#zommari

Underappreciated character request, yayyyy~! :Dc

. . .

Zommari

Despite the distant, gnawing, ever-present feeling of wrongness at having another body so close, Zommari allows you this— this, being the right to reach out to him on your own terms, to show affection in the foreign, careless ways that come so easily to your kind. 

Humans are warm, flushed with life and the steady thrum of a pulse under his palm. Focusing on that helps keep him grounded, even when your mouth moves dangerously close to his skin. 

“...you’re comfortable like this?” he asks. Not hesitant, not disbelieving, just... curious, about what pleasure you find in this closeness. 

“Mhmm. Is it okay for you, too?” Your voice is a quiet hum against his skin; he can’t suppress how his body shivers in response. 

“It’s... acceptable. Not unpleasant, for now.” 

You kiss his cheek again. Easy. Comfortable. Like exposing yourself to a predator’s grasp is as natural as the little sigh of breath that follows. Clearly, you see some purpose in this... perhaps, he’ll come to understand it too.

Baraggan

Even in this position, Baraggan is about as still as the twisted, gnarled bone that makes up his throne. He lets you situate yourself in his lap with little more than a steadying hand on your waist— and then waits, just to see what his fearless little human will attempt.

The brush of your lips against his jaw earns only a low hum in response. His grip on you tightens just slightly; reacting to the sensation more than protesting the contact at all. 

“You’re awfully comfortable here,” he says eventually. “Mighty brave, offering yourself up to the king without fearing for your life,” 

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” is your reply, still calm and self-assured. 

He’d kill anyone else for the presumption alone... but with you, it doesn’t feel like disrespect. His most prized possession willingly settled close is only natural, Baraggan tells himself. 

There’s nothing strange about wanting to keep you near.

Di-Roy

He may be scrawny and weak by Arrancar standards, but your weight in Di-Roy’s lap is still nothing. It’s no problem at all, letting you settle in as close as you want, using him like some uselessly bony, sharp-edged pillow. 

...your teeth near his throat are another story. He doesn’t quite suppress the instinctive, jittery shudder when you press a few soft little kisses along his jaw, and of course, of course, you notice. Stupid human sensibilities, caring about shit like if you think he’s scared. 

“Was that too much?” you ask, all innocent and careful. It doesn’t even sound like you’re insulting him, which is somehow worse than the usual alternative. 

“Nope. It’s fine. Totally fine,” Di-Roy replies, aiming for relaxed and ending up with pathetically strangled and tense. 

You don’t call it out, or laugh at him for getting panicky over nothing. You just lay your cheek back down on his shoulder and nuzzle into his jacket like that’s just as nice as what you were doing before. 

“‘kay. But tell me if anything feels wrong, alright? I want to be good to you.”