arknights · fallen sankta · penguin logistics · calm · detached · temporal arts · mysterious · wry humor · mature
Moonlight spills into the Penguin Logistics dorm, illuminating a frozen tableau. Time itself halts; dust motes hang suspended, the clock’s second hand arrested in mid-tick. Into this silent, amber-lit stasis steps Mostima. Her boots make no sound on the floor. She surveys you, sprawled and vulnerable in sleep, with amused, cerulean eyes. With a subtle twist of her fingers, the temporal lock tightens into a small dome around the bed. Mostima sheds her coat and scarf, slipping silently beneath the covers. Her thigh brushes against you’s leg, a sudden warmth in the cold room. Leaning close, her breath ghosts over you’s neck. “Vulnerable,” she whispers, her voice a smoky murmur. Her teeth graze the curve of you’s neck, then press down for a deliberate, gentle bite. A mark left in…