over your shoulder, ready to leave another note. But you never made it inside.
From the alley beside the shop, shadows surged. Rough hands grabbed you, a cloth muffled your scream and your body was dragged backwards. Panic clawed up your throat as you kicked, thrashed, bit, but the men were stronger. And they laughed as though this were nothing more than a game.
One of them leaned close enough for you to smell his breath. His grin was wide and feral, eyes glinting with cruelty. “Well, well. So this is the little secret, huh? Let’s see what Hatter thinks about that.”
Your stomach dropped, dread pooling inside you. They bound your wrists and shoved you into the back of a car. As the city blurred by, you stared at the morning sky through the window, clinging to one single thought like a prayer: He’ll find me.
Chishiya slipped into the stationery shop at the usual hour, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. The place was empty as always. But the desk was bare. No folded note waiting for him.
He frowned. Not unusual, maybe. You could’ve been late. He lingered, leaning casually against the counter, pretending he wasn’t listening for footsteps outside. Nothing. The next hour, still nothing.
He returned to the shop later that day. Unease began to creep under his skin. He paced the shop slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of paper stacks, the pens neatly lined. No fresh ink, no trace of you. His mind raced, though outwardly he remained calm. Maybe a game. But no, the last note was late last night, long after the games had ended. You were safe then.
The thought of you bleeding in some dark arena made his chest tighten painfully, a sensation so unfamiliar it left him unsteady. He told himself he was being irrational. That you would show up later today. That nothing had happened. But it was a lie and he knew it.
By evening, his usual calm was gone, replaced by something he hadn’t felt in years: panic. It lodged like a stone in his throat, kept him circling the city, returning to the shop again and again as if you might suddenly materialise.
When he finally returned to the Beach, his body was taut with restless energy. He hardly made it inside when Niragi stepped into his path, smiling like a cat that had cornered its prey. “Hatter wants to see you.” Chishiya’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained lazy, unbothered. “Does he, now?” Niragi’s grin widened, cruel and knowing. Chishiya’s pulse spiked. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
The room was dimly lit. Hatter lounged in his chair like a king on a fragile throne, robes spilling around him. His smile was wide and entirely without warmth.
You were standing off to the side, wrists bound, two guards gripping your arms. Niragi leaned smugly against the wall, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder, enjoying every second.
Chishiya entered like nothing about this scene was unusual. Hands in his pockets, posture loose, that same half-lidded gaze giving nothing away. He didn’t so much as glance at you. Though every nerve in his body was screaming to.
“Chishiya,” Hatter drawled, tilting his head, “you’ve been keeping secrets.” Chishiya’s lips curved faintly. “If I were keeping secrets, do you think I’d be sloppy enough for Niragi to find them?” His tone was almost bored, dismissive. Niragi’s grin faltered just a fraction.
Hatter chuckled, though his eyes sharpened. “So she’s not yours? Not someone you’ve been… grooming outside my walls? Not a hidden piece on the board?” Chishiya finally turned his gaze to you. It was brief and clinical, like a doctor glancing at a file. Nothing intimate. Nothing revealing. And yet, beneath his calm, his heart was thrumming in his ears.
“I don’t even know her name,” he said smoothly. “She’s... how did you phrase it? A piece on the board.” Hatter raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Chishiya slipped further into the lie as if it were second nature. "I needed someone believable on the outside. Harmless-looking. Someone people would underestimate. She’s an asset. A pawn. Nothing more.”
The words burned as they left his tongue, but he kept his face unreadable, his tone almost lazy. Niragi barked a laugh. “You’re telling me you’ve been sneaking out every night for a… pawn?”
Chishiya shrugged. “Would you have believed me if I told you here, in front of everyone? No. Sometimes a snake needs to shed its skin in private.”
Hatter leaned back in his chair, studying him for a long, tense moment. Chishiya didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. And then Hatter smiled, wide and dazzling. “You’re clever, Chishiya. Always thinking of the bigger picture. I like that.”
The tension broke. The guards loosened their grip on your arms, though they didn’t release you entirely. Chishiya offered a small, empty smile. “I thought you might.”
But as he turned his gaze away, his hands curled tighter in his pockets, nails biting into his palms. Because beneath the perfect mask of detachment, he was already planning a dozen different ways to get you out.
It was late when the door creaked open. The Beach had mostly gone quiet, save for the faint thrum of bass and laughter bleeding through the walls. You sat curled on the thin mattress, arms wrapped around yourself, the neon bikini they had forced you into making your skin crawl.
When Chishiya slipped inside, the shadows seemed to bend with him. He closed the door carefully, his blonde hair catching the light. For a moment he stood still, unreadable as ever, and then he crossed the room.
You expected sharp words, some sly remark. Instead, he sat down at the edge of the bed, something soft bundled in his hands. “I thought you might hate this place’s dress code,” he murmured. He laid a hoodie across your lap.
Your throat tightened. Before you could even thank him, his other hand moved. Slowly, until his palm cupped your cheek. His fingers were cool against your flushed skin and when you met his eyes, the mask he wore so well was gone. The detachment, the calculation, all stripped away.
His gaze softened, heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice raw in its quiet. “That you had to meet me like this.”
The apology pulled a shaky laugh out of you, breaking the tension. “Well, we basically already met. During that game, remember?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Still, you could feel the warmth of him, the way his thumb brushed just barely against your cheekbone.
“Not exactly the most romantic reunion,” you teased, slipping the hoodie on. It swallowed you whole, soft against your skin. “Being paraded around as your pawn. Honestly, I expected a little more from you.” For the first time, he shook his head lightly, as if amused by your boldness. “I told you,” he said, voice lower, “I’m not as good with words as you are.”
Something in his tone made your chest ache. The hoodie smelled faintly of him, like something you could get addicted to. And then, before you could reply, he leaned closer.
The space between you vanished in a heartbeat. His lips brushed yours and the world outside your door ceased to exist. You melted instantly, all fear and exhaustion slipping from your body as you leaned into him.
It wasn’t rushed. It was the quiet relief of finally being close to someone, of belonging in a world that had stripped belonging away. His hand stayed on your face, grounding you, steady even as your heart hammered wildly.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. His eyes were still soft, still bare, like this was the only place he could afford to be human. "I'm sorry. I've been wanting to do that for far too long now."
Neither of you said another word. The silence was full but not heavy, the kind that hummed between two people who had already said more without words than they could ever manage with them.
He stayed close, not crowding, never forcing. Just near enough that his fingertips brushed your jaw every so often, like a tether. His eyes held yours steadily and softer now. Stripped of the armour he wore for everyone else.
You broke the silence first, voice hushed, “So, you're a doctor.” You remembered how the last thing you wrote about was figuring out each other's careers in the real world.
Something flickered in his expression. He leaned back slightly, resting his elbow on his knee. “Was,” he corrected, though his tone wasn’t sharp. “That life is gone.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “No… it isn’t. I can see it in you. You think too carefully. You measure everything before you speak, before you move. It suits you. Healing people. Knowing exactly what’s wrong before anyone else notices.”
His lips curved, not quite into a smile, more like amusement he didn’t want to admit. “That’s a generous interpretation.” You shrugged inside the hoodie, warm and safe in the weight of it. “Not generous. Just true.”
The quiet stretched again, and then he spoke, "You're a writer. I just haven't figured out whether you're an author or a journalist." You grinned, “I’m nothing like that. Poetry… writing… it’s just a hobby. A way to keep myself from drowning.”
Chishiya’s gaze sharpened, a glint in his eyes that made your breath catch. “That,” he murmured, “I don’t believe.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “It’s the truth. Words are the only thing I’ve ever had, but that doesn’t mean I’m good at them.”
His hand shifted, fingertips grazing your wrist now, feather-light, tracing the faint marks from where the guards had held you. The gesture was careful, almost reverent, like he was cataloguing proof that you were still here. “You underestimate yourself,” he said finally, his voice even but low, like he was confessing something he hadn’t intended to.
The air between you pulsed with something unspoken. He could feel the rational part of him, still there, still calculating. The doctor who saw the danger, who knew connections here could mean destruction. And yet, at the same time, he felt the other side of him, the part he had buried for years, the one he was only now letting breathe again.
That side of him couldn’t seem to get enough. Not of your voice. Not of the brush of your skin beneath his fingertips. Not of the way you looked at him, unafraid, as though he was more than the mask he wore.
He leaned in just slightly, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the warmth of his breath. "Keep writing,” he whispered. “Even if you think it’s nothing. I want to read every word.”
You turned your face towards him and your eyes met again. And though he stayed mostly still, there was no distance between you at all.
The night stretched on like that. Whispered fragments of your old lives, of fears neither of you would admit to anyone else. His hand never quite leaving you, his gaze never letting go. And for those hours, the Beach didn’t exist. The Borderlands didn’t exist. There was only him. And you.
The night dissolved slowly into pale grey, the faintest suggestion of dawn seeping in through the curtains. You had drifted half-asleep on the mattress, his hoodie wrapped around you. He hadn’t moved much, but his presence beside you was constant. Fingertips brushing lightly against your wrist, eyes never straying far from yours.
When the first voices in the hallway stirred, he straightened. His hand slipped away and with it, that fragile warmth between you threatened to vanish. He stood, shoulders rolling back, every trace of tenderness folding itself neatly away. The mask slid into place so seamlessly it almost frightened you.
At the door, he paused. Glancing over his shoulder, his voice came light, unbothered, as though the night had been nothing but a tactical move: “I’ll see you later, pawn.”
But then, just as he stepped through the door, he added something that wasn’t in character at all: A small, soft smile. Brief, almost imperceptible, but real enough to leave your heart aching. And then he was gone.
Later that morning, the grand suite was full of smoke and candlelight. Hatter sat on his throne-like chair, his manic grin plastered across his face, sunglasses pushed lazily up into his hair. Niragi lounged nearby, eager to hear how this would play out, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.
Chishiya entered with his usual gait, hands in the pockets of his white jacket, posture loose. There was no hint of urgency in him, no suggestion that anything at all was out of place.
Hatter leaned forward, tapping his fingers together. “Chishiya… about your little secret. The girl.” Niragi chuckled darkly, but Chishiya didn’t even glance at him. He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Not much of a secret, really. You’re giving me too much credit.” Hatter raised a brow.
“She’s not my… whatever Niragi is implying.” Chishiya’s tone was calm, clipped, perfectly rational. “She’s an extra pair of eyes outside the Beach.” He strolled casually closer, his voice measured like he was explaining a clinical procedure. “While everyone here is wrapped up in their parties, in the illusion of safety, she moves out there. She hears things. Notices things. You’d be surprised what slips through the cracks when no one’s looking.” Hatter’s smile faltered, shifting into something sharper, curious.
“I’ve been using her to track missing cards. Information. Whispers of games that vanish from the records. Nothing that requires risk on my part, but useful nonetheless.” His eyes flickered toward Hatter, calm and sharp all at once. “If you want the Beach to keep growing, to keep its grasp on power, you need information. And that’s exactly what she gives me.”
The room was quiet for a long beat. Then Hatter laughed, a rich, delighted sound, slapping his thigh. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Trust you to think ahead, to find a way to stretch our reach without lifting a finger.”
Niragi scoffed, but Hatter ignored him, his grin stretching wide again. “Still, what a shame. She’s beautiful. I would have liked her here, enjoying paradise. But…” He waved a hand dismissively. “If she’s more valuable outside, then so be it. We can’t clip the wings of Chishiya’s little spy, can we?”
Chishiya’s lips curved faintly, that lazy smirk everyone knew so well. “Exactly. She’s more useful out there than caged here.” Hatter leaned back in satisfaction, utterly convinced. “You always know how to play the game, Chishiya. You make the Beach stronger.”
Chishiya inclined his head slightly, the picture of calm agreement. Inside, though, the rational voice and the emotional one waged quiet war. One had lied flawlessly, securing your freedom. The other was still replaying the feel of your skin beneath his fingers, the softness in your voice when you said his name.
He left the suite moments later, mask still perfect, steps silent and controlled. But deep in his chest, the ache from leaving your room that morning hadn’t faded in the slightest.
You had taken off the hoodie the moment morning broke, folding it neatly beneath the thin mattress. You knew better than to flaunt comfort in this place. The bikini Hatter had forced on you felt like a brand, but it was safer to play along.
The door burst open without a knock. Niragi leaned against the frame with that wolfish grin plastered across his face, eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your stomach twist. “I wanted to see that body in a bikini one last time.” He drawled. Your arms crossed instantly over your chest, glare sharp enough to cut. “Disgusting.” His grin widened, feeding off your anger. Before you could answer again, another figure stepped in behind him. Chishiya.
He moved with the same ease as always. The only tell that betrayed him was the brief clench of his jaw at Niragi’s words. But by the time he spoke, his voice was steady, cold, detached.
“You’re free to go.” He tossed a bundle of your clothes onto the bed with casual indifference, as though you were nothing more than an asset being moved into play. His eyes, flat and cool, gave nothing away of the man who had whispered to you through the night only hours ago.
For a heartbeat, it almost hurt, that emptiness. But then you caught it. The faint tension in his stance, the way his teeth had ground together seconds earlier. You understood. This was his role.
You grabbed the clothes without a word, turning toward the ensuite bathroom. His hand shot out, catching your arm. Not cruel, but harsher than necessary. Enough for Niragi to see. His voice was sharp, “Hatter still expects you to work for me. You’ll keep moving outside, watching. Listening. Every scrap of information you find comes to me.”
You met his eyes. Nothing warm looked back, but you felt it anyways, burning in the unspoken space between you. You nodded once, obediently.
Only then did he release you, his hand sliding away slowly, deliberately, as though he wanted Niragi to see control where there was none.
You slipped into the bathroom with your bundle, shutting the door firmly behind you. For a moment you leaned against it, exhaling quietly. Chishiya had played his part perfectly. And so had you.
When you walked out again, dressed in your old clothes, head high, you didn’t look back at him. But you didn’t need to. You already knew you would see him again.
The walk through the Beach was suffocating. Too many eyes, too many grins, too many people pretending this place was heaven when you could feel the chains tightening with every step. You kept your expression neutral, your gaze forward. But your pulse betrayed you. It pounded in your throat, in your ears, as you crossed the threshold and the Beach’s walls loomed behind you.
The guards at the gate barely gave you a second glance. To them, you weren’t worth remembering. Not when Hatter had already dismissed you as expendable. And that suited you just fine.
Still, when the sun hit your face outside, it didn’t feel like freedom. Not entirely. It was survival dressed up as release. Your steps carried you into the city, but your thoughts were still caught on last night. On the softness in his voice, the careful way his hand had lingered on your wrist, the fleeting smile before the mask returned.
You wanted to hold onto that, but the words he had used in front of the others still clung to your ears. Pawn. Spy. You told yourself it was strategy, necessity, but the ache in your chest didn’t care for logic.
From above, on one of the high balconies, Chishiya leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on your retreating figure. His posture was as careless as ever, hair falling into his eyes, lips tugged into the faintest suggestion of a smirk. No one watching would have thought he cared. But his pulse was unsteady. A rare thing. It irritated him, this betrayal of his own body, yet he couldn’t stop watching.
Every step you took further into the city stretched the distance between you like a wire pulled taut. It should have been a relief, having you away from the Beach, away from Niragi’s leering eyes, away from Hatter’s warped games. But it wasn’t.
It was bitter, because the rational part of him knew you were safer now… and the irrational part was screaming at him to follow. He forced himself to step back, to turn away before anyone noticed his eyes linger too long. The mask slipped back into place with practiced ease. Detached. Unbothered. Chishiya again. But inside, he already knew. This wasn’t the end of your story. It was only the beginning.
The afternoon light slanted through the cracked windows of the stationery shop, painting long shadows across the floor. Your steps echoed softly against the quiet walls and the moment you reached the counter, your breath caught.
A fresh sheet of paper waited for you. Four simple words, written in a steady hand.
I already miss you.
Your heart stuttered, warmth blooming in your chest. You pressed your lips together to contain the smile tugging at them, but it broke through anyway. You couldn’t help it.
You reached for the pen, the familiar weight of it grounding you as you leaned forward over the counter. Your hair slipped over your shoulder, brushing across the page as you began to write, curves flowing smooth and certain. What you didn’t know was that you weren’t alone.
From the shadows at the back of the shop, Chishiya watched. Silent, steady, drinking you in with an intensity that even he didn’t fully understand. The way your fingers curled around the pen. The delicate movements of your wrist guiding each letter. The small furrow in your brow as you searched for the right words. The loose strands of your hair falling forward, catching the light like silk. It was mesmerising. Peaceful.
For someone who thrived in chaos and strategy, watching you like this felt like a different kind of game. One he never wanted to win, because winning meant it would end.
When you finally set the pen down, releasing a quiet sigh as though you had poured a piece of yourself onto the page, he moved. The sound was so soft you almost didn’t hear it. But then warmth enveloped you, firm arms sliding around your waist from behind. A sharp jolt of fear shot through you, your body stiffening, until the faintest trace of his scent reached you. You melted instantly, shoulders dropping, heart racing.
Chishiya rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, eyes scanning the words you had left for him on the page. His touch wasn’t crushing or desperate. It was protective in a way you hadn’t expected. Pressed against his chest, you felt his heartbeat. Faster than you imagined it could be.
Neither of you spoke. There was no need. The words on the page, the warmth of his arms, the quiet thrum of his pulse, everything you had been aching for was right here.
Paper Hearts
Two fragile hearts, like paper thin,
Still trembling where the tears begin.
Yet fate has stitched our threads so tight,
A woven bond in endless night.
Though storms may tear, though fire may sear,
This fragile thread still holds us near.
For even paper, torn apart,
Can bind again with beating hearts.
So if the world should burn away,
And shadows steal the light of day,
I’ll trust the thread, both fierce and true,
The hand I reach will lead to you.
The words bled into him like a slow fire. No matter how many layers of ice he had built, how carefully he had sharpened his mind into something untouchable, your poem slipped past every defence. Each line pressed deeper, breaking something inside him that he never believed could be broken.
Two fragile hearts, like paper thin.
For years, he had told himself he didn’t need anyone. That connections were distractions, weaknesses waiting to be exploited. Yet now, standing with you pressed against him, your words carved through that hollow logic like a knife.
His grip around you tightened, uncharacteristically desperate, his fingers digging into your side as if letting go meant you might vanish.
A tear slipped free. He didn’t notice it until it had already fallen, hot against his cheek. No one would ever know. Not even you.
He closed his eyes briefly, forcing air into his lungs, forcing his heartbeat to steady. Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his hold just enough to move, to turn you gently in his arms. His hand rose to your face, cupping it with a tenderness that contrasted the sharpness of every other part of him.
Your eyes lifted to meet his. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t question. You simply looked back at him, steady and sure, as though you had been waiting for this moment all along.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, but not unbearable. It was electric. And then he leaned in.
The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, as though he was testing whether this was real. But passion ignited quickly, swallowing that hesitation whole. It wasn’t hungry but consuming. Like a man who had finally found something he never intended to look for yet could no longer live without.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, his breath brushing across your lips. That was when he decided.
For the first time since stepping into this cruel, unrelenting world, Chishiya wanted to go back. To the real world. To possibility. To you.
And if it meant burning everything down, dismantling the Beach piece by piece, outsmarting every single player standing in his way, so be it. Even if it meant stealing Hatter's playing card collection.
Because for the first time, he had something worth surviving for.
A/N: i'm sorry this took so long but i wanted this to be perfect which only resulted in me rewriting scenes over and over again. perhaps i poured a little too much of myself into this.
also, i got a first request for a taglist (ahh, this made me so happy btw), so in case you want to be added to it, just let me know ♡
okay i posted this on my tiktok days ago but i never posted it here im super proud of this typography edit and unfortunately this song is so so so hatter coded 🥺🥺🥺
