━━ splatoon oneshots ✦
can't you see that I need your love?
I need you for it, for it, for it, together for me~
✦ [ lookin' fresh ]
suggestions - closed
NOTES ! . bro is rotating in my head . Written before name drop, so Beika is never named. . Reader and Beika are both adults, as they are tipsy. . Meant to be read as platonic but if you want meet cute you just gotta squint dw . Reader is implied to be an inkling/octoling (cold-blooded & 3 hearts).
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♪───☆彡★彡───♪
YOUR HEAD SWAYED SLIGHTLY as you stepped out into the alleyway, the stench of spice and alcohol trailing behind you. You covered your mouth and nose with your bare forearm, trying to breath in the temperature of your cold-blood to lessen the burning sensation running through your digestive system. Thank the Zapfish the nights grow cold in the Splatlands, for your body's natural temperature would not have been enough to cool you down.
'That's the last time I go out with them.' You grimaced, thinking back to your "friends" singing and crying in the bar behind you.
After performing exceedingly well in a regular turf war, the opposing team came up to you in the lobby, cornering you and threatening you into hanging out with them. (Okay, maybe it didn't go like that, but it felt like it.) Things were alright at first, they were nice enough, but it seemed they had no sense of boundaries, and wouldn't take no for an answer. The team wanted to go to some spicy ramen and bar place, one that lacked any non-spicy options, or non-alcoholic drinks. The joint was meant for getting intoxicated and losing your money, and you'd rather not be forced to deal with drunk inkfish you didn't like. You expressed your distaste for going there, listing off various cons to the outing and even suggesting some alternative places. You were ignored. Since the restaurant was so close to your apartment, the general consensus was that you would all go out drinking, and end up crashing at your tiny, one bedroom apartment. You didn't want to argue with a wall, so you just went along with their plan.
The restaurant was just to the left from Marigold's Table Turf station, a small, yet charming spot as it rested on the top of the alternating concrete ramps towards the main street. You recognized the place from your walks during the Splatfests, the only times you were ever out in the city at night. The owner and head chef was a kindly old jellyfish, who's eyes seemed to light up as you all walked in. You thought that maybe the team had visited the spot before, but as the night went on, it seemed the jellyfish just knew where the money lied. As much as you disliked the place, you couldn't discredit the cnidaria's eye for business. Drinks and noodles were ordered, and you tried your best to stick to the least spicy options. The jellyfish seemed to notice you weren't going to fall over like the others, and pitied you, along with probably psychoanalyzing you, so your noodles ended up being mild. Unfortunately, it seemed like the jelly either didn't have any bottled water, so you half-heartedly resorted to small glasses of sake.
