cher/strawb

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Cater enjoys nothing more than seeing the most exposed parts of you. Candid moments that couldn’t possibly be altered by anything other than him. His cheeky pecks are placed strategically over each poking bone, one finger pulling your waistband down far enough to reach his favorite place. He leaves a bite that doesn’t need any effort to be hidden away. Yet he knows it is there and eagerly awaits his own matching set.

In the next life, there is a diamond shaped mark along your right hip bone. As if someone pinched the skin too long, waiting for the day their mark would finally lay down roots.

“Okay, call me cheesy, but - if we get round two at life, I hope you have a cute lil’ mark on your hip. That’s where I always and poke you ‘cause it’s, like… my favorite soft spot.”

Deuce seeks your lips like one does a cellphone signal on a deserted island. Your first kiss left him shipwrecked with no means of returning back to the life from which he came. He adores how you melt into him, when you grasp at his blazer for support and your knees grow weak. Your lips are more reward for his hard work than any trophy or praise. Deuce is a simple, greedy man. He will not shy from your affection once he’s been exposed to how wonderful it makes him feel. Every opportunity is seized like it might be his last, because deep down he fears that one day it may be.

In the next life, you are born with a split lower lip. As if someone latched on, biting until they were forced to let go.

“If I mess up and we don’t end up together next time… then maybe you’ll have a mark on your lips. So you’ll remember that I - I really loved kissing you. Even if I was nervous.”

Ace plays his tricks best when there is no one else around to catch him in the act. Not a soul in sight is there to steal your attention, and surely no thought or reason compares when he makes a canvas out of your stomach. He thrives on how your muscles tense with laughter, pulling you down so he can kiss from belly button to ribs. It never fails to earn all your attention, letting some linger and purposefully guiding your shirt up for better access. His attack always ends with a kiss morphed into blowing a raspberry. Your poor excuse for a glare sweeter than any fruit, and even better once it melts to a wobbly smile.

In the next life, a heart shaped birthmark sits right next to your belly button. It’s a dead give away to your most ticklish spot, as if someone already discovered your secret and never forgot to abuse it.

“Tch - fine, fine. If I gotta make a wish or whatever? Then I hope you get a mark on your stomach. ‘Cause that’s where I always dunk my head when you laugh like a dying seagull - yeesh! Ow! Ow! Okay! ‘Cause it’s soft, alright?! …Sheesh.”

Leona’s best caught when you are unaware. Which means his most tender affection is a secret between him and your dreams. When his body is grounded by an ‘otherworldly’ pressure, making reality move slow enough that sunset might never come. Not when you’re in his arms - relaxed and curled against him - and suddenly he can hold the world in his hands. Leona’s tail purposefully coils around your waist, his fingers leather-clad and gentle as he brushes the hair from your neck. One goal on his mind once your scent hits with a wave of euphoria, and his lips brush your nape before he thinks any better of it. His lips linger - greedy for every second - as his eyes close and other senses take over. His breath against your skin, the brush of a fang, the lazy drag of his fingers along your hairline… this is the kind of intimacy he understands. Something simple. Something real. Something instinctive. You wake to his forehead pressed against the spot, ‘genuine’ snores biding his time with his precious, ‘otherworldly’ weight.

In the next life, a faint, tawny mark curls along the nape of your neck like the echo of a possessive nuzzle. Such a tender spot tucked away, your vitals protected as if the world knew someone would earn your trust and discover it. That they would protect you too.

“…Tch. If you’re gonna forget everything else, then at least remember that spot. It’s where I rest my head when I’m tired. Best pillow I ever had… so you’ll remember who you belong with.”

Ruggie has access to the tastiest snack on campus. All he has to do is slink up behind you and take a bite. His kisses are an ambush, nipping skin between his teeth with snickers getting lost in your clothes. He bides his time, waits for an opening, and like the prize at a bazaar he sucks in a large chunk of your cheek like it’s the sweetest, freshly fluffed mochi after new year. There’s no such thing as empty calories to this hyena, and you’re enough to stall his grumbling tummy in between meals. He’d never say it out loud but you truly are made of ‘sugar, spice, and everything nice’. Though it’s portrayed by the laughter whistling through his teeth as he peppers a few stray pecks over where he eagerly feasted.

In the next life, your cheeks dimple even when a smile isn’t seen. As if someone poked the holes in place with their fangs and adored how healthily round they are.

“Heh - if we get another shot at living, I hope you keep a mark on your cheek. ‘Cause I don’ know if I’ll be lucky enough to have you a second time…still not sure what I did to deserve the first. I’m always squishin’ that spot anyway. Would be nice if you remembered who made ya smile.”

Jack never fails to let a kiss linger. Our greatest regrets are actions avoided. For a man built upon his dedication and restraint, those extra seconds feel like a lifetime he would willingly live over and over again. The weight of his love pressed into your temple in a gentle, yet fierce devotion. No matter the situation, he makes a point to let his lips press deep before letting himself linger those extra seconds. It’s where he sees you thinking, worrying, dreaming. When he rests his forehead lightly against yours, it’s a gesture of trust he doesn’t give to anyone else. He’s careful with you - thumb brushing your temple when he checks if you’re tired, lips brushing the same spot when he wants to reassure you but doesn’t have the courage to say it. He follows with a brief peck to ensure his point is clear before pulling away. Be it with a word with himself or one you are lucky enough to hear muttered under his breath. Jack never fails to leave a piece of him with you each time.

In the next life, a mole sits against your temple like a third eye. As if someone put every piece of themself there across a lifetime, along with their earnest wish for your safety and happiness.

“…If this whole reincarnation thing is real… then I hope you get a mark on your temple. I don’t want the next me to forget that you trusted me. He’ll work to earn it just like I have.”

Azul is a lover of shiny things. His mint coins call him to be admired and valued day by day. Yet there is no greater sparkle worth his admiration than the pearl sitting upon your left ring-finger. From the moment he dared to call you his, Azul traced circles over your finger with his thumb. Every moment he held your hand was an opportunity stolen to press a chaste kiss over where he knew a promise would soon stay. With time his plans came to fruition, yet the habit never ceased. He merely moves to the knuckle, reinstating his greatest contract with assurances of his love spoken clearly into your skin.

In the next life, a mole no bigger than a speck hides on the inside of your left ring-finger, to the side of your knuckle. Anyone who comes close enough would be remiss not to notice it. As if another was greedy enough to stake a claim over you across multiple mortal coils.

“…A-ah… well. If we’re discussing future lives, then - if it’s not too presumptuous - I’d like a mark on your ring finger. The… one I was always too cowardly to claim. Maybe the next version of me will manage to say what he feels early on, so we have as much time as possible together.”

Jade loves how your lips part with bated breath. When he's found the most opportune moment to slide to your side and whisper musings into your ear. Be his words a reminder of the day or a dip into his most depraved thoughts. The context is irrelevant when what he's after is far more interesting. When his breath tickles and his hands find your waist - holding for mere moment, only to punctuate whatever he says with a kiss to the shell of your ear and pull away. You're left flush and dazed...not a word comprehended yet he can't so much as pretend to mind.

In the next life, the beauty mark behind your ear is a tough one to spot. You're hardly aware it's there most days, yet it always makes an admirable appearance when the time is right. Be it when you slip on a new pair of earrings, or brush past while tucking away a stray hair.

“Mm… if destiny chooses to rewrite us, then I hope you have my mark upon your ear. That is where you let me whisper secrets… and where you always leaned closer.”

Floyd is a natural explorer. His teeth guide him where they yearn to sink in like a compass, and it is always set on where your softest parts stay hidden. He can steal a bite from your shoulder by edging your collar away, or nibble along your arms with permission granted if it means he’ll go along with your tide for a time. Yet his teeth sink into your thighs without restraint whenever they can. He only has access to them when there are no other fish swimming about. He can enjoy the feel of you without regard for anything else. How it’s like biting into a pillowy marshmallow that squirms and knows him by name. Yet above all else, you taste the best when plated up for him alone.

In the next life, arced marks stretch across your inner thighs as waning crescent moons. They start off small when you’re a baby and resemble a thin strip. Yet as you age, the skin stretches and it appears as if the marks are smiling at you. As if someone is laughing each time you explain them to another. Like a game you’d never win.

“Next life? Hah! Fun! Then I want ya to have a mark riiight on your thighs. ‘Cause that’s where I like holdin’ ya the most. Makes ya squeak so cute~ The next me better remember exactly how to grab ya.”

Kalim feels blessed by the sun when you smile into a kiss. The way your lips pull against his and teeth knock together like bumbling youths in the hall. Such sweetness makes him richer than any man in the universe, and when you laugh? He jumps to steal your breath eagerly and holds you tight until your knees grow weak. His days are brighter when you're within arms length, and fireworks burst when you become just as greedy for his happiness. There are many things in life that Kalim has done poorly - that he will get wrong - but each time you kiss him? Well, there is no doubt he's done one move right...and that's all Kalim needs to keep going.

In the next life, a stripe of vitiligo darkens your upper lip. The contrast is notable enough to give an almost cartoonish contrast whenever you smile. It immediate catches the eye of whoever you meet, and always starts a conversation that ends with your charm on full display. As if someone felt gratitude beyond the stars that your happiness was theirs to cherish, and wanted everyone to appreciate the treasure that is your smile.

“Ooh! Then I want a mark on your smiling lips! That way, even in the next life, I’ll know that I’m the reason you look that happy!”

Jamil will kiss the length of your arms like a second calling. His vice is that there is only so much time in the day, and it isn't nearly enough to truly reach every inch of your skin. His affection is tamed until the doors are closed. Then he reaches for the first part of you he sees and all the pressure keeping his spine pulled taught exchanges with indulgence. From your fingertips, to your forearms, up your biceps - pausing to pull you closer and brush his fingertips over your shoulders. Once you've lost every thought that isn't of him, he passes the arc and continues the path down your opposite arm. He ensures each kiss is weighted, so that you will not forget them overnight and not even through the next day. If you dare lower your arms then he will hold them outwards on his own. In fact, he prefers it that way. Let him be lost in everything you taunted at length in daylight. Let him forget his troubles in you every night and he will consider it the first sign of a god's existence.

In the next life, your arms are decorated with a dusting of freckles. The contrasting sort that could not be hidden without a thick layering of oil based concealer. At a distance you are a painting to behold, covered in dotty coils that practically demand to be counted. As if someone unknown challenged all to try, knowing that their existence would be in the spotlight this lifetime.

“…If we have to do this all over again, then… let there be my marks across your arms. That’s where I always touch you without thinking. Maybe the next me won’t run from that.”

Vil’s touch is unmistakably intentional, always. With you, the pretense falls away - his hands glide down your spine not to sculpt perfection, but to feel the warm, fragile life beneath his palms. He massages the tension from each vertebra with a tenderness he rarely allows the world to see. And afterward, he presses lingering kisses along the same line, a ritual he performs as if sealing devotion into your very bones. He treasures this place because your spine - straight, vulnerable, essential - reminds him that even beauty needs support, and that he wishes to be yours.

In the next life, a delicate stroke of color runs down your spine, soft as powdered henna. You never see it without feeling a strange calm, as if hands you’ve never met are smoothing along your back.

“If fate grants us a second act, then let a mark run along your spine. That is where my hands always travel after a long day… and where my caress tells you what words fail.”

Rook adores your inner palms with a reverence bordering on worship. To him, they are the softest, most revealing part of you - unguarded, intimate. He holds your wrist like he’s catching a falling star, guiding your hand up to his lips while maintaining unwavering eye contact. He kisses your palms not out of passion alone, but out of awe; they are the hands that have reached for him, comforted him, trusted him. In every kiss, he is declaring: I see you. I choose you. I love you. I am yours. Encore, encore.

In the next life, faint markings bloom across your palms, like jagged scars but without the pain endured to earn them. You feel warmth there whenever you stretch your hands toward something beautiful. As if they are the traces of a hunter’s devotion - his eternal vow carved into the most vulnerable part of you.

“Oho! Then I wish for deux marques upon your lovely palms! So that when we meet again, mon amour, I may lift your hands, kiss them, and declare - ‘Ah! I have found you at last, mon coeur.’”

Epel loves flustering you - it’s a secret he poorly hides behind his boyish grin and the bite of his accent. The way your breath stutters under his lips, the warmth that blooms beneath his mouth, the hitch in your voice when he nips your collar - he lives for it. He loves to have you shivering beneath him, flustered with no two words stringing together a coherent sentence. It’s the highest praise he can ever hope for. It proves he can affect you as deeply as you affect him. Your neck makes him feel capable, powerful, desired. When his hands cradle the sides of your throat, he isn't trying to dominate you; he’s savoring the closeness, the unspoken trust.

In the next life, a faint bite-shaped mark sits at your collar, as if someone pressed their mouth there again and again until the memory stuck. Every time heat rises to your neck in embarrassment, it stands out. As if a brazen fool forever damned decorum in one final push to be seen for the fire in their heart.

“If we’re startin’ over again… then I want a mark on your neck. Right where you get all flustered. I - I like seein’ you like that. And I want the next me to remember it.”

Idia loves the top of your head because it’s the one place he can touch without combusting from embarrassment. He pretends he’s just messing up your hair - “It’s totally a crit buff!” - but his fingers linger a bit too long, threading through your locks with shy affection. When he pats your head, he avoids eye contact like it’s a final boss fight if pure will, but the gesture is tender, earnest, grounding. Your crown is the safest point of intimacy for him: you can’t see his face turn pink, can’t watch him short-circuit while trying to act casual. It’s where he goes when he wants comfort without vulnerability, affection without panic. His face buried in a soft pillow that smells like fruity soap and impulse decisions. The perfect spot to string nonsensical ramblings together on the chance of peppering a kiss in between. It’s a game of timed attack so you don’t notice…And sometimes - rarely - he presses his forehead to the top of yours, as if sharing data through the warmth of your skin.

In the next life, a persistent cowlick forms at your crown, rising no matter how you brush it down. It always tilts in the direction of comfort, like a phantom hand just ran through your hair.

“U-uh—o-okay so, hypothetically—If we get Isekai’d into a next life DLC, then… maybe you’ll have a little cowlick? In the same spot I, uh… 'p-pat' when I get brave for 0.2 seconds. Maybe next-life-me won’t need a whole loading screen to touch you again.”

Malleus cherishes your chest because it is the place he feels truly welcomed - invited, even. When you let him rest his head against your heart, his composure melts; his lashes lower, his breath slow, his arms circle you with reverence. Few have ever held him without fear, without duty, without trembling awe. But you? You cradle him as though he is something precious, someone worthy of protection. And in those moments, he believes it. He presses soft, lingering kisses over your heart as if thanking it for beating for him.

In the next life, a warm-hued mark blooms over your heart, shaped like a curved thumbprint. You feel comfort whenever someone embraces you chest-to-chest, as if a familiar weight has settled there.

“…If the threads of fate truly allow us a future life, then grant a mark over your heart.That place… is where you allow me to rest, where you hold me as if I’m someone in need of protection.In the next life, I wish to find that closeness again.”

Lilia delights in greeting you with cheerful, outrageous affection - appearing upside down, behind you, from thin air - to bop your nose with a dramatic “mwah!” But beneath the theatrics lies genuine tenderness. Your nose is the one place he can kiss lightly, playfully, constantly, without overwhelming you. He loves the way you wrinkle it when flustered, the way a simple nose kiss can brighten your entire mood. It’s his favorite because it makes you laugh, because it reminds him that affection doesn’t always need grandeur.

In the next life, a small rosy tint sits at the tip of your nose, deepening whenever you’re happy. Children often tell you you look like you’ve just been kissed by jack frost. They’re not wrong...although it's a different impish, magical being who is responsible.

“Fu fu fu~! Then let there be a tiny mark upon your nose! Perfect for my greetings, my kisses, and my endless teasing - no matter how many lives we tumble through!”

Sebek treats your hand like something sacred - grasping it with knightly precision, bowing over it with rigid posture, brushing his lips against the back in gestures he pretends are mere formality. He notices everything. The way your tendons shift when you move, the steadiness of your grip, the strength that belies your softness. He presses his lips there longer than social convention demands, each kiss is firm, reverent, almost ceremonial. And when he takes your hand in both of his, thumb brushing over your skin, he feels something fierce and grounding. Devotion. The back of your hand is where he recognizes you not as just someone to protect, but someone worthy of unwavering loyalty and admiration. Someone who makes him want to be better.

But in another truth, he adores this place because kissing your hand lets him show devotion without losing control. The back of your hand is courtly, proper, respectable - yet intimate enough to make his ears burn. It lets him honor you without betraying just how deeply he feels.

In the next life, a pale band of color stretches across the back of your hand, like the memory of a knight’s kiss. It warms whenever you clasp someone in greeting, as though expecting a familiar bow.

“IF - AND ONLY IF - WE MUST PANDER TO THE HANDS IF FATE…! Then let a mark be placed on the back of your hand! S-so that when I kneel and press my lips to it in the next life, you will know it is to you whom I once spoke a vow!”

Silver cherishes your eyes with a gentleness that softens even the firmest parts of him. When he touches your face, his hands are feather-light, brushing your eyelids as though afraid you’ll break beneath his fingers. He kisses your eyes when waking you gently, or when tears gather - a promise of protection sealed in the softest place. Your eyes are where he sees the truth of you, where emotion pools without disguise. They’re his sanctuary: two mirrors reflecting peace, affection, and clarity he rarely feels in his dream-laden world. He favors your eyes because in their gaze he finds grounding, and in their closing beneath his lips, he finds trust.

In the next life, soft speckled markings appear just beneath your eyes. They echo the places where someone once soothed your tears and carried a quiet devotion. Gentle dustings that draw others in, just so they might glimpse into your eyes and feel a drop of the comfort they are capable of providing.

“If we are reborn into new mornings… then I wish for a mark near your eyes. That way, even the next me will remember where to kiss you awake.”

Skully touches your face with the sort of reverence one usually reserves for rare works of art. He never grabs or startles - his gloved fingertips approach as though asking permission, tracing the line of your cheek, brushing beneath your eye, cupping your jaw with the delicacy of a gentleman who knows exactly how precious you are. When he kisses your face, it’s with a slow, unhurried tenderness that makes the world fall still. Each kiss feels like a stanza he’s memorizing. He favors your face because it holds every expression he treasures: every smile he’s earned, every worry he wants to soothe, every glance that softens only for him. It is the part of you he studies with quiet devotion, believing that to love someone’s face is to understand the soul it reflects.

In the next life, subtle shadow-like marks settle over the plains of your face, as if left behind by hands that once shaped affection into every contour.

"I have ghosted your features countless times… with the back of my hand, with my lips, with a reverence I dare admit aloud. Should another me wander through another era, I want him to feel this same pull - as if his very soul remembers the pattern of your skin beneath his kiss. Let the next version of me find you at the proper time, and think, ‘Ah. There you are. At long last.’"

Rollo touches your wrists with a restraint that borders on worship. He always begins with a hesitance, as though afraid he might overstep, before gently taking your arm and brushing his thumb over the delicate veins beneath your skin. It is a place that frightens him - the pulse there, so vulnerable, so fervently alive - and yet he is drawn to it with aching fascination. When he kisses the inside of your wrist, he closes his eyes, breath trembling, as if the warmth of your blood softens something iron-clad inside him. Your inner wrists are his favorite because they remind him of what he desires yet fears: unguarded humanity, fragile life, a fire that could warm him instead of consume. And deep down, he knows you trust him enough to offer that tenderness.

In the next life, faint, circular sigils appear along your inner wrists. Their meaning most curious and stumping doctors the moment you entered this world. A bit of magic in a world without, tainting you for this otherwise simple life. One you will stumble through, naive to what it is you carry.

“…If reincarnation is real, then… let there be my mark upon your inner wrists. That is where your pulse reminds me you live without fear. Perhaps the next me will understand that sooner and better prepare himself.”

Fellow Honest is a connoisseur of subtle intimacy, and your jawline is a banquet of temptations he never quite resists. He loves guiding your chin upward with a gloved finger, forcing your eyes to meet his with a slow, deliberate tilt. He traces the sharp edge of your jaw with a thumb, smiling when he feels you tense beneath his touch. When he kisses your jawline, it’s half-devotion, half-possession … a mix of velvet-soft affection and the calculated charm he wields so effortlessly. This place is his favorite because it skirts the boundary between propriety and desire. Your jaw is where elegance lives, where vulnerability meets defiance, where a single breath can betray everything you’re trying to hide. And Fellow loves nothing more than uncovering what you try to conceal.

In the next life, a faint, sculpted line appears along your jaw, like the path carved by reverent fingers and lingering kisses.

“Heh… if we meet again, I’d like a mark along your jaw. That way, when I lift your chin next time… I’ll remember exactly how to kiss you.”

Neige adores your cheeks with a kind of sunshine-soft affection. To him, they’re the most expressive part of you - the place where your emotions bloom before you speak, where joy dawns like morning light. He’s constantly reaching out without thinking, brushing a stray hair aside just to feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. And oh, the way he lights up when you blush… it’s like watching glitter fall. He peppers your cheeks with gentle, fluttering kisses whenever he can, giggling softly as though every touch is a secret between just the two of you. Your cheeks are where he sees you happiest. Where he feels closest to the real, unguarded you.

In the next life, a soft, rosy birthmark appears on your cheek - warm, gentle, like the echo of a kiss that never faded.

“Ooh! If there’s a next life, then I hope you get a mark on your cheeks!That’s where I always kiss you when you’re being extra adorable - ah, but I guess that’s all the time, isn’t it?”

Chen’ya adores your knees for reasons he never fully explains - mostly because he prefers watching you try to figure him out. He’ll vanish, reappear crouched in front of you, and poke the soft spot behind your knee just to hear your surprised yelp. He kisses them when he’s feeling mischievous, nipping lightly before darting away with a cheshire grin. Yet beneath all the chaos, there’s affection in the way he holds your knee with both hands, thumbs brushing soothing circles, eyes softer than usual. Your knees tell him stories - how you tremble when you’re excited, how you bend when you’re relieved, how you lean into him when you’re tired. He likes this place because it’s vulnerable in an unexpected way, a small secret gateway to your reactions, your balance, your movement. And maybe because he loves being the reason they buckle.

In the next life, swirling marks form over your kneecaps, curling like painted wisps of smoke. They tingle whenever you’re startled, warm when someone kneels before you with affection.