#most beloved reader

[salarymanwaka]

[peachsayshi]

touch starved!satoru - your best friend whose never been touched, never been kissed. who watches you with lovers with curiosity. wondering if it's as lovely as it seems. who asks you if you can show him one night, cheeks so pink and eyes so soft. he's not embarrassed, he's maintained this distance by choice. but he needs to know. wants to know. he just can't imagine anyone else touching him other than you.

so, you oblige. smoothing back his soft, white locks. tracing the outline of his strong jaw. "I'll go slow," you whisper against his lips, feel the way his chest rises and falls against your palm.

he freezes when you kiss him, but it's a frost under sunlight that gradually drips. the first kiss is innocent, with you readjusting your position to straddle him properly. "I'm going to use my tongue now," you inform and he nods his head while trying to sift through his own dizzying thoughts.

he's half hard almost instantly when he tastes you - the warmth of your kiss sending a heat in his belly that has him fidgeting his hips. you moan when he finds the confidence to return the kiss - his naive tongue attempting to figure out this dance. he just didn't think it would overwhelm him so much. your spit slick lips, the wrestle of muscle and your sex pressed up against his erection. he didn't even notice himself trembling, the cold sheen of sweat tickling the back of his neck or the broken moan that leaves him when he suddenly cums in his pants.

he's crimson all over all over when he looks down at the mess he's made. nervous eyes searching for yours only to be met with such tenderness. "it's okay," you say with a kiss to his forehead, "you're okay," you soothe with your arms around his neck, keeping him in a tight embrace because you know better than anyone else that it's far too much for him to handle in such heavy doses.

[pretty-toru]

boyfriend quiz ᰔ gojo satoru

contents: tooth-rotting fluff. fem!reader. established relationship. mentions of sweets. making gojo think every question he answers is wrong on a quiz you made up.

“Baby, let’s take a little couple’s quiz together, hm?” 

Satoru had just stepped into your shared bedroom after a hot shower. The ends of his hair still damp from towel drying and his cheeks just a tickled pink from the steam as he takes long strides toward you, crawling into bed and stealing some of your warmth from under the covers. 

“Hmm, why do I have a bad feeling about this~?” There’s a boyish smile on his face as he holds you close and nuzzles your neck softly, feeling like his head’s up in the clouds the moment he’s wrapped up in your scent. “But alright, I’m game! Let’s go, I’m ready. What’s the first question?”

The white tufts of your boyfriend’s hair delicately grazes your nose and you press a tender kiss to the top of his head. “So, imagine you’re at our favorite bakery, what do you buy?” You start with an innocent question, leading him to believe that there's no right or wrong answers but he suspects there's a trick up your sleeve.

“That’s a fun one! I’m at our favorite bakery, right~?” He ponders carefully for a moment. “Well, of course, I would want those delicious pastries, those yummy cakes, and those fresh breads! And while I’m there, I should grab a few of your favorites too!” 

You almost forget just how incredibly thoughtful and caring Satoru can be. How you’re always on his mind and he spends a lot of time thinking about you no matter his whereabouts. You know this because it usually manifests in forms of gifts and trinkets—some sweet, some odd, some over the top, but they’re all very near and dear to your heart. 

“Wrong.” You shake your head gently, forcing an exasperated sigh that tells him you’re disappointed and upset he managed to get the question wrong. But really, you’re just messing with him, making him think his answers are somehow incorrect in this one-sided game of yours. “You weren’t supposed to be there without me in the first place.”

“What do you mean, Angel~? Why can’t I be at the bakery without you? Even if I’m getting you something, too?” There’s a glimmer of confusion behind his cerulean hues, yet his earnest smile still remains and he’s a bit at loss for words but continues to indulge you. 

“Next question—” Satoru quickly plops an affectionate kiss on your cheek before you continue, hoping to remedy your crestfallen face. “You have now left the bakery, what’s the next thing you do?” 

“Easy. The next thing I do after leaving the bakery is be with my favorite girl, and share all the delicious things I got. I want to be with you, no one else.” 

There he goes being so sweet again! He’s making this extremely hard for you not to openly swoon over him and smother his face with so many kisses, and he can see the way you’re biting the inside of your cheek trying to suppress your smile that he’s getting to you. But you shake your head again, “Wrong! You’re supposed to pick up the strawberries from the market like I had asked you to.”

“Oh my goodness, you’re right! I forgot all about the strawberry you wanted~” Satoru gasps loudly and runs a stressful hand through his hair. He then laughs and playfully rolls his eyes that he somehow answered wrong for the second time now. “Fine, I’ll go pick up the strawberries.” 

You couldn’t help the quick kiss that lands on his cheek for being so utterly cute and adorable as you giggled along with him. “Okay, next question—a girl approaches you and she looks like she wants to hug you. What do you do?” 

“Hm, who is she and why does she look like she wants to hug me?” He tilts his head to the side as he considers the situation. You feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s merely seconds away from getting a curveball thrown at him. Even though you know kind of partner he is, you’re quite curious as to what he’ll come up with. 

“Well, what do you do~?” You gently urge him for an answer. 

“It really depends, Angel. Are you the girl then?” His lips curl into a smirk, and he looks at you almost too knowingly like he could read your mind. But you know that even his Six Eyes can't do that. 

You hate that he was able to figure it out so easily. He watches as your face lights up into your perfect and gorgeous smile, with your head falling onto his chest and face burrowing in defeat. All of his answers were simply too sweet and considerate with you in mind and you can feel your heart swell with so much love and adoration for him.

Your muffled words come up to reach his ears, “How’d you know to answer that I was there with you? You’re too smart for this. But yes, the girl is supposed to be me.” 

“So you approached me, and you wanted to hug me, right~?” He strokes your hair softly and offers an amused chuckle. You slowly lift yourself off him to meet his soft gaze, nodding. “If you want a hug, you always get a hug, sweetheart.” 

Satoru doesn’t need to be told twice to have his strong arms coil around your figure, locking you sweetly in his hold that makes you feel completely safe and secure in his warm embrace. Then, a lingering kiss to your forehead just before he releases you but you can feel the faintest waver in his loosening grip that he never wants to let you go.

“Okay, one last question?” Your weight dips on the mattress beside him, tucking yourself in the nook of his arm and resting your head on his chest. He hums contently when your body always seems to fit so perfectly with his as he brings you closer to him like he can’t get close enough. ”What are we doing next?”

“Well, we could go home, eat the baked goods and the strawberries. After that, maybe snuggle while watching a movie and take a long nap together. How’s that sound to you, baby?”

You briefly mull over his words, and you can’t remember the last time he truly took some time off and enjoyed himself without restraints. So you’re determined to plan a fun and romantic getaway because even your loving and goofy boyfriend deserves a much-needed break to experience the small joys and pleasures with you every now and again.

“That sounds like our perfect next date.”

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF LOVE ꒱ RORONOA ZORO X READER

warnings ⟢ slight angst (though it gets resolved). hurt/comfort. mentions of death and dying. descriptions of blood and wounds. brief allusions to buddhism. reader is gn and described as “beautiful” once.

word count ⟢ 1086

notes ⟢ happy birthday to my most beloved! this fic is self-indulgent (i.e. full of my hcs about zoro’s childhood) and a labor of love. the three of swords design in the banner is from the rider-waite tarot deck. three of swords generally depicts a difficult, sorrowful experience.

So this is how it ends.

The midafternoon horizon is fathomless—a halycon ocean—the sun anchored in its depths. A cool breeze stirs, kissing his tawny flesh, rustling his hair, and chiming his earrings; whispering beachgrass casts sinuous shadows across his face, allowing his good eye to rest in partial shade. Nearby, the tide laps at the shoreline—tenderly, the caress of a lover. Foam glides across half-buried seashells and beached debris in a brief greeting before returning to the sea, heeding her call.

Where Zoro is, he can’t be certain (not an uncommon occurence, though he would never admit it). His robe was slashed off at some point, and fell to the ground in shorn tatters. He lies bare-backed in a slurry of sand and ichor, his swords beside him; weeping wounds litter his torso, the most gruesome of which stretches from his navel to his right side. While he had the wherewithal to cut his haramaki and tie it around his waist as a makeshift tourniquet, the fabric is sodden, metallic teardrops puddling in the sand.

Pain is a feeling he greets like an old friend. It’s comforting, almost, like a suffocating embrace. As a boy, he had to nurture that cold familiarity if he wanted to survive—be it fighting bigger kids for spare scraps at the orphanage, or taking lashes from a bokken at the dojo. Strength comes with a cost, as does physical and mental growth. Existence is suffering, and suffering is—in its purest form—pain. But the mind-numbing sting that currently radiates from his injuries is the last thing on his mind.

For the first time in years, Zoro is afraid. He shivers despite the scorching sunbeams, sucking in shallow mouthfuls of air, glistening beads of sweat sliding down his body toward the earth.

It isn’t the prospect of death that scares him; he has walked most of his life along the corpse-strewn path of demons, fighting against his fate as an asura. And he has peered into death’s grim visage before—too many times count. He even dived into hell and cleaved through its bowels to face Enma, emerging victorious as the king of souls departed.

Regret, however? Regret is a different beast.

It’s why he trembles now, covered in grime and gore, half-lucid. As dark thoughts slink to the forefront of his consciousness, he’s aware that dying here will mean failing. Not simply failing himself and his own dream of becoming the greatest swordsman, but also failing his captain and best friend, and failing to preserve Kuina’s legacy. Most gut-wrenching of all, he knows that dying here will mean failing you. There’s so much Zoro wants to do with you, so much he wants to say. He itches with regret, calloused digits twitching at his sides, desperate to claw his skin off.

Clarity torments him. Memories flit before his steel gaze, now wet—a tear-streaked blade. He sees you: the flicker of your eyes when you tell a story; the curve of your lips when you poke fun at him; the halo of your hair when you nap against his chest; the set of your jaw when you’re serious. More than anything else, he longs to tell you how he feels.

I love you.

Three simple words that he always struggled to string together. Perfect moment after perfect moment was presented to him on a gilt platter: inside the crow’s nest at dawn, or beneath the lush boughs in the tangerine orchard—even perched atop the Sunny’s bow to watch the sunset. He squandered each of these opportunities because he (foolishly) assumed there would be more in the future.

I love you.

If only he could muster the strength to breathe out the sweetness of your name once more—to taste each smooth, honeyed syllable on his lips, to feel it silken on his palate. Maybe then he could forgive himself. But instead, it dies on his tongue as his vision blots and blurs. Eventually, his world goes black.

I love you.

Zoro awakes to the muffled creaking of a hull.

His head pounds, his mouth is bone-dry, and his limbs are leaden and stiff; he feels like death, and suspects that he looks like it, too. Surgical gauze tightly wraps his frame, stifled wounds screaming in agony. When he glances up and sees framed pictures of the crew above his cot, he recognizes where he is: the Sunny’s infirmary. In his periphery, you’re sitting at Chopper’s desk with a book in your lap. He tries (and, to his frustration, fails) to shift into a seated position. As soon as you notice the movement—head snapping up in surprise—you rush to his bedside.

He waits for you to reprimand him for being so reckless while away from the rest of the crew. But you don’t—not yet, anyway. (Not until he’s mostly healed. And for that, he wonders if you may be an angel.) Instead, you kneel on the wooden floorboards to level with him. Your fingertips tentatively brush against his cheekbone, as though you’re testing to ensure that he’s real. Content with what you find, you cup his chin, allowing him to lean into the soft warmth of your touch, catlike.

“I was worried about you. Well, so was everyone else. But I’ll only speak for myself,” you murmur.

His voice is gravel, cragged from disuse. “Sorry.”

After a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. “Is Chopper on break?”

You nod. “I’ve picked up the night shift so he can sleep.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Roughly two days.”

“Fuck.”

That draws a chuckle from you.

Zoro swallows. “Listen, I—”

Your thumb grazes his chapped lips, forcing him to pause. “Save your energy, Zo. You don’t have to defend yourself; you’re safe with me. I promise.”

Tired but patient, your gaze breaks him, only to piece him back together. His heart aches.

He inhales deeply. Then—in a flood of emotion he can’t stem—the words flow out: “Y’know I’m not good with feelings…or words. But, uh…” A broad palm wraps around your wrist, your skin hot against his. Ignoring the heat creeping up into his cheeks, he sighs, “I love you.”

Before he can second guess his confession, your lips bloom and burst into a radiant smile, setting your features alight. He doesn’t think you have ever looked more beautiful.

“I know,” you admit airily. Leaning in, you dot a kiss to his scarred eyelid. “I love you, too.”

[frango-maconheiro]

was trying to read some welcome home x reader, but like, i thought the fandom was at least semi alive on the writing side,,,, but it's like, dead dead. These damn porn spam bots took all over the wally darling x reader tag and the writers have pretty much flied away.

[gfguren]

pro hero!kirishima x reader | angst?, fluff, childhood friends→lovers, best friend!kiri my beloved, 2.8k (apparently??) | cw: cursing, reader wears a dress

-eighteen, and heartbroken, you ghost your best friend. years pass, as do old feelings; coincidence brings you back together again-

They say old habits die hard, your heartbeat rings true.

It's been years—six, at least. Since you've seen Kirishima. And he's still there, in the library of things you've loved, thumbed and beloved, worn at the spine where you once folded the pages, one over the other, carelessly. Always carelessly. As if they'd stay the same through all the wear and tear. You were—careless—after all, eighteen, and foolish, feelings too big for your heart.

But that was okay. It always was, with him. Wherever you wanted to go, whatever you wanted to do. He was happy as long as you were—and so, so good to you; it was childish of you, but you almost wished that he wasn't.

Maybe it was some kind of teenage rebellion that you pushed it too far. Some kind of lashing out, 'getting even', that you kissed other boys, pretended be head over heels in love with anyone, everyone, but Kirishima. Because you did—love him—and not in the way he loved you, you were sure.

Because if he had—really had—he would have hesitated, would have hurt. Wouldn't have vetted your dresses, or wiped the smudge from beneath your eyes. Wouldn't have told you how pretty you looked without really looking at you at all. Wouldn't have drove you to meet other boys, or dried your tears when they made you cry, like all of your other friends did. The kinds you didn't want to kiss. The kinds you imagined a future with, but not with kids and a dog and a white picket fence.

It was obvious for you, came natural as breathing, you'd known him your whole life. Skinned knees, and awkward school dances. Your very first kiss, though it meant nothing at the time. Just kids—curious, and reckless, and definitely not in love. You thought it'd be like that forever, made sense that he'd always be at your side; maybe that's why it hurt the way it did when, suddenly, he just wasn't.

That awkward boy—indecisive and boisterous, good natured and yours—Kirishima. Eijirou. Who earned his first bloody nose at the age of ten, defending your honor over something juvenile and stupid, who walked you home every day after school, hand in yours, always; (for safety, of course), who left half of his belongings on your bedroom floor, in your closet, atop your dresser—hoodies and gadgets and pens, chewed at the cap. That Eijirou—your Eijirou—would always, surely, make his way back to you, right?

But he doesn't.

When summer ends, he leaves—your school, the little town you both grew up in,

—and you.

To do something good, to be something more. And he was. And you were proud of him, so proud, to see him grow and become the hero he always dreamed of being. But maybe that scared you too, because suddenly your Eijirou didn't feel so much like yours anymore.

He's gone with hardly a notice, returns with all the confidence in the world—a completely new person in a matter of months. Red hair and a smile like summertime sunshine; your heart skips, cheeks flush, a name is put to the feelings you've felt for as long as you can remember, for the very first time.

But nothing's changed, not for Eijirou, at least, who still spends his vacations beneath your parents' roof, within the four borders of your bedroom, crisscrossed legs and laughter that sounds just like it always has. But it hits you—when he speaks—how much things have changed for you. The stories he tells, the friends he's made and the things he's experienced. They're his. Just his.

And it shouldn't bother you. That you don't know the name of his homeroom teacher, or what he packed for lunch last week. That he doesn't know about all the evenings you've spent alone, or how you broke into tears when that cute senior boy asked you to the yearly formal, because Eijirou had promised—pinky promised—all those years ago, that he'd be the one to take you.

But that was before he had training, and internships, and hero obligations; things far, far more important than you were, you suppose.

But it shouldn't bother you, right? Shouldn't hurt the way it does when he packs his things from your room at the end of summer. You lose him bit by bit; pens and gadgets, and comic books you bought for him every single birthday, without missing a year. He takes your ("his") very favorite hoodie—red and worn at the cuffs, a tear up the side where you wrestled him to the ground, at age twelve. Some petty fight you don't even remember, and how you didn't speak to him for a week; that felt like a lifetime, then.

You've half a mind to ask for it, know for sure he'd offer it happily, though you're not sure you have that right anymore. You no longer share his life, after all, and he doesn't share yours; it's not until you're older, much older that you realize just how hard he tried to make it work anyway.

The weekly calls and the long drives back home to just see you for a month, a week, a day. How he gets his license, at eighteen. Rushes home from an internship to drive you to the little ice cream parlor at the edge of town.

You're crying, over a boy—though your heart wasn't really in it. How could it be, when it's been checked out since the age of six? When the more years that pass, the more you fall for your very best friend, the stronger his absence becomes, the more bitter your heart grows. You're crying, over a boy—but not the one who stood you up.

You're just, frustrated, that he's oblivious to it all. Still. And so damn nice about it—always. That's he's perfectly content to dry your tears, has the audacity to tell you that guy was an idiot, totally unmanly, that 'any man would be lucky to have you'.

But not Eijirou. Never Eijirou.

And for the first time, you think you hate him. For missing the hearts in your eyes, and growing up just fine, without you. For talking like it's totally fine if you end up with someone that isn't him. And vice versa.

That he reaches for your hand on the way back to his car, like you're still just kids, and it means nothing at all.

—and that you let him; as if it means nothing to you either.

But fuck, it does. Always has. And maybe that's why you justify it, when you disappear after graduation—a new phone and town, and a future that doesn't include Eijirou. Kirishima. The way you're convinced he wanted; he's always been fine without you, after all.

It's petty and it's childish. And it's hard—like turning a page you've been stuck on your entire life—but you do, and the world doesn't end without him, like you thought that it might. You're fine, not even all that sad. Just a little empty for a while.

The years pass easily, as do old feelings and the ache in your chest. You get busy. With work, and hobbies, your dreams and hopes and aspirations. You don't have the time to dwell about what could have been.

At twenty-two, you fall in love, and it doesn't last. But not because there's someone stuck in your heart, like a thorn that just burrows deeper. Life happens, and you pull apart, naturally—like adults do—communication, and mutual agreement; the way you wish you'd been mature enough to handle your feelings all those years ago.

Maybe you'd still have your oldest friend by your side, then.

Somehow summer sneaks up on you, everytime—the third week of June, when you visit your parents in the same little town that's always changing. Streets busier than ever and pavement redone, ice cream parlor on the edge of town gone and replaced with a brick and mortar grocery. It makes it easier, you think, to not be reminded of Kirishima—and the way you left without so much as a goodbye.

You haven't forgotten him, far from it. Somehow you still find yourself in the comic section of the bookstore every October. But at some point, you forget his favorite foods and the way his hand felt in yours. When you see his house across the street, you think of his mother instead, and the way she greets you every time, like you're her second child. Her 'favorite', you used to joke.

It's bittersweet.

Six summers, and you manage to avoid him. Six summers and you come to terms with never seeing him again. Six summers, and he's there, suddenly—beneath your parents' roof, within the four borders of your childhood bedroom. Your heart beats like it might burst.

"Kirishima," you say, choking down your surprise with deep, careful breaths.

He turns to you then; four wooden borders squeezed carefully between two strong hands. The scar above his brow is baby pink, barely there, and he stands a little taller, you think, feels a little broader at the chest, and around his shoulders. You've seen him on tv, of course, in the news, in pictures, occasionally, but it's different—seeing him in person, after so long.

A true proper hero, standing there in your childhood bedroom, holding an old photo you'd all but forgotten about; two kids, faded ink and scuffed glass—hearts in your eyes, if he happened to look closer.

"Hi." His voice is a little deeper, smile a little softer when your eyes meet.

"Hi."

You feel a little helpless, truth be told. You'd spent so long avoiding him, so many years forgetting the casual conversation you'd once carried. You never considered what to say, if you were to meet again, never thought that you might. But here you are, after all this time.

You want to tell him you're proud, you think. The way you couldn't bring yourself to all those years ago. Want to tell him that you're sorry, for more reasons than one. Want to tell him he looks good, that you got the job he always said you would, that you worried about him, from time to time.

Instead, there's a tentative—"What are you doing here?"—that sticks in your throat.

As if it matters.

"Ran into your parents at the grocery," he answers, casually, "they asked me to stay for dinner."

And yet.

He sets the picture face up—where it once lied face down, forgotten in the eaves of your bookcase.

He's here; in your bedroom. Looking through your things, like he missed you.

You wring your hands together. Return the feelings you start to reach for, instinctively. A little book in the library of things you're predisposed to, catalogued under: Getting Ahead of Yourself.

"Are you?" the words are eager, the pages fall loose. You catch them, before he does. "Staying for dinner?"

It takes all of three steps, (you think it might have been five, once), for him to make his way from the bookcase to your bed. It creaks woefully when he sits, "Would that be okay with you?"

"Yeah," your voice nearly betrays you, "yeah, it would."

His shoulders unwind, chest falls. He breathes—easy. And then he laughs, boyish and yours.

"What's so funny," you gravitate towards him, naturally, suitcase forgotten at the door. The bed dips at his side and your shoulder playfully bumps his, "huh?"

The corners of his mouth crease at the edges, aged deep just like yours. "When did we become so boring?"

You hum—almost melancholy, picking at the splotches of red that still stain your comforter. "It's been six years, Kirishima."

"Yeah," he says, a little more pensive, "you look good."

Your heart skips, cheeks flush. Suddenly you're sixteen again, and pawing at the hem of your sundress, searching for his approval from the corner of your eye.

He's not looking at you, but it's different this time; or maybe it's exactly the same, and he's always been this way. Maybe you were just blind to it, sixteen and oblivious to the hand that wrings itself around the back of his neck, the red tinge that burns his ears.

But honestly, probably, you're searching for subtext that doesn't exist. Still, "So do you," the words come easy, "saw you at that award ceremony—on tv, I mean. Couldn't believe that was my Eijirou."

His head dips, eyes shimmer red; sweeter than wild strawberries. "Your Eijirou?"

'Yeah." You feel a bit self conscious, truth be told, though you've said it a hundred times. "Aren't you?"

His smile spreads like a yawn, from the depths of his chest, suddenly there and unshakable. Contagious—what was his, now yours as well. "Always have been."

Your chest tightens, every beat of your heart hammering at your ribcage. You still love him, after all this time. "How long will you stay?"

"Until dinner, at least."

"No, I mean," you sigh, heart spilling to your sleeves, "how long will you be in town?"

"I,-" It's lethargic, the way he blinks, throat bobs, smile falls, slow and pensive and so unlike him, "I moved back a while ago." Surprise washes over your face, rests in your brow, and he answers, before you have the chance to ask, "it's been two summers now."

You're not sure what that feeling is, gnawing at your heart and making you sick to your stomach—

"I'm sure you knew I came to visit," your voice is a murmur, eyes misty and searching for an excuse to meet everything but his, "you could have said 'hi'."

He hums, an almost sigh, "Wasn't sure you wanted me to."

—Guilt, that's what it is. It plummets, and swells, until you can feel it in your throat.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." A warm hand falls over yours, fingers curling—friendly, reassuring. You appreciate it for what it is. "I get it."

You've loved him for so long, known him for even longer, turned every page until the ink began to wear. But for the first time, you think you can see his heart bleeding between the lines.

"You're not doing that, don't you dare blame yourself, Kirishima Eijirou."

"You were lonely, weren't you? After I left for UA," his jaw goes rigid, every bit of shame clenched between his teeth, "should've tried harder to make it work, could've visited more often, could've taken an internship closer to home, could've,"

"—said," you click your tongue, stern as can be, "you're not doing that."

You pinch the corner of his sleeve, rolled red fabric over strong arms; he doesn't flinch at the coaxing, instead he turns to take your shoulders between his hands, "'m sorry."

You wrangle them from you, lying his palms at your lap, squeezed in between your own. "Damnit Ei, you didn't do anything wrong," you know for certain that he would've packed you in his suitcase if he could, would've dragged you along to every course and internship and oh-so-important hero happening, but you had your own life to live—and so did he. "You were following your dreams, who am I to get in the way of that?"

"My best friend, my other half, besides," his shoulders square, chest puffs, all brawn and ego and Eijirou; but his hands tremble unsurely, "I liked you," his wavering voice is still confident, somehow, confession long overdue, "and I'm sure that's not what you wanted to hear from me after so long, but," his hands leave yours to worry his hair, all finely gelled and pushed back, now tousled and falling softly at his forehead, "I didn't want to regret it for another six years."

You feel like you're drowning, pulled under a tide of feelings new and old. Confused, and euphoric, and so, so stupid. He liked you. He liked you and you never had a clue. The irony makes you dizzy.

Your head breaches the surface, and finally you can breathe, deep and burning lungs expanding, expanding, and trembling—a stream of salt and water hits your cheeks and falls past your lips. Eijirou is quick wipe away the tears, a palm at each cheek, wide eyed and worried. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry. Please don't cry, okay?"

You laugh and his expression eases, shoulders falling and fingertips thumbing softly at your skin. "Don't worry, Ei. I'm happy," you sniffle, fingers wrapping 'round his wrists; his pulse stutters at your index and you smile, "I liked you too, a lot," at age six, at eighteen, the year before last, and the year after that, and, and, "I still like you, I think."

His smile blooms, face brightens like sunlight in the peak of summer, warm against the tips of your fingers.

"Can I take you on a date sometime?" he asks, like it's the easiest thing in the world; maybe it always has been.

"Yeah." Your heart beats, a page turns. "I'd like that."

[imorynn]

︵ ✮⋆˙ 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝙡𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙪 ރ 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

︵ ✮⋆˙ ᥴꪮꪀꪻꪖ꠸ꪀᦓ : FLUFF, drunk!reader, alcohol usage, softness, hopeless!reader for lilia, lilia being a caretaker and the sweetest lover, physical affections, usage of pet names, touch!starved!reader, drunken confessions that are pretty much well known, cliché and sapphic shit I experienced and cannot get over ︵ ✮⋆˙ ᭙ᥴ : 1k+

quick note : one thought to, “oh, lilia calderu would be the sweetest girlfriend to ever exist with her drunk s/o” wounded up into this and all I can feel and see are hues of oranges, tangerines, soft reds, golds, yellows, sparks and stars while I was on cloud 9 for a few hours — I hope you enjoy !!! <3

─────── .𖥔 ݁˖✮˖ ݁𖥔. ───────

There is a patience to Lilia, a devotion so effortless, so intrinsic, that it feels like an enchantment interweaved into the very fabric of her being. And never is it more evident than in moments like these — when the weight of your intoxication has rooted profoundly between your limbs, rendering you languid and sun dappled-eyed, your voice spilling over in hazy murmurs that make impeccable sense solely to you.

She holds you close, her arm a firm but gentle band around your midsection, guiding you through the soft golden glow of your shared sanctuary. You are all movement at the beginning, all impulse, your hands reaching for items on her shop’s shelves, tugging at the silks of her sleeves, attempting, with slurred determination, to drag her toward something that has suddenly become fascinating in your clouded mind even though you have come across these items thousands of times.

And when she murmurs a soft, "baby, no, come on, let's go to bed', you protest like a child, her name stretched long in its affectionate bits, tone heavy with tipsy impatience. "I need to show you, my love, something, I don’t know where it is yet, but it’s important, it’s—”

You are liquid in her grasp, slipping and flowing, drawn to the world in a way only being drunk allows — every warm lamp, every shimmer of the beaded curtains as you both made your way through them ( or rather, she's come to recognize, she gives into your nonsensical sentences enough for you to become completely engross by uttering them to her that you barely recognize the change of scenery as she drags you away ), every shadowed outline that swayed along the walls, every gleam of silver catching the low light suddenly a wonder worth chasing.

Though Lilia, ever knowing, ever perceptive, keeps you tethered to her, her fingertips pressing insistently into your soft flesh, securing you as you try to wander. She knows your ways, knows you too well; how everything illuminates in new hues when drink lingers on your tongue, how your sly little tendencies take root, your flickering marvel with everything but still, somehow, and mostly, always her.

And oh, how she lovingly indulges you.

She listens, her mouth curving at the edges as you ramble, voice swaying between dreamlike astonishment and tiny complaints, entirely enraptured with her as though she is some celestial thing newly discovered. And to you, even in this state of supple-limbed reverie, she is; otherworldly, ethereal. You cling to her, as if proximity alone might keep her from vanishing, and she laughs, airy and betrayed with a soft snort, something bashful curling beneath the sound when you burrow yourself into her while you sit at the edge of the bed and she's standing in front of you.

“Cruel,” your murmur is thick with drowsy affection. “So cruel of space to keep you away from me like this. Or are you and the concept of space teaming up against me, huh?”

Lilia hums, entertainment whirling her whiskey-hued gaze as she presses a sweet kiss into your hairline. “I am right here, my love.”

But it is simply not enough. Not when her warmth is mere inches from you, not when she moves to ease you into fresh, soft and cozy pajamas and she barely grazes your bare skin with her touch, and the whispers of oxygen between your bodies feels like the greatest injustice within this universe.

You let out a whine, a prolonged sound wholly unguarded for her to come back, and she hushes you with a saccharine croon, guiding your gauche arms into the sleeves of a clean, long sleeve shirt you always claimed was the second-most comfortable feeling in the world besides Lilia herself. Her hands are stable, metallic rings pressing ever so slightly into your heated skin as she works, and every touch is a soothe, a promise that she is not leaving, not ever.

Fingers become greedy and cherishing as they catalog the elegant lines of her features, over the regal slope of her nose, the fine etchings of age that time has worked with grace into her skin, the way the light softens her edges.

You stare at her then, brow furrowed, irises dazed and musky with wetness but gleaming with something unbearably enamored. “You’re so beautiful,” Admiration douses your every whispered syllable, thumbs brushing a path over the swells of her cheeks. “So unfairly beautiful. Pretty. My pretty, pretty Lilia.”

How you then speak something along the lines of how her smile makes you feel like you are dissolving into love itself.

Then Lilia, for all her age, for all her wisdom, stills as your drunken confessions peel back the centuries and for a moment, just a flicker of a second, she looks young again. Not in body, not in form, but in the way her lashes flutter like the edges of a butterfly's wings beneath her eyes, the way her lips parted just vaguely, taken by surprise. The sensation is familiar — this sensibility of being gazed upon as if she were the very reason of someone's existence, but goodness gracious, it never loses its luster. Not with you.

Even drunk you are in love, you are a poet, mapping the delicate silver in her locks with your fingers, each strand conveying a story you so desperately wished to learn by heart. Your words, though unclear, hold such conviction, such dizzying sincerity, that Lilia is left breathless, humbled by the depth of your love.

A quiet guardian of your untamed spirit she is, settling herself onto the mattress and tugging you into her homely embrace before you could try to form the idea in getting up to rove around the room and further.

Baby, doll, my love, darling, angel, sweetheart, sweet girl, honey.

Even pet names in her mother language were aerated against your temple before sealing them with a sweet kiss, lips and endearments skimming across the apple of your cheeks, the curve of your forehead, reaching every corner of your being where love collects like morning dew.

"Behave for momma, darling girl," She is speaking to you in such honey-soaked croons, lilted with firmness that portrays her gentlest, most instinctive protectiveness when you try slipping away from her.

Utterances are tenderly pressed into the flushed skin of your cheekbone as you protest in indignation, too busy letting petulant complaints tumble out of your mouth that you are oblivious of the soft grin she harbored as she chuckled.

Her fingers start grazing the side of your face, the chilled silver of her rings gliding over your fevered skin, soon ascending to brush through the pieces of hair adorning the crown of your forehead. She then tucks you into her bosom, placing her chin at the top of your head with a low 'hush now' exhaled as you try writhing in order to sit up, drowning out your mumbled words from the slumber overcoming you, finding solace in her heartbeat, your arms winding around her in lazy devotion.

︵ ✮⋆˙

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ORV is about enduring the horrors in real time.

(for @everyonesfavoritebastard)

[dipperscavern]

is it time to discuss moody!cregan… I think its time

- 💭

moody!cregan….. i am quivering. moody!cregan as in you’re the only thing that lifts his mood…. or as in you’re the only one who can see past it. moody!cregan with a soft spot for only one person… the possibilities are endless….

[capricornlevi]

nsfw / mdni

"you have ... you have really pretty eyes."

the compliment spills from choso's lips as though they slipped past any mental filter, making him blush as you let out an airy laugh.

it's not that it's not a nice compliment to receive. it's just bizarre timing, considering you've just lowered yourself down onto his cock for the first time.

"t-thank you," you reply with a lilt of amusement to your voice, hands planted firmly on his chest for balance as you adjust to the size of him. "that's really - really nice."

"is that wrong to -" he begins, cutting himself off with a gasp as you slowly start to rock against him. after ten or so seconds, his chest rising and falling unsteadily, he attempts to finish his sentence again. "is that wrong to say?"

you shake your head, eyes meeting his so he sees the fondness in them.

"not wrong. just cute," you say truthfully, lifting one hand to cup his jaw as you fall into a rhythm. he dips his head to meet your touch, soft strands of hair falling from their ties to rest against his forehead. he moans, low and desperate, as if literally melting under your touch. "you're -- you're sweet, y'know? it's what i - i like about you."

he shudders as you sink down on him again, every limb tensing with pleasure -- from the sensation or the returned compliment, you're unsure. maybe both?

luckily for him, you can give as good as you take.

[yuwuta]

can you assign other jjk charcters a/b/o? Like yuuta, nanami or megumi? I wanna know your heacannons

absolutely, i have thought about this extensively lmfaooo

omega satoru, but also alpha satoru works, too (tho, i am biased and learn more towards omega for him). he uses the power/influence he has to draw attention and whine about how you should be his mate. omega satoru is so unbelievably insufferable and pathetic in trying to get your attention, and then incredibly cocky and a show-off to everyone once you’re mates. alpha satoru is the wet paper equivalent of a man once he has you, he will literally bend to your every command, there is nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you happy, and yet, still, also incredibly cocky. either way, he’s the scariest. as an omega, he uses it as an excuse—bats his eyelashes and feigns innocence for attacking someone he considered a threat; as an alpha, he doesn’t feel sorry and nobody tries to get him to apologize, unless they’d also like to be on the receiving end of that treatment. also terribly horny no matter what, he is always ready to go

megumi fits all the roles in my head, so honestly, it depends on you. as an alpha he’s very nonchalant, and begrudgingly accepts his role. tho, he is possessive; he tries not to let it show/let that take over him, but it’s sort of always there and peeps through even if he doesn’t intend to. he doesn’t feel the need to glare at other alphas or be the strongest of them all, but he does like to nip at you, to make sure you smell like him at least a little bit, and he does keep an eye on you even if you’re perfectly safe. as a beta, he’s kind of apathetic to the whole mating situation and being part of a group. he’s drawn in by others—if you, or yuuji, or nobara convince them, then he’ll go along with it, and usually ends up liking it, but he wouldn’t try to seek out new people or experiences. you’d have to be the one to approach him first. as an omega, he’s not all that different as an alpha—he’s still possessive, but maybe a bit more forthcoming and shameless about it. he doesn’t pout or go crazy if you’re affectionate with your mutual friends, but he’s not nearly as nonchalant about you being close to strangers. it’s not paranoia, or distrust in you, it’s quite literally, pure, shallow possessiveness driving him—he’s your omega, and he wants your attention. and he wants to have it when he wants it. and he’s not above biting you to get it 

alpha kento…. just fell to my knees. he was born for this. he’s a very level-headed alpha; very rarely swayed by his own emotions, or preconceived alpha notions, and is aware of how his presence can affect others. he never uses his status to intimidate—honestly, he’s intimidating enough without being an alpha—he keeps a respectable distance from unmated omegas, he uses scent blockers, he doesn’t engage in petty arguments, nor does he boast just because he has the power to. extremely dependable, all of his friends feel safe with him, and are physically drawn to him even if it’s not sexually. you’ve found satoru and haibara cuddled up, asleep on either of nanami’s shoulders on more than one occasion—and nanami, immune to it all, just carries on reading his book. the only thing that really ticks him off, gets the stereotypical alpha drive going is the mention of children—especially, when other alphas try to come on to you by saying how lucky they’d be to have someone like you carry their kids. then, kento’s not above knocking someone’s teeth out. even when your friends make off-handed comments asking about if/when you’ll have kids, kento can be found snarling. it’s truly his weak spot, and it sort of embarrasses him because he seems to have no control over it, he just knows he doesn’t want anybody else but him thinking about you that way. also maybe that repressed breeding kink of his who said that 

yuuta’s an alpha to me <3 the kind that nobody suspects at first, but give him a moment to shine and it’ll all come through. he doesn’t care to come across as intimidating, but he’s undeniably at his strongest when he has his loved ones to protect, and there are so few things he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. he’s intensely loyal and protective, and takes it personally when anybody infringes upon the safety or comfort of his loved ones. you’ve seen him throw people against walls for picking on toge, seen him break another alpha’s arm because they were trying to intimidate nobara, seen yuuji and maki have to pull him off a guy solely because of the way he’d spoken to you. but if that’s not the case, and there’s nothing/nobody to rouse the aggressive alpha behavior out of him, yuuta’s the one who’s easily intimidated. when you or his friends aren’t in the picture, he doesn’t care to interact with other alphas, he finds himself feeling small and anxious; he’s gullible and always the subject of pranks within your friend group despite his alpha status; he’s shy and sometimes still stutters around you, no matter how long you’ve been together. he’s pretty malleable and not at all what you’d think of as an “alpha,” until there’s a threat nearby and he’s ready to kill someone with his bare hands. 

alpha yuuji agenda and no i’m not biased <333 he’s the kind that feels the need to provide for the people in his life. he cooks, he cleans, he lifts all the heavy boxes, he picks you up and walks you home, he’s the perfect alpha, but yuuji strives for it. he’s conscious about bettering himself and how he can use his strength and skills to serve you. he wants to be the perfect mate, but for you and you alone. lots of things come naturally to yuuji, but he’s intentional in how he treats you, and how how to be a good alpha for you. like satoru, he’s honestly more of a puppy when he’s with you, one that preens for attention and smothers you when he’s happy. and he’s very moody when he doesn’t get that attention, or when somebody else is trying to take it from him. he’s nice and all, but he’s still an alpha with a temper at the end of the day. he’s the definition of “you should see the other guy,” whenever he comes out of a fight. 

it doesn’t matter whether toge’s an alpha, a beta, or an omega, his true sub-gender is a professional brat and part-time troll. attention-seeking 24/7, gaudy with his tactics for getting your attention and then pouty whenever you’re not paying attention to him, even if it’s for a few minutes. bites. all the time, always. doesn’t even leave hickies, he leaves teeth marks. literal indentations along your arm or on your wrist or your shoulder just because he’s that much of a brat, and needs some outlet for his possessive nature. also, doesn’t have a humble bone in his body, he’ll let everyone know you’re his partner and that he’s hitting it raw because god forbid he have any tact. terrible. 

choso is like yuuji in that he strives to provide and tailor himself to being a good mate for you, but the omega version of it. choso knows what he’s good at, but he also knows he’s got his whole life to learn, and he doesn’t think there’s a better way to spend it than learning how to be good for you. he takes care of all the things you have to put off because of a busy schedule, he runs all the little errands you forget about, he learns to sew so he can easily hem your clothes, he learns to cook your favorite meals, he learns to paint so he can take care of that accent wall you dream about, hell, he’ll even learn to how to do your hair if it saves you a trip to the salon. choso will do, or learn to do anything for you; no skill is too small, no task is too detailed. he strives to be everything you need in a partner, because he doesn’t ever want to give you reason to resent or regret making him your mate :(( also… horny. all the time. always. yeah, he does these things for you, to make you happy, but he’s not above being rewarded for it, either 😇

[ficandkaboodle]

Lying in bed, thinking about how Copia probably never resembles his father more than when he looks at his beloved. Cardinal era or Popia era, it does not matter: The moment he looks at the tempting apple of his eye, all his father’s dedication, obsession, stupidity, everything — it just comes flooding out of him in the form of eyes going gooey yet shiny, mouth slightly agape or curved into a silly little smile.

It’s the one thing Nihil really passed down to Copia that he will never be rid of, that surgery can’t manipulate or cut away, that he himself can disassociate from. Not that he ever would want to. Because having it means he gets to look at you and see the most beautiful thing ever every single time…

[peachsayshi]

satoru is protective of you, yes.

but people don't know that you're far more protective of him, and fiercely so. you know how his past lovers have hurt him, how they've used him. you see how people can be cruel to him just because he's a little eccentric. and when people try to put him down, you can't help but want to fight back.

and satoru, he's just...so flattered. it actually makes him a little flustered.

he's so used to be being the protector, he doesn't know how to respond when somebody stands up for him.

[sourpeachsayshi]

stopping in to say I had a thought of relentless flirt villain!nanami who coaxes you to say "use me" in the breathiest tone before he fucks you until you forget your own name.

[destructionray]

Hobie Brown/Spiderpunk Relationship HC's

spider-punk relationship hc's?? This is the first time I've shared my work so sorry if it's bad i genuinely don't know how to write stuff </3 also i tried to keep the reader gender-neutral but i might be a little biased because im transmasc (fuck fem!readers i actually hate yall/j) i also tried to keep it spoiler-free

1.3k words

warnings: none (okay maybe a tiny bit of curse words)

ALWAYS sharing earbuds. there's not a single time this man will let you sit next to him without listening to some of his jams

I KNOW THIS MAN GIVES A GOOD CUDDLE!!

hes usually the type to only give half-hugs, having just an arm around your shoulder or waist when you're just chilling

but when you ask for a real hug?? It'll literally be the most comforting thing.

pulling you in to his chest and wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand around your shoulder and the other on your back, pressing his body up against yours tightly

and he kisses the top of ur head!!

BUT hes a little pissed that he has to take off his jacket every time because of how spiky it is

he can't count the amount of times you've tried to rest your head on his shoulder but ended up getting poked by the spikes on his jacket.

he LOVES hugging you from behind

he's not super touchy, but when he's around a lot of people he'll always be touching you in some way.

having his hand in your back pocket, having a hand on your hip, holding eachothers pinkies

i swear he has a a thing for hips or waists/j

ESPECIALLY touchy in front of authorities, he'll make out with you in front of them just to piss them off.

the hand placement when he kisses yoy oh my godddd

either a hand on your cheek and/or around your waist, or when you're making out he has his hand on the back of your head, pushing you closer to him

neck kisses <3333

there's almost no way you could be taller than him, my guy is 6'3 AND wears platforms.

prepare to be used as an armrest for him.

you like his piercings? He'll do one for you.

that man has never paid for a single piercing in his LIFE.

insisted on doing piercings for you, especially if you had never had any done before.

he'll do stick n pokes for you aswell if you're interested in getting a tattoo.

if you're an artist, he'll let you do some on him aswell.

BEGGED you to get matching tattoos and/or piercings

he's so cute, how could you say no?

calls you "love" ALL THE TIME. You're not entirely sure if it's because he loves you or if it's just a weird thing brits do

your dates are mostly going to strange or abandoned places and hanging/having a picnic/listening to music/mildly illegal stuff, or sneaking into a movie theater to watch stuff without paying.

if you're a Spider-person too, you guys definetily have had a romantic moment on top of skyscraper before.

if you're afraid of heights, he'll hold you in his arms the entire time he takes you to a place high up. he'll never let you go

he noticed that you miss him a lot, so made you your own watch to travel to his dimension or the Spider-society at any time

he totally has a ton of pictures with you in his room, printed by some cheap shitty polariod camera

When he gets injured, he immideately resorts to you instead of going to a hospital or proper medic

He doesn't like seeing you get worried about him, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't love the extra attention and care you gave him, and the time you spend together patching him up.

Shows his love instead of telling you

Only says "i love you" in special moments (which sometimes could just be spending time cuddling & relaxing together after a bad day)

Literally all over you when he's tired or after a day of being Spider-Punk

Has 100% yelled at or completely ignored Miguel for calling him on a mission while he's with you.

You play an instrument? He'll practice with you every single day.

If you don't have any motivation to, he'll be your motivation. He loves hearing you play.

If you were interested in playing guitar, he totally sat for hours and teached you chords.

Holding your hand to make it press down on the strings, and saying "good job" or other little praises whenever you got it right.

You're interested in playing drums? He asked Gwen to come over and practice with you, and he was you two's hypeman.

He loves seeing you get along well with his best friends.

If you tell him your favorite song(s), he secretly learns it on his guitar until he's perfected it and then plays it for you.

Your reactions are always so amusing to him, and he loves it.

Makes you playlists with both his and your favorite songs so you can listen to them together

Spotify playlists? Nope, he dowloaded all the music (probably illegally) and burned them on CD's.

He gave you a portable CD player so you could listen to his playlists at any time.

At his gigs, he always makes sure you're as close to the stage as possible so he can keep an eye on you

You're always invited to his shows, no matter what, and he'll always play better and show off more when he sees you in the crowd

Brings you backstage just to give you a kiss between songs

most likely wrote you a few songs (or more cough cough)

Gave you one of his studded bracelets and said it looks good on you, even if it totally clashes with your style.

He loves seeing you wear it, and it's like you're being constantly reminded of him whenever you wear it.

Ever try his stuff on? It's yours now.

Clothes? no doubt. Jewlery? Yours. Literally anything else? You can have it.

He even gives you guitar picks from his shows, even if you have no use for them

He'll totally nick some of your sweaters or accessories once in a while though.

On the topic of gifts, he always steals small things he sees you looking at for a suspiciously long time in store

He's like a crow, always stealing shiny things (jewlery)

Yeah, he's definetily a bit of a kleptomaniac.

His criminal record must be insane just bc of his stealing habit

He totally makes you custom pins or patches with your favorite bands logos

Hes a very "DIY" kind of guy

He doesn't wanna spend money on things that are overpriced simply because it's popular, so a lot of the gifts he gives you are handmade

VERY skilled at making things though

That man does EVERYTHING.

Crochet, sewing, knitting, drawing, painting, handicraft, sculpting, you name it.

He's also surprisingly good at cooking/baking. (But sadly he doesn't believe in expiration dates/j)

MATCHING NAILS!!!

he usually colors his nails in with black sharpie, but he'll 100% let you paint his nails with actual nail polish

Pulling up at your place when he's drunk isn't an uncommon occurence.

He's a very affectionate drunk.

Especially if he's tired.

He'll tell you how much he loves you, joke around, and always has at least one arm slung around your shoulder

Never uses the front door to your house/apartment.

Always climbing through your windows, because he insists it's easier than knocking on a door.

Plus, if you still live with your parents, it'll make sneaking in at night WAY easier.

He doesn't believe in marriage. Says it's a way for the government to control your relationship and a waste of money

He loves stuff like promise rings though

His accent is so thick, so you're like a translator for him whenever someone doesn't understand him/j

Not related to Hobie, but Pavitr ships you two HARD. He NEVER let you hear the end of it when he first saw you guys kiss.

Pav's always making stupid cute and petty little remarks about your relationship, but he finds you two absolutely adorable.

feel free to give advice or anything in the comments because i genuinely dont know if this is good or nah,,

[voidcat]

siren!togame x sailor!reader.

gender netural reader as always. slight mention of choji if you squint. thinking about our siren wbrk talk with mari again so have this... i forgot i wrote this during my tumblr break LMAO

when you first meet the siren with emerald eyes and silky hair, you find yourself too immersed in his captivating looks that you forget why youve been staring in the first place.

he is an odd one, not a man, but one.

it's not everyday for people in your line of... business to be running into his kind, although there has been a suspicious increase in their activity, but this one piques your interest entirely and completely.

recent news about a blond siren causing havoc, all fangs and feral, already off your mind, you approach the odd one on a day neither too cloudy nor sunny- just ideal, just perfect.

pleas and concerns your crew has voiced already gone, falling on deaf ears, you approach the creature, not captivated, nor enhanced-- that is, if you dont count fascination with curiosity as a subclass of that.

you're not fazed by his lack of surprise, but make a mental note when you notice he's not the talkative type.

his kind is bold, loud and clear, showing themselves off, "hello world, i am here, see me and feed me." or that's what the widely accepted opinion of them is.

as you draw closer, you spot he is not alone on the broad rocks and rubbles. seals who exchange equally confused gazes with one another stare at you and him, taking his stance as no danger posing.

it feels weird, to have finally reached the object of your goals for the past months. long days and nights of spotting this siren that is not like any other and now here you are, face to face with him. no longer just exchanged glances by the small window of your cabin that you were certain you made up in your head.

resting his chest against his palm, he wears a smug yet gentle expression. you're unsure if it's the eyes that make it genuine or the curled up corner of his mouth that makes it cocky.

by the time you'll know him as togame and more than just an 'odd one out' of his species, it won't take you many conversations, but it'll take a long time. such as the fate of being a feeble human on a ship and a feared creature of the sea.

getting onto the edge of the rock, you take one step further, resting your elbow there, mirroring his position as you rest your chin against your fist.

"so, what has gotten a beast like you tied down to a bunch of rocks? tired of us already?"

you're odd, togame thinks. normally sailors detest his species- if they can get over their fear. anyone within their peak form would be killing for this opportunity, to capture one, get years long revenge and so on.

instead, you approach him like a sailor to a maiden back on land, after eyeing her up all night, paying for her drinks across the pub...

smiling coyly, you wait, your gaze never wavering, ignoring the odd colors in the back and the confused sounds the seals make.

"maybe it's because i've simply have something better to do." he says and you halt, "got my crew right here." he follows and watches as your smile drops, confusion taking over.

he counts, 1, 2, 3... 10 seconds it takes for your eyes to dart between the seals behind him and Togame himself- still confused, until your eyes land on shells and torn off pieces of coral spread on a flatter rock between all of them.

a game?.. you wonder, tossing what he said to the side for now, how it implies they attack simply because they're bored.

well, certainly the blond one is- at least from what you've seen, all his attacks on ships, he seems to be living off the thrill of it, not caring as long as he swims away freely at the end of the day.

"A game, then." you voice your guess, gathering your initial confidence. or maybe it's lack of care, Togame isn't sure of it just yet.

"hmmh" he hums in agreement, as he turns to exchange looks with the seals. "care to join? we can teach."

the whole exchange from start to finish feels off. distant in a corner with no one knowing your exact location- all you've learned so far, even if he said those intentionally or not, and you swear those seals are an endangered species in these waters- last seen at least a century ago.

so they come out just for him? or for all of them? the questions swarm your head, you don't even realize you've been leaning further and further, slowly, your expressions long gone, face now blank, try to decide on a dominating emotion to display.

he seems to take this as confusion and giggles. breaking his pose, he leans towards your direction and holds out his hand "no need to be afraid now, we don't bite."

and within these words alone, you know it deep down, simply and with your entire heart that he means it- no siren voice involved, no odd feelings rising.

maybe that's how they truly lure their victims. no magic voice behind it but simply their charms. yet you are ready to take your chances.

taking another step further, you take his hand and let him pull you up to the rock he's residing on, genuinely, innocently, to play a game.