meguruo

[meguruo]

◠◠ᩧ◠ ᩙᩙ 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰

todoroki touya x f!reader. sfw — comfort. established relationship ﾉ reader takes care of touya ﾉ mention of injury e.g touya’s burns ﾉ reader treats touya’s wounds ﾉ minor medical procedures slash first aid ﾉ implied past violence ﾉ mild angst ﾉ emotional vulnerability ♥︎ ﾉ not proofread

coco note 📝 eeeek.. for some reason, coco’s eyes weren’t cooperating, and proofreading this piece became unexpectedly difficult.. my apologies.. ̑̑ ko-fi

the night stretches endlessly, a velvet expanse painted in bruised indigo and midnight navy; the sky is a cathedral of shadow, heavy and infinite, its silence broken only by the faint shimmer of stars scattered like careless piercings through silk— fragile pinpricks of silver that pulse faintly, struggling against the weight of clouds that smother them, each shimmer a timid heartbeat in the vast stillness.

the moon hangs like a shard of pale porcelain, a delicate sickle suspended in the gloom, slicing at the darkness with quiet dignity. its glow is subdued, the soft pallor of a candle’s final flicker, contemplative, hesitant, like a sigh that has traveled across centuries.

clouds swell like bruises across the horizon, swollen and reluctant, fraying at their edges into one another like ribbons left to twist in the wind, obscuring the heavens with soft, imperious authority.

the air is thick with promise, pregnant with rain, carrying a chill that threads through your coat and curls around your bones; the scent of damp leaves rises in soft eddies, sweet and earthy, mingling with the tang of wet soil and the distant, metallic whisper of storm, murmuring secrets only the night can understand.

every step along the cobbled path becomes a note in a silent sonata, the stones glistening beneath your shoes like fractured glass, puddles rippling with memory and reflection, small mirrors of liquid silver that shiver under the press of your soles.

the brass doorknob greets your palm with a chill that seeps like ink into your skin, smooth, unyielding, yet intimate with the familiarity of countless returns; your fingers curl around it, twisting, coaxing, and the door exhales a low, contented groan as it swings inward to release you into warmth.

your home embraces you immediately, a tide of scent and heat that folds around your body and seeps into your marrow— the soft sweetness of a half-burnt vanilla candle lingering in the air, interlaced with the earthy musk of books that line the shelves like old companions, their spines leaning toward one another in quiet conversation.

the wooden floorboards creak underfoot, their voice low and welcoming, as though the house itself is pleased to open its arms.

the sofa sits slouched in the center of the room, overstuffed and familiar, cushions dented by the memory of your body, and it seems almost to sigh as your gaze falls upon it.

every corner breathes with your presence— the throw blanket folded on the armrest, the mug left on the coffee table with a ring of dried tea at its base, the faint ghost of your perfume lingering in the fabric of curtains. it is not grandeur, not perfection, but it is yours; and like the moon in its quiet watch above, it does not proclaim— it simply is.

and there— amidst the comfort, the domestic warmth, the ordinary yet sacred space of home— lies a figure you would recognize in shadow, silhouette, or half-light.

touya.

he's draped and folded into the cushions as though the furniture has grown around him, body angled in on itself in a posture that is neither fully rest nor collapse, long limbs drawn close, his head tipped back against the armrest, eyes half-shuttered beneath dark lashes. shadows cling to him like loyal companions, the lamplight skimming across his skin only in fragments and tracing the uneven ridges where scar tissue rises to the surface.

his burns are fresh tonight— you see it at once, in the angry bloom of crimson along the edges of his jaw where old scars meet new fire, in the thin rivulets of raw pink that break through the pale stretch of skin like fissures in cooled volcanic rock. they gleam faintly under the light, not with the heat of flame but with the sheen of something newly broken, tender, and stinging.

he is a map of contradictions— skin both paper-thin and iron-forged, sutured seams like constellations stitched by some careless god, his body a tapestry of survival written in scar tissue and ash. and yet—here he is, in your living room, tucked into the softness of a couch that seems almost comical beneath the weight of him, flame housed in fabric, ruin swaddled in domestic calm.

your chest tightens, a mixture of relief and sorrow curling through you; he has returned, yet he is wounded, and the intimacy of care becomes a tidal force that tugs at the corners of your heart.

you rise with quiet deliberation, padding across the wooden floor to retrieve the first aid kit, a small arsenal of ointments, gauze, antiseptic, and cotton pads you have meticulously prepared for nights like this.

the kit is heavy with potential, a repository of comfort and reassurance, each item a small talisman against pain, a promise that you can mend, soothe, and anchor him in the fragile harbor of your home. the scent of antiseptic mingles with vanilla and old paper, a fragrant hymn of preparation, of protection, of domestic ritual, grounding you before your fingers even touch his skin.

“touya,” you murmur, voice low and trembling like a bird’s wing in air, a whisper meant to weave safety around him. “let me take care of you.” your fingers brush his forearm, tentative, grounding, the warmth of his skin beneath yours a living tether, a reminder that he is here, that he trusts you.

he exhales sharply, a breath caught in the crossfire of fatigue and residual pain, and his lips twitch at the corners— a fragile mask of humour and discomfort.

“ya don’t hafta..” he mutters, voice rough, hoarse, the tremor beneath it betraying exhaustion he refuses to show.

“i want to,” you insist, soft and unwavering, your tone a river of warmth that curves around his edges. “i need to. it’ll only take a few minutes, and then you can rest.” your hands hover, tracing the warmth of his skin without pressure, digits moving like a painter preparing canvas, ready to smooth over the raised ridges and angry fissures, to knit comfort into his body as surely as you would a fragile cloth. “i’ve got you.”

he huffs faintly, almost a whisper of air, and for a heartbeat you imagine him resisting— but he does not. the quiet acceptance in his posture, the faint easing of rigid shoulders, is acknowledgment enough.

“you and your.. nurse act.” he mutters at last, voice brittle, teasing, though the jocoseness flutters weakly beneath fatigue and pain.

“maybe i just like excuses to touch you..” you reply, gentle, and you reach for the first burn along his collarbone. your fingertips brush lightly over the raised, tender skin, following the pattern of heat and scar like reading an ancient, secret language.

he inhales sharply, a sound caught between surprise and pain, yet he doesn't pull away. his fingers brush yours, almost unconsciously, anchoring himself in the moment, tethering trust and surrender to touch.

you knead the ointment over his sears with deliberate, careful strokes, smoothing, softening, coaxing the tension from each ridge, every tiny seam of scar and fresh injury. the lamplight glints off the ointment, catching in the shallow creases like tiny rivers of sunlight suspended in amber, a soft, ephemeral brilliance.

the warmth of your fingers travels across him like molten gold, a small, intimate tide that quiets the pulse of pain and draws a shallow peace over muscles knotted with tension.

“don’t fuss.” he murmurs, lips tight, voice brittle, shielding vulnerability.

“i’m not fussing.” you whisper, fingers lingering at his collarbone, brushing errant strands of hair from his forehead, tracing constellations of pain as if to read them, memorise them. “i’m taking care of you because you’re here, because you’re.. mine." you pause. "because i can.”

he closes his eyes, tension in his jaw softening imperceptibly, a single exhale escaping him— a concede to the quiet intimacy of your presence.

his body relaxes further into the cushions, subtle shifts of weight like water flowing, like smoke settling. the rise and fall of his chest slows, breath easing into the rhythm you create together, each inhalation a quiet drumbeat in the sanctuary you have fashioned.

your supple lips brush his temple, fingertips ghost over every ridge, every valley, cataloguing, tracing the lines of flame-marked skin softened into peace by your hands.

the minutes drift like petals upon water, slow, deliberate, each gesture a stanza in an unspoken poem of care. the scent of antiseptic, mingled with vanilla, heavy with domestic warmth, enfolds the two of you in a world apart from everything else. you watch his chest rise and fall beneath you, the muscles under the tender skin finally unclenching, shadows softening along his jaw and collarbone.

his head tilts further into the curve of your shoulder, every muscle unraveling like silk threads released from a spool, tension melting into the quiet gravity of your presence.

his fingers curl lightly against the fabric of his shirt, loose and tentative, as though trying to anchor himself in the warmth that surrounds him; the faint tremor of exhaustion drifts away like smoke dissipating into the night.

each breath he takes becomes a whispered hymn, a rhythm carried through the soft sanctuary you have built—one of touch, of care, of unspoken promises held in the curve of an arm and the brush of fingertips.

the rain outside taps against the windowpane, a gentle percussion echoing the ebb and flow of his chest, each drop a silver note in the lullaby of domestic serenity, a song you hum without sound.

his scars, the map of fire and survival etched across him, soften beneath your touch, edges fading as though the warmth of your hands could rewrite the past, and the jagged lines of his burns dissolve into rivers of light under the lamplight.

slowly, inevitably, the storm that clung to him all day— the heat, the pain, the burden of vigilance— simmers into something pliant.

he is molten wax in your palms, a vessel softened and held with gentle reverence. and there, in the hush between one heartbeat and the next, the universe narrows to the curve of his shoulder, the rise of his chest, the pattern of his breathing, and you realise, with a tenderness so acute it stings, that love is not always a blaze— sometimes, it's the quiet gravity that cradles a man home, the soft current that lets him drift without fear, the gentle insistence of warmth and presence that folds around him like a woven quilt, wrapping every scar, every tremor, every sigh in a sanctuary made entirely of care.

his eyelashes brush against the skin of his cheek, lamplight pooling across his features, softening the harsh lines of fatigue into gentle planes. outside, rain traces veins down the glass, but inside, the world has narrowed to the weight of his head against your shoulder, the rhythm of your fingers over scars that will never define him, now resting beneath the balm of your care.

and there, in the still golden-lit room, he drifts into sleep. every sigh, every tremor, every faint shiver of warmth folds into the quiet symphony of care you’ve woven around him— here, in this home, in this moment, he is safe, he is seen, and he is entirely yours.

[meguruo]

◠◠ᩧ◠ ᩙᩙ 𝓫𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓼𝓴𝓲𝓮𝓼

mihael keehl x f!reader. sfw — pure fluff ♥︎ ﾉ short fic slash blurb ﾉ established relationship ﾉ intimate moments ﾉ heavy focus on touch and closeness ﾉ emotional vulnerability ﾉ mutual adoration ﾉ sensual yet soft physicality ﾉ no dialogue ﾉ slow, tender pacing ﾉ reader-centered perspective ﾉ not proofread xx

coco note 📝 this is a beloved old draft, lovingly polished and reborn for sharing !! ̑̑ ko-fi

the moonlight's embrace envelops the room, its silvery tendrils reaching through the gossamer curtains to paint the space in a diaphanous glow.

the two of you lie together as one, your bodies intertwined in a dance of connection that is as effortless as it is intimate, the binding between you both as natural as the flow of time.

there is a quiet stillness in the air, a peaceful tranquility that blankets the pair of you like an eiderdown of tender snow, as if the very fabric of existence conspired to draw you together in this singular moment of divine alchemy.

your breath and heartbeats synchronize, each pulse of life echoing the other’s, creating a harmony so profound that it seems to resonate beyond the boundaries of the physical realm.

mihael’s digits gently trace the planes of your back, his touch feather-light as if afraid to disrupt the fragility of the bond between you. he’s a brash man of power and authority, yet in this moment, he is a tender suitor, a worshipper of your being, his fingers mapping the topography of your soul with an awe-inspiring reverence.

the room is a canvas painted in the hues of your shared emotions, the chiaroscuro of vulnerability and surrender casting shadows that dance upon the walls in an intricate ballet of love.

the world outside melts away into oblivion.

there are no more titles, no more expectations, just the quiet intimacy that blossoms within the sanctuary the two of you have carved for yourselves.

your bubble of seclusion feels like a cocoon spun from the finest silk, impenetrable from the prying eyes of the universe and its endless parade of chaos.

mihael’s thumb glides over the contour of your cheek, calloused yet tender, the roughness a testament to years of disciplined toil. the touch is a juxtaposition, a tender dichotomy mirrored in the press of his lips— feathery, like a poet's quill dancing on parchment.

each curve and angle of your face, he charts in the hushed silence— not of conquest or command, but of exploration and wonder at the mysteries he believes were written into the very marrow of your being.

your eyes meet like two magnets drawn to their north, a silent communion of gaze that speaks more eloquently than words ever could. the depth of your pupils reflect the endless possibilities that exist in the space between you, the shadows of his own stare mapping a silent dialogue that needs no voice to be understood.

you’re pulled closer, coddled in the nook of his shoulder as if you’ve always belonged against the solidity of his chest, his breath warm against your crown. he murmurs something indistinct like the low purr of a lion before the first light of morning, the words more vibration than sound against your skin.

you catch the words now and then, snippets of fondness and ardor, whispered like secrets into the hollows of your throat, their significance more poignant for the simple fact that they’re muttered only for your ears, meant solely for the chamber of your heart.

you shiver at the tickle of his voice, the timbre as familiar as a lullaby sung by your dearest kin. your fingertips trail over the ridges of his spine, running over each notch with the reverence of a pilgrim traversing holy ground. the muscles of his back ripple in response, flexing and unflexing in silent acquiescence, as if your touch is a benediction they could not refuse.

his grip on you tightens, a protective gesture, arms encircling you like unyielding bands of steel and silk, strong enough to shelter you from the world, yet soft enough to cherish all the fragility of your spirit.

the heat of his body seeps into yours, a furnace stoked solely to keep you tepid, the fire banked in his breast ignited at your mere nearness.

you’re acutely aware of every point of connection. the brush of your thigh against his, the press of his knee into the hollow of your pelvis—all serve to tether you firmly to this moment, keeping you anchored, adrift in a sea of sensations.

time seems to stretch and distort, the seconds elongated into eternities, yet never long enough. the hours pass with a languorous ease, the world outside the room moving forward while the pair of you linger in a momentary paradise, eventually lost to the heavy pull of slumber.

as sleep descends upon you, the last vestiges of consciousness cling to the edges of your mind, and before the world fades to black, a final thought crystallises in your mind.

‘if heaven exists, this must surely be its essence’.

[meguruo]

coco’s scriptorium — selfship writing comms !!

hello, my dearest friends of the forest !! 🦌🦌 i’ve opened my heart ( and pen 📝 ) to offer writing commissions !! a little sanctuary where your cherished f/o can blossom in delicate words and tender scenes xx below are the details of how we can bring your musings to life, sprinkled with gentle guidelines to keep everything clear and kind 🩷

types of commissions:

◜ £5 — f/o letter, a petite missive wrapped in warmth ( 100-200 words )

◜£10 — 400-800 words, a short tale to savour.

this is all i can manage for now without overworking myself !! 🥹🥹 i hope you can understand xx

reblogs are highly appreciated !! while i may be a fledgling in the working world, doors have often remained closed to me despite my yearning to contribute :( starting college soon, i am seeking ways to support myself. every commission is not just a story, but a step toward independence, toward dreams, toward sustaining my path as a young writer. your support matters more than words can capture, and it helps fuel my journey in more ways than one ♥︎

guidelines + gentle whispers..

⋆·˚ ༘ * lengths may vary slightly and be within the word limit, but your fee remains steady and fair.

⋆·˚ ༘ * i am delighted to venture into fandoms i may not know; if so, i will ask for your guidance to honor your beloved f/o faithfully !! i am more familiar with the fandoms provided below ^__^

↳ bllk ᦾ jjk ᦾ love and deepspace ᦾ genshin impact ᦾ haikyuu ᦾ my hero academia ᦾ honkai star rail ᦾ + more !!

⋆·˚ ༘ * no nsfw. purity, tenderness, and wholesome heartbeats only ٩(๑´0`๑)۶

⋆·˚ ༘ * your fic will be delivered within 2–3 weeks, in pdf format or sent straight to your inbox / dms—your choice, always !!

⋆·˚ ༘ * payment will be through my ko-fi only !!

questions, musings, or gentle inquiries ? please send them my way via discord @ hisfawn

[meguruo]

◠◠ᩧ◠ ᩙᩙ 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓮

bachira meguru x f!reader. sfw — hurt comfort. established relationship ﾉ reader has history of anxiety ﾉ reader here experiences a panic attack ﾉ physical touch during distress ﾉ mental health struggles && mentions of emotional exhaustion ﾉ emotional breakdown + crying ﾉ ‘princess’, ‘my love’, ‘my girl’, ‘baby’, ‘honeybee’ are used as petnames ♥︎ ﾉ not proofread

coco note 📝 a self indulgent piece i made to get myself back into the wave of writing !! i apologise if it doesn’t meet up to your standards 🤗

dried and anew, salty streams carve their way through the valleys and canyons of your face— a trail of wetness that stains the landscape and paints the surface in shades of sorrow. the waters cascade in a steady flow, the drops falling like a rainfall, a torrential deluge that batters your cheeks.

you sniffle, the sound akin to the call of a newborn cub, and wipe at the tears, the moisture smeared across the backs of your hands.

it does little to stop the flow, the wetness only smudging, the stain spread out over the canvas of your face, a mess of cosmetics that has become undone, the pigments streaked and runny.

you can barely see through the globbed mascara and ruined eye shadow, the blurry outline of a familiar figure barely discernible. but his touch is a tell, and the brush of his thumb against your knuckles has you grasping the appendage, the digits curling around the length and squeezing, clinging desperately, the hold tight, as if afraid to let go.

you’re not quite sure why your body reacts as it does, the tremble of your hands and the quiver of your lower lip, the involuntary shaking that rocks you to the core.

maybe it's the stress, or perhaps the exhaustion, the tiredness a heavy burden that weighs you down and drags at your very bones.

or perhaps it's the simple fact that you've reached your limit, the pressure having built up, the tension mounting until the dam has finally broken, and the emotions have spilled out, the torrential flood overwhelming you.

it's all too much, too fast, and the world is spinning, the axis tilted and the orbit of reality skewed.

you're caught off guard, thrown into a tailspin, and there's nothing you can do but hang on to the lifeline before you, an almost frantic search for a buoy to keep afloat.

"bee—"

the words come out more a wail than a plea, the sound a broken melody. it's a cry that shatters the quiet, the symphony a dissonance, the discordant notes grating against the silence.

your arms hung onto his right leg, the only part of his body you could reach from where you were sitting, and pressed the side of your face into the denim, the fabric rough against your cheek.

"i- i can't-"

the syllables are swallowed up by a sob, a hiccup that catches in the back of your throat and causes you to choke. the air feels like sandpaper, and the oxygen sticks to the roof of your mouth, a strange moisture coating your tongue.

you swallow past the lump and continue, the words spilling forth, tumbling from your lips in a torrent, the sounds merging together into an incomprehensible mess.

your brain struggles to keep up, the thoughts a blur, the sentences coming out in fragments.

"i'm trying- i really am- i swear- i-"

you hiccup and suck in a breath, the sound ragged and harsh, a gasp that rattles in your chest, the noise echoing within the confines of your ribcage.

the pressure is mounting, and the weight of the world is bearing down on you, the gravity increasing with each passing second, the crushing force threatening to break you.

these panic attacks used to be a rare occurrence, an anomaly in your otherwise mundane routine. but, lately, they've been occurring with a frequency that is worrying.

and the worst part is, you can't seem to find the source.

nothing seems to set them off, and the episodes are always unexpected, the onset sudden, with no forewarning.

one minute, you'd be fine, the next, the world would come crashing down, the foundations giving way beneath your feet, the earth cracking and splitting open, a gaping maw that swallows you whole.

it's a frightening experience, one that leaves you feeling helpless, powerless to stop the flow.

it's as if you're trapped inside a whirlpool, the currents tugging at you and pulling you down, deeper and deeper into the depths of despair.

bachira's grip on your hands tightens, his own fingers interlocking with yours, a tether that keeps you from drifting away.

"hey, hey, it's okay, princess. i'm here. i'm right here."

the reassurance is soft, the words gentle, a balm for your aching soul. he knows anxiety, and the pain it brings, the torment a familiar companion.

you're not alone.

"i know you're trying. and i know it's hard. but, remember what i said? about how it's okay to fail? sometimes, you have to fall apart in order to build yourself back up. and that's what we're going to do. together. you and me. just like we've done before. okay?"

you're not sure when he'd joined you on the ground, but you feel him before you see him, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the contact grounding.

"b-bee.."

the sound of his name brings him closer, and his arms encircle you, the hold a welcome shelter.

you burrow your face into the crook of his neck, the scent of him familiar and comforting, a soothing balm for your frazzled nerves.

"hey, there she is. you back with me?"

a nod is all the response you can muster, the motion stiff and jerky.

"good, good. just keep breathing, alright? nice and slow, just like that."

your hand is placed above his chest, and he inhales deeply, guiding you along, the rise and fall of his ribs a steady rhythm.

"can you feel it?"

a nod.

"just follow the pattern, my love. in and out…in and out.."

you lose track of time, the minutes bleeding into one another, the seconds stretching and distorting. your head is fuzzy— buzzing, like static on an old television.

eventually, though, the world begins to regain some semblance of order, and the fog clears, the haze dissipating.

your mind returns to its proper place, and the chaos of your thoughts begins to settle, the tumult slowly subsiding, the storm receding.

the panic that had been gripping you by the throat relents, and you slump forward, the tension draining out of you, the rigidity ebbing away.

your breaths are shaky, and your limbs feel heavy, the muscles weighed down, the exertion a burden. if only you could sleep forever.

"there you go, princess. there's my girl. nice and calm now, aren't we?"

he places a kiss atop your forehead, the gesture tender, and your heart skips a beat, the pulse jumping.

you manage a weak nod, the motion a weak up and down.

"y-yeah.."

you're suddenly aware of the drying tears that stain your cheeks, and the crustiness that coats the edges of your eyes, the stickiness irritating.

"ugh.. my face feels gross."

a smile tugs at the corners of bachira's lips, and he laughs, the sound light and airy.

"well, i don't know about gross,” he says, dipping a finger in the streaked mascara and smudging it across your nose, leaving a dark trail. "but you do look like a raccoon. a cute raccoon, though."

the playful tone elicits a snort from you, the sound muffled by the palm that covers your mouth.

“how about we get my baby cleaned up? i'm sure a nice hot bath will make you feel a whole lot better, too. whaddya say? hey! i’ll even join ya! i'm always a big fan of sharing. bubble bath for two?"

"mm..yeah..”

your reply is accompanied by a yawn, the fatigue finally setting in, the heaviness in your bones sapping the last dregs of energy from you.

"c'mere, honeybee. let me carry ya. no walking for my princess tonight."

you don't have the strength to protest, and so, without any resistance, you let him scoop you up into his arms, the hold gentle and secure.

“thank you..”

the words come out more a sigh than anything, and he presses another kiss to your crown, the peck featherlight.

"of course. always, for you, my love."

[meguruo]

◠◠ᩧ◠ ᩙᩙ 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓶𝓮

bachira meguru x f!reader. sfw — fluff. established relationship ﾉ arcade date & claw machines ﾉ reader is a tad bit childish ? ^o^ ﾉ ‘princess’ is used as a petname ♥︎ ﾉ not proofread !!

soft pop music drifts from the speakers above, the upbeat tempo a jovial accompaniment to the whirring and beeping that permeates the space. neon lights and flashing screens are incessant, their luminosity bright enough to burn the afterimage of their shapes into the back of your eyelids.

it’s a complete sensory overload, yet somehow, bachira manages to take it all in stride, his attention shifting from one distraction to the next, never settling on a particular amusement for too long.

like a pinball, he bounces from machine to machine, his hands flitting across the controls with practiced ease, his movements almost a blur. he has the rhythm down to a science, the beat ingrained into the very fiber of his being, the melody as natural to him as breathing.

your own performance, however, leaves much to be desired. the coordination required to take a new stuffed friend home is one you seem to lack, the metal claw gulping at thin air and spitting it out with a resounding clink.

a pout tugs at the corners of your mouth, your bottom lip jutting out in a pronounced scowl, your eyebrows creased. youhuff, blowing the loose strands of hair that have fallen over your face, a futile attempt at a show of defiance.

it fails, and your cheeks puff up, the frustration mounting. you glare at the machine, willing the stuffed animal to fall into the receptacle, a last ditch effort at telekinesis.

the toy doesn't budge.

the sound of bachira's laughter has you glancing towards the young man.

he’s doubled over, clutching at his sides as bouts of laughter rock through his entire body. the amusement in his expression is palpable, yet it lacks any condescension. instead, there is a benignity in the creases of his eyes and the upturning of his lips, an endearment that speaks softly to your very soul.

you cross your arms and look away, nonetheless.

you've been caught, and the humiliation burns your cheeks, a flush blooming across your face. you're grateful for the dim lighting, the darkness providing a shroud for your shame.

but the heat is quickly dispelled, the warmth replaced with a different kind.

the weight of a palm on your head, ruffling the strands, has you turning back to your companion.

he's crouched next to you, his other hand placed atop your own. the gesture is meant to be reassuring, and it succeeds in calming your vexation. the tension dissipates from your frame, the rigidity draining out of you like water through a sieve.

your eyes flitter to the many adorable prizes that fill the shelf behind the glass, and a forlorn sigh leaves your lips, the dejection palpable.

it seems unlikely, now, that you'll be able to take any of them home.

you're about to tell bachira so when his hand is in front of your face, a shiny token dangling between his fingers— the key to a new chance.

“need a boost? i'll help you win this time, i promise!! you just gotta tell me which one you want. and maybe ask for some tips from an expert~"

a smile stretches across his lips, a brilliant grin that could put the stars to shame— bright enough to make the sun seem a bleak shadow, a wilting moonbeam.

it's a dazzling sight, and you feel yourself melting, the sweetness of his countenance as potent as a shot of straight sugar, his charisma a confectionery too potent for the human palate.

a blush blooms anew across the bridge of your nose, the rosy tinge creeping onto the apple of your cheeks; the redness is the telltale sign of your heart's susceptibility, its vulnerability to the boy’s charm.

it's impossible not to be swept away by him, and so you concede, your fingers curling around the offered item, the ridges of its surface imprinting themselves into your palm.

your finger extends, pointing towards a particularly noteworthy prize - a massive stuffed dog, taking up centre stage. the toy's face, although somewhat comically lopsided, is undeniably endearing, its floppy ears resembling the weeping willow branches, their drooping form gently swaying in an unseen breeze. a mix of fluffy browns and whites cover its soft form, with its mouth parted to reveal the tip of a charming pink tongue. in that moment, there was no doubt— you needed to give it a new habitat.

your gaze shifts from the prize to the young man. his own is fixed on the stuffed animal, and there's a thoughtful expression on his face, a seriousness that seems out of place.

you tilt your head, a silent question, and his lips quirk upward.

"yeah, yeah, i'll get it for ya!" he winks. "just gotta give me a sec, and then, bam! it'll be yours. promise!"

he lets you do the honours of feeding the machine, and you drop the token into the slot, the coin clinking and rattling as it falls down the chute.

the circular buttons glow under his fingertips, the bright hues reflected in his eyes, a myriad of colours dancing in their depths. the display flashes, the score ticking upwards with each movement, the numbers climbing steadily towards the goal.

with a few quick jabs, the claw descends, its trajectory aimed squarely at the center of the shelf, its jaws opening wide—and closing over the edge of the plush's ear.

it teeters precariously on the rim, the stuffing precariously balancing its mass, its body swaying this way and that, a seesaw ride that threatens to send the toy toppling off the ledge.

you nervously bounce on your heels, your eyes sparkling, hope filling the cavity of your chest.

with a delighted squeal that rang like chimes, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your own around his neck in a gesture of boundless joy. the force of your embrace caused him to stagger momentarily, before he regained his footing and placed his hands on the small of your back.

his chuckle, like a mellifluous melody on piano keys, echoed in your ears, and you found yourself unable to resist joining in, lost in the sweet tune of your shared laughter.

he helps you retrieve the stuffed toy, its mass almost as big as you are. the monolith engulfed you in its embrace, almost consuming you whole as you hugged it to your chest, the softness of the plush fabric a welcome weight, its velvety smoothness soothing against your cheek.

“thank you, bee!! i love him!! i love him so much, he's the best— you're the best! i don't know what i'd do without you!!"

your exclamation is muffled against the fabric, the syllables garbled by the thick fur, and he has to lean in to decipher what you've said, but you know that he's heard you when his lips aim straight for the corner of your own.

it’s over before you can react, but the sensation lingers, his warmth lingering on your skin, a phantom imprint that refuses to fade.

"i love you too, princess.”

he says it with such sincerity, the words as earnest as a declaration of loyalty, his devotion shining through, his feelings transparent.

"now, whatcha gonna name him?”

[meguruo]

hallo and welcome, new friend !! its a pleasure to make your acquaintance >ᴗ< please do take your time to thoroughly peruse these here guidelines ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚

𝒞𝒪𝒰𝑅𝒯𝐸𝒮𝒴

◜ i do not entertain requests for specific content; they will be promptly discarded upon receipt.. however !! if you are inclined to share your adorable musings about the characters and fandoms i focus on, you’re more than welcome to do so !!

↳ bllk ᦾ jjk ᦾ love and deepspace ᦾ genshin impact ᦾ haikyuu ᦾ my hero academia + tba..♥︎

◜ i firmly abstain from crafting narratives of an explicit nature ( nsfw ). while i understand the appeal of such content for some, the very essence of my writing is one of purity and wholesome emotions !! more so, me being a minor further reinforces the idea that producing such content is not only not my preference, but also inappropriate in my current age. please do not cross the line between healthy creative expression and content that is not suitable for young artists.

that’s not to say though, that i hold something against those who write nsfw !! everyone is free to express themselves through their craft as they wish ♥︎

◜ i take great pride in my creative endeavors, and thus firmly prohibit any form of plagiarism in relation to my works !! it is not only a matter of respecting the efforts i put into crafting my stories, but also acknowledging the importance of originality and authenticity in artistic expression (ㅅ´ ˘ `) plagiarism not only undermines the integrity of the creator’s work, but it also denies them proper credit for their ideas and hard work !!

please do not plagiarise me, or other creators here !!

◜ my fanfics are delicately crafted to resonate with the hyper feminine readers, embracing a style and content that may not align with preferences leaning towards stronger, more masculine elements. if my stories don’t spark your interest due to their focus on female-oriented!reader, that is perfectly alright !! there is a multitude of amazing fanfics out there that may cater more to your tastes !

◜ i am an unhurried writer, taking pleasure in crafting my stories at a pace that suits my creative process. while it might be tempting to inquire about the timing of my upcoming fics, i kindly request patience and understanding. rushing the process only hampers the quality of my work, (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ) …. and my creative spirit thrives best when i work according to my own timetable ! i think !!!

◜ my intention is to create a positive and respectful environment for everyone. hence, i will not engage with rude, inappropriate, or otherwise unpleasant queries or discussions. while creative expression may take many forms, it is crucial to maintain a sense of decorum and basic decency in our interactions.

i believe in fostering a space where all participants can express themselves freely without fear of being subjected to negative discourse. let’s all be one happy family in peace and understanding ! ☮️🙆‍♀️

◜ if you wish to break the mutual, kindly consider a hard block to clearly signify this break !! a soft block, on the other hand, might leave me under the impression that we remain part of each other's circles, thereby potentially causing confusion or misunderstanding.. && i wouldn’t want to make anybody uncomfortable !!!

[meguruo]

𝓬𝓱𝓸(𝓬𝓸𝓬𝓸 ), sixteen -> seventeen ᦾ she ﾉ her ᦾ welcome to this fawn’s ‘ye olde ( not so olde ) cafe’ ◟⎚⩊⎚◞ !

interacts frm @fawnbabie ( personal + yumeship space ) no age on blog = block & -13 dni

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𝓫𝔂𝓲 ᦾ masterlist ᦾ daily clicks recently baked yummies ; ‘where the flood meets the shore’ — bachira meguru x fem! reader