𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𓅫 ⚘.𖡼.𖥧.𖤣

Character Card: Love Unto(「こんな愛の形を君に」  "This Form Of Love For You" ("unto" in this case may mean "wholly encompassing"--that is 'love of everything about you'. However "like unto' is an archaic phrase that just means 'similar to' or 'conforming to', which would also fit Elias--adapting himself to the best partner for you, just as he plays other roles.)) Skill: Sweet Nothings(「戯れの甘言」  "Flirtatious Sweet Talk") Fully Awakened Skill: Dark-Roasted Love(「深煎りの純愛」  "Dark Roast Coffee Love") Warding Card: The Flowered Path To You(「君へ続く花道」  "Proceeding Along The Flowered Path To You" (花道 can be used to refer to a raised path leading towards a stage so "Proceeding Along The Path To You At The Altar" would probably also work))

Gacha is gambling, banners rerun, if you choose to pull on any gacha please gamble responsibly! Set limits for yourself, stick to them, keep an eye on your money because it's easy to carelessly overspend online and you will not be refunded! If you're struggling with a gacha game addiction or other gambling addictions, remember that help is out there and there's no shame in seeking it! Recovery is not a straight upward momentum! Even if you stumble or fall you can do it!

Nope still not better at Japanese 👎🏾 maybe someday

To a certain degree, it's pretty normal to conduct yourself differently around different people, even when they're all friends. If somebody isn't being straightforward towards you with their feelings, it isn't necessarily out of maliciousness! Sometimes it's just a matter of that they didn't think it was important for you to know or thought it'd burden you, even if it related to you! Keeping secrets isn't necessarily a sign of being untrustworthy.

Okay that's it sleep well see you next time~

1. If you don’t finish your food at a restaurant or at home, he WILL eat the rest of it. Since he is a food vacuum, you don’t have to worry about wasting food, but you DO have to worry about going broke from buying food/groceries🤣

2. Whether you’re at a dining table at home or sitting at a booth in a restaurant, he wants to eat next to each other and refuses to sit across from you. (Adding my two cents, I think eating side by side is much more intimate, and it is also my personal preference for that reason. I wonder if he feels the same way. If that’s the case, his insistence that MC should eat next to him is even more telling about his feelings towards her.)

3. He’s exhibited similar behavior to Jin, in the sense that he does not give a fuck about how much something costs, especially when it comes to someone he cares about. (MC *cough* *cough*)

He’ll just give you his wallet or his card and let you go crazy, since it’s easier to give you the freedom to get whatever you want than to go through his fuzzy memories to figure out the best thing to get you.

On the contrary, if you point out something, he will buy it for you without even looking at the price, no questions asked. You want it? Then that’s the only valid reason he needs to spend the money. He will make sure you feel spoiled and are financially taken care of. Don’t expect the most sentimental gifts from him though.

Stop saying, “If he wanted to, he would.”

HE WILL, because he wants to😩

I had to make a part 2 because it won’t let me put more than 10 pictures on here.

You sigh, and flap a folder of documents against Taiga’s gun. “Your forms for the week.” 

The door creaks open further to reveal a frowning Taiga. “No.” 

He lets you into his room all the same, though, so you follow when he turns tail to sprawl back onto the red plush of his bed. 

You shuffle the forms out of their folder as you enter. “Three forms this week. Two from Romeo and one for a mission report.” 

(You’d learnt not to mention Hyde by name long ago, after he tossed you out one too many times for asking.) 

Taiga groans, taking the pen you hand him. He signs his name with a disgruntled flourish, then waves you away. You think you see a hint of a pout on his lips, but you daren’t quite believe it. “Go bother Lulu, I wanna nap.” 

“Wait,” you say. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I have a… a gift for you.” 

Taiga stares at you for a moment before shrugging. At the curious raise of his eyebrows you pull out a bracelet from the inside of your blazer. Its white beads are laced with tiny glinting plastic beads that catch the low candlelight and reflect blood-red sparks around the dying sunlight of the room. It is light in your palm, a barely there reminder of the culmination of an afternoon’s work, and as you slip it into Taiga’s waiting palm the cheap acrylic look almost like rubies. 

Taiga squints at the white beads that have landed in his hand. “B-T-H?” 

You shift. “That’s what Romeo calls you, isn’t it? Whenever you look at it you’ll remember to reply his texts.” 

Taiga’s laugh startles a smile out of you. He holds it up to the light. “He didn’t put ya up to this, did he. Doesn’t look like his kinda beads.” 

You rub your neck. You doubt you could afford Romeo’s ‘kinda beads’. “No, I made it myself. Made one for all of us so you’d remember who we were.” 

(You did make one for Romeo so as not to leave him out, after all; you just don’t know if he’d accept something so cheap.) 

Taiga hums. The ease at which he accepts your gift is mildly discomfiting; as he slips the elastic over his fist the beads look like a crown of blood. 

His eyes flicker over to yours, zeroing in on where your arms are crossed over your chest. He smiles, something sharp and mischievous that burns an inferno up the sparks of your skin. “Ya made one for yourself, kitty-cat?” 

You shift your weight to your other foot. “Yeah.” 

“What does yours say?” 

You fidget with the beads wrapped around your wrist. It’s a little embarrassing to read it out loud, now that you’re confronted with Taiga himself, but Taiga raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth, and you find yourself blurting, “Dumbass #1.” 

Taiga pauses. His mouth snaps shut before a slow grin unfurls across his face. “And who the fuck is Dumbass #2?” 

You frown. “Ritsu.”

“Who?” 

“What– he’s–“ you catch sight of the glee in Taiga’s eyes– “Oh, never mind.” 

Taiga throws his head back and laughs, a loud cackle that paints the whole room yellow. He runs a hand through the fire of his hair. “I’ll remember.” 

You doubt it, but that’s what you made the bracelets for anyway. 

Taiga stands, one fluid motion that brings him off the sofa and straight to your face. You nearly jerk back from the sudden proximity, but his fingers trail down your arm, lacing itself into the back of your hand before bringing it up to his lips. 

Time stops, then, in the sun of the room. 

What is it like to hold a predator, his ruthless and reckless turned soft in the heart of your palm? To have him wrap your hand around his cheek, cradling him, like he knows you are not afraid of a star so bright and lightless and burning? 

His eyelashes brush your fingers. He sighs, the quiet huff warm against your fingertips. The thump of your heart echoes loud in your ears as he melts into your hold, pliant and trusting, like you are the only thing keeping him from floating away on strains of blood and hunger, and when he opens his eyes to look down at you it feels all too much like a surrender. 

“Thank you,” Taiga hums. His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, not coloured with its usual tone of frustration or boredom but a raw honesty that melts right from the whiskey of his lips onto where he is bruising a kiss onto the tilt of your thumb– 

-before his teeth catch on the elastic cord of Dumbass #1 and yank it clean off your wrist. 

The beads scatter around the floor of the room, pearly white pieces bouncing off the black marble. Each rattle of fallen bead rings in your ears – just like that, an afternoon’s work disperses itself and slides under pieces of furniture, never to be seen again. 

“Taiga,” you breathe, brows furrowing, but before you can begin to process the sting of rejection from Taiga’s actions, soft lips press themselves against the inside of your wrist. 

His hand, warm on the outside of yours, curls your fingers around the smooth of his cheek. “Kitty-cat.” 

Your eyes meet. His luminous green eyes swallow all the light in the room, threaten to swallow you, whole. 

You daren’t move. 

Your thumb stays on his cheek, even as his hand leaves yours to curl around your bare wrist. 

But then Taiga’s eyes narrow, and he grins, all shark and glow, hair falling like blood into the sharp of his gaze. “Make another one,” he says, and kisses your wrist again, for good measure. His teeth graze your pulse. 

alan walking into the kitchen post-run to see you laughing with sho about something again. your sparkling laugh warms into something gentle when you notice him walk in. you reach for him, curl yourself into his arms, smile sweetly up at him but all alan can think about is the way the kitchen is suddenly a lot quieter. he’s never made you laugh the way sho does. suddenly the way you’re leaning into his chest feels all wrong.

clears his throat. he should probably talk to you about it. opens his mouth to tell you we need to talk, but you’re already pulling away from his chest, hopping off the stool, leaving him empty. (is this cold what it’s like to be without you? for someone who can carry everything by himself it feels… like an ache not to have your weight in his arms.)

but you’re tugging on his hand and cheerfully waving a goodbye to sho, and alan has no choice but to stumble after you to his bedroom. alan isn’t one for overthinking, but perhaps... perhaps you’ve come to the same realisation he did, came to the same conclusion that there is someone out there better for you, someone who can make you laugh until your stomach hurts, make the room brim with your light. perhaps you’ve finally realised what he’s known all along, that these hands were only made to hold and handle and never to bring joy.

pulling alan into the bedroom and pushing him into the bed and he thinks that you’re— but you’re sinking into his lap, lips hot and messy on his, and his hands automatically find home on the curve of your waist. sighing into his mouth how much you’ve missed him today. spent the entire evening prepping for the food truck with sho but all you could think about was having alan’s hands on you.

alan blinking. you… you looked like you were enjoying yourself, with sho. hands unconsciously curling tighter around you.

you wiggle in his lap, settling comfortably (alan tries to ignore the effect it has on him when you grind down unintentionally). you were, but you were waiting for him to come back from his run. waiting to feel his skin under your own, his mouth on yours. looking up at alan, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. spent the whole time waiting to hear the rumble of his chest when he pushes into you. please?

alan doesn’t have a way with words. you know this. everyone knows this, most of all him. when his thighs tense under you and he swallows you can already guess something is up. you reaching up and brushing his hair away from his eyes when his gaze darts away from you. what’s wrong?

but he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to pull you closer. kisses you roughly, all tongue and teeth. you’ll know what he means, right? read him like you always do? read the heat of his tongue on yours, grip of his hands on your hips, know that he’s telling you he needs you?

your thighs pressing tighter around his legs when he kisses down your jaw. alan’s needier than usual tonight, hands tightening around your hips to grind you down on him. more vocal, too, grunting down your neck when you respond to him, rock your hips against where he is hardening under your core. there’s something up with alan tonight, you think, and you’ll figure it out just after he… you.. ah, Alan—

🌶️🔞⬇️

in a daze you realise he’s just left his first hickey on you, red and stinging on the side of your neck. way above the collar, too, a loud mark that you know will show tomorrow. it makes you… proud, almost. badge of honour, straight from your captain. when you breathe out his name, needy and high, he grunts. moves his lips to the other side of your jaw, teeth scraping down sensitive skin. his hands are bruising you, almost, so tight on the flesh of your hips that the only way you can move is back and forth, rubbing wet against the front of his jogging shorts. it’ll bloom a pretty purple tomorrow, you’re sure. you take a delight in that.

but why— his lips release from your neck with a pop when you push him back slightly. his eyes are half-lidded, dark, looking down at you fierce. it’s a different look from what you’re used to. when your brows furrow he looks down, away, almost like he’s… embarrassed? angry?

mutters a sorry under his breath, frustration with himself bubbling just under the surface of his skin, but you’re kissing him something sweet, something light, and alan dissolves under your tongue again. he’ll always melt for you. thumbs rubbing soft circles into the fat of your thighs. he’ll always be whatever you need.

but you pull back again to ask him if there’s something up, and alan freezes. stares at your lips. they’re downturned, and— he exhales. they’re never laughing, when you’re with him, never as bright as when you’re around leo and sho. you should be happy, he should— but you’re tapping a finger against the crease in his forehead, and he blinks. rubs the back of his neck. it’s nothing, really, just… you were laughing with sho just now and…

watches a smile unfurl across your face, melt into a laugh, sweet and confused. are you… jealous?

alan flushing, looking away. he. well. well. doesn’t expect you to start grinding down on him again, leaning back to tug your shirt off. you’re so… you murmur against his lips. your favourite himbo. alan freezing when your core catches on his tip, when your hips move in tiny circles and draw a groan from the heat of his throat.

doesn’t move until you shuck his shirt off, nails skating down his pecs to rest on his abs. being jealous of sho… sho may make you laugh but what does that mean against the way alan makes you happy? the way he warms every part of you when you get to see him crack a smile? the way he lets you kiss it off his face, sweet and intoxicating? the way you can picture doing that forever with him— cutting yourself off and looking up at him shyly, and all alan can do is to hold his breath, burning and trembling. forever is a long time. it doesn’t feel all that long now, if he’s honest, if it’s going to be with you.

alan leaning down to kiss you, gentle, chaste. chapped lips soft against yours, rubbing carefully until you’re pressing against him, lips parting breathless, gasping for more.

mumbling against his mouth, reaching down between you to palm at his jogging shorts. love the way he makes you feel. love the way he always has his hands on you, love the way he fills you with a strange sort of joy you can only identify as home.

pulling him out of his pants, giving him a tug. swallowing his groan, tongue tangling into his. love the way he makes you giggle, you know? whenever he can’t operate his phone. whenever he sends an accidental sticker. love the way he looks at you all fond whenever you fix his settings.

one fist working the base of his cock. the other thumb smoothing over where the sweetest pearls of precum have begun to bead out of his tip. love whenever he gets lost and has to call you. love whenever he sounds confused trying to describe his surroundings, love the way it makes you laugh. love the relief on his face when you finally show up, laughing, to take his hand.

pumping him faster, collecting his groans as you kiss down his neck. love the way he loses it sometimes, hmm? the way he grips you tight when you ride him, hips jerking up to slap against your ass. love the bruises he leaves, loves the burn of your thighs when he lifts you up to slam back down on him. love his strength and the way he handles you like you weigh nothing but the heat around his cock.

alan groaning, mouth falling open. abs flexing in his effort to keep upright. he should help you— but you’re swiping your thumb across his tip, lifting it to your lips, and oh— looking up at him, blinking. please, can you ride him? want to feel so full of him, want all of him in you— oh—

alan barely nodding. he knows he hasn’t prepped you, knows it’s going to be a stretch and it’s going to hurt you, but you’re already pulling your panties aside, sinking down on his tip— there are tears dancing on your lashes as you try to take more of him in, make more of him fit—

god, this sight of you above him. skirt bunched up around your hips, bra strap falling off your shoulder. creamy skin marked up with his jealousy from earlier. alan’s hand stuttering on your skin apologetically when he brushes a finger over the redness. he wants to say he’s sorry, but he watches you shiver in response, delighted noise floating from your open mouth— you’re so— could keep this vision of you forever. could cum against the bathroom tiles every morning to this.

but you’re sinking down, taking more of him into your wet heat, waiting for yourself to stop clenching around him to lift yourself off in an attempt to ease him in, and fuck—

something something managing to seat yourself nearly all the way eventually, heat fluttering around him in your effort. alan red and sweating beneath you with self-control. steel grip on your thighs when you start rocking back and forth. nearly cums when you moan, clit bumping against him with every pass, but holds back— he’ll hold back for you, let you use him—

speeding up, helped by the way his hands squeeze your ass, pushing you ever forward. kissing his forehead, breath short and panting against his sweaty skin, nails scratching against his shoulders. he’s so big, always fills you up just right, hmm? always feels so good stretching you out. trailing your lips across his cheek to kiss your words into his ear, kiss his nose. always makes you feel so full when you ride him, always makes you feel like you never want to let him go.

kissing him, hands cupping his face, tongue sticky on his, before murmuring a you’re always so perfect, alan, so good for me, and fuck— he can’t help it, can’t help the jerk of his hips upwards at your praise, the throb of his cock into your waiting heat— can’t help the way he spills into you, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as you milk rope after rope from him. riding him boneless and pliant until you’re fluttering around him, his name high on your moans, until your back arches under his touch and you’re cumming—