Friends Dont Kiss Each Other Like This.

“friends don’t kiss each other like this.”

or: the things they’d say to you in return.

character/s: xiao, scaramouche, kazuha, ayato, childe, diluc, thoma, albedo

“then maybe we shouldn’t just be friends.” XIAO mumbles dazedly between your kiss, fingers tracing your jawline as he absently admires the soft luster of his saliva on your lips. he watches as you shyly lean in for another passionate kiss, and he can’t help the sly curve that threatens to contort across his lips when he pulls you in to willingly oblige.

“who said i wanted to be your friend?” SCARAMOUCHE sneers — triumphant in pinning your body to the wall to keep you from running away, yet equally mirroring the blatant crimson shade pouring across your face. he sneaks a hungry glance at your lips but doesn’t remember meeting them, until your timid initiation of a plush sensation vividly comes back to both his memory and reality again.

“‘m sorry, love. i don’t think i can do it anymore.” KAZUHA smiles in defeat, yearning quietly as he stares transfixed by your lips, enchanted by the feeling of your mouth against his. he hopes it’s okay with you that he’s finally expressed his stubbornly pent-up feelings for you — he hopes deep down you’ll kiss him once again long before he forgets the exhilarating feeling of it. and when you bashfully move closer to capture his mouth in another soft kiss, he wonders if you had somehow heard him begging you to put your lips on his aloud.

“archons, please don’t remind me about that.” ALBEDO murmurs in a low and annoyed breath, pulling you back into his lips to steal several more heated kisses. he hadn’t planned on what to do if you would have pushed him away out of disdain, but the fact that he feels you carefully melt in his arms and your fingers run through the tousled mess of his blonde hair, makes him softly smile and wonder if you had been waiting for this singularly beautiful kiss as long as he has.

“so you’re saying that…if i called you mine, you would let me kiss you again.” AYATO hums aloud in contemplation, giving you a side-glance of confirmation. his heart soars when you hurriedly look away with a bashful expression, and he cups your cheeks for a second time, now with the faithful promise and intent of making you truly his, for perhaps eternity if you had allowed him, and even longer then.

“great. i always thought that we could do better.” CHILDE smirks nonchalantly, pressing a soft kiss against your jawline when he sees your cheeks instantaneously erupt in burning red. he’s been making discreet advances after all these long years, and eventually rendered you a complete and utter idiot when you had simply brushed it off as a courteous gesture from a friend. he knows kissing you will finally thrust his perseverant intention in your mind — and he figures by the flustered look on your face, you don’t seem to mind being on the receiving end for a handful more moments of his lips against yours.

“i wasn’t kissing you as a friend…” THOMA awkwardly clears his throat, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to his ears. it had taken him weeks, or even months, to finally set his mind on the bold gesture of kissing you and asking you out. he had prayed to the gods that there was a possibility you wouldn’t reject him after everything you’ve made him feel, but that singular string of hope began to dissipate farther into the deep abyss. and he only manages to grab ahold of that long-drifting fantasy, when you’ve eventually brought him back to reality, by grabbing his shirt in hopes of meeting his lips for a second time, and maybe someday, a thousand more times.

“that’s fine, i wasn’t planning on staying as one for any longer.” DILUC whispers hotly against your lips, dizzy by the unfamiliar yet addicting sensation of the kiss. he knows he should probably distance himself from the close proximity, because if you keep clutching so tightly onto his coat for any longer, he might just take his chances and make the mistake of kissing you again. but you stay stubborn in your position despite looking hazy and flushed, and this time when he latches his mouth against yours, he doesn’t bother to care about any more regrets later on.

YOUR sakusa may be cold and neat and reserved and mature. but MY sakusa sits sprawled out on the sofa throwing popcorn at his tv screen as he boos at the couple kissing just because you jokingly said atsumu was a better server than him at dinner and he’s being dramatic

love confessions

pairing — haitani rindou x f!reader

summary — in which sanzu and ran have to deal with rindou, his relationship problems, and alcohol

note — spoilers, alcohol, intoxication. likes and reblogs are always appreciated

“So, like, what happened?” Sanzu questioned curiously as he watched the younger Haitani finish his eighth liquor glass of the night, the loud music and bright neon lights of the nightclub only further adding to his intoxicated and volatile state.

After all, for a married man like Rindou, he should’ve been at home with you, his wife, not drinking himself to death in one of Roppongi’s famed nightclubs at one in the morning. Yet here he was, looking pathetic as he poured himself more alcohol in a useless attempt to forget about how much he missed you. It was a truly pathetic sight, one that brought Sanzu much happiness and great sadistic joy.

“It’s stupid,” Rindou proclaimed in annoyance, his gaze unfocused as he leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “She got angry at me for getting too close to Reina again. It’s not my fault I had to look over Reina’s shoulder to read the damn report. Everyone knows I have terrible eyesight!”

“Reina?” Sanzu repeated with a now amused, almost mocking smirk. He knew that you and Rindou had gotten into a fight today, but he didn’t know that it involved your husband’s hot secretary. “You mean the same Reina that’s been trying to sleep with you ever since she started working for us? That Reina? Yikes. No wonder your wife’s not talking to you.”

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.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ synopsis: after receiving a call from your former college professor, you agree to meet up with mr. morax for dinner. you know, for old time’s sake…

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ cw: age gap, oral (f), masturbation (m), bathroom sex, sir kink, pussy job, hints of the ‘fucking your college professor’ trope smut written by a minor dni if uncomfortable

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ a/n: dedicated to my former hot physics dilf who makes me cream every time i see him in the hallways xoxo 

“fuck, marry, kill…” 

hu tao puts on a pensive face, twirling a loose strand of hair that had escaped the confines of her pigtails as she thinks. 

“how about mr. ragnvindr, alberich, and kamisato?” 

you rotate your fork around the steaming cup of instant noodles in your hand. “i’m marrying mr. ragnvindr, for sure.” 

“what?” exclaims hu tao. “with those anger issues? that marriage would never last… no offense.” 

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what about rich boy gojo and your first fight 😭

𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

“baby, i didn’t mean to—”

“save it satoru,” you spit, gathering your things to leave gojo’s house. he frowns, shuffling out of bed and throwing on a shirt while you head for his door.

“hey, you didn’t have breakfast yet! it’s not good to leave on an empty stomach—” he calls, only to pause as the door slams in his face. groaning, he quickly makes his way to chase after you—which would be a lot easier if he didn’t have so many hallways to weave through.

“go have breakfast with your little date,” you say sourly, and he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh before jogging up to you. and just as you open the front door, it slams shut as he spins you around, frantic blue eyes searching yours as you refuse to meet his gaze.

gojo satoru is hot news. you know it, he knows it, the whole campus knows it.

evidently, so do the other snobby rich families his gets along with—and he’s always been used to being sought after, he’s never really given it a second thought when someone shyly asks him to accompany them for an event. he simply shrugs, mumbles out a bored “why not,” and lets himself get dragged around for a night as envious eyes watch his every move. he’s always figured it’s better than going alone (and better than getting teased by suguru for not having any game.)

but that was before you.

now he has you, and he’s become increasingly aware of just how unhappy you are with all the wandering eyes on your boyfriend, and he’s become increasingly aware of just how unhappy everyone else seems that he’s sought after you—someone who seems mundane to everyone else but gojo.

but you’re anything but mundane in gojo’s eyes. you’re fiery and thrilling and you keep him on his toes. you manage to find a way to humble him at every corner he turns, and under all the witty remarks and snarky comebacks, you’re gentle and sweet and you love him because he’s satoru—not because he’s one of the infamous gojo’s.

“i didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” he sighs, rubbing his temple as if he has the right to be stressed. gojo’s mother keeps an impressive collection of potted plants by his large windowsills, exotic and expensive-looking flowers that sit in just as expensive-looking pots.

you think it’d be a real shame if you smashed them over his skull for his lack of self-awareness.

“of course, you wouldn’t,” you snarl, crossing your arms and glaring at him. he winces, looking over his shoulder to see the maids pausing and glancing at the two of you as you have your…disagreement, and he rubs his neck and lets out a deep exhale.

“can we go somewhere a little more private?”

“how about i go somewhere away from you, and you go get ready for your little event with your little date who i’m sure is just as excited as you are,” you say instantly, and inwardly, he groans at how you’re just as insistent on being difficult as the first day he met you.

“she’s not my date. well, it’s not romantic, at least. and she asked me way before you and i got together,” he defends, “maybe if you weren’t so stubborn before, i could’ve asked you to join me,” he grumbles.

and this is a dangerous game. gojo knows better than anyone else that you’re not one to mess around with when you’re angry, and more than anything, he’s sure you’re sick and tired of the whispers and stares and rumors that come with walking around with his arm around your waist.

but sometimes, he wishes you’d stop holding his background against him—it’s not as though he chose to be born into a wealthy family and a lonely home and a tiring reputation. he chooses to be yours with no hesitations, and he wishes you’d choose to be his without seeing it as a weighted risk.

“so now it’s my fault? how would you react if the campus asshole was chasing after you to make you one of his little crossed off names—”

“you know it wasn’t like that,” he cuts you off, furrowing his brows and frowning at you. his voice raises slightly, and suddenly, you both forget you’re out in the open for anyone in his home to witness.

“oh yeah? what as it like then?” you challenge.

“if i have to spell it out for you, then you don’t know as much about me as you think you do,” he grunts, glaring at you as anger slowly starts to wedge its way into his bones.

and you don’t know him—not fully, at least, and he’s starting to wonder if you’ll ever understand him enough to get to know him.

“i know you were just trying to get me into your bed. and now you’ve got what you wanted and you’re already making your way to your next victim—”

“i told you she asked me to go with her ages ago. i can’t just cancel now, it’ll look bad on my family—”

“it’s always about how you’ll look with you, isn’t it?”

“don’t act like you understand—”

“god, you’re just like everyone else, satoru—”

“i’m nothing like them,” he slams his hand on the door, voice booming into the room and echoing over the large walls. his voice is loud, but there’s a quiet whisper of hurt underneath his tone. everything stills, both of your eyes widen, and you can faintly hear one of his maids drop a glass in shock, glass shattering on the floor into little pieces.

it’s quiet for a moment, just you staring into his eyes, and him staring into yours, and then he’s off—and after your first argument ever, gojo satoru hurriedly makes his way back to his room, leaving you to stand by his door alone and let yourself out.

—

it’s a while before you speak to him again. a few days of angrily waiting for texts, of tearfully wondering if you were too harsh, of lonely morning showers where you don’t get to pretend to be annoyed as he sneaks in to join you, and of wondering if everything’s really ended as quickly as it starts.

it’s not until you get a call from his mother (and you can’t help but roll your eyes that he lets her take care of things for him as always) that you decide to visit him for a long-overdue talk.

“satoru, open up,” you say dryly, pounding on the large door with a sigh. “we can’t avoid this forever. quit being immature.”

it’s silent. there’s not a muffled grunt, not a single whine of protest, not even a stubborn hmph. it’s eerily quiet, and as much as you hate to admit it, it makes your heart squeeze just a little with concern.

“satoru, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away. you’re a big boy now, act like one,” you say sternly.

“satoru is not here. he’s dead,” comes a muffled voice, and even if you want to slam his head into a wall, you can’t fight the small smile that tugs at your lips at his antics.

“oh really?” you raise a brow.

“yes. it was really tragic. he’s missed by many.”

“well, how come i wasn’t invited to the funeral? i would’ve brought balloons,” you humor him.

“well, that’s exactly why,” he grumbles. rolling your eyes, you snort, shaking your head before letting your forehead press against the cool wood that separates you.

“satoru, your mother says you haven’t left your room. at all. it’s been fours days. i’m pretty sure you had a quiz yesterday, and it also means you skipped that event—you know how your father gets when you skip events. let me in so we can talk,” you say seriously, and once more, it’s silent for a moment before you finally hear shuffling.

“door’s open,” is all he says. you walk into the familiar space, stopping to roll your eyes at the small candy wrappers he’s likely replacing for meals littering his side table before taking a good, long look at him.

and, well…he looks awful. far worse than you—and that’s saying something for someone who wears designer brand outfits to the same eight am class you show to in sweats. you sigh, staring into his eyes (and trying to ignore the dark circles) before speaking up.

“you look awful,” you say bluntly. gojo purses his lips.

“being dead does that you,” he shoots back, “show a little compassion.” and this is gojo satoru, the one you’ve learned hides emotions with silly jokes and petulant tantrums—the ones that hide his true feelings—the vulnerable kind—because he just never quite thought they mattered that much.

no one’s ever stopped to listen, and he’s never stopped to ask them to.

“i just found out i can speak to the dead,” you snort, “cut me some slack too.”

you sit beside him, stare at your hands while he stares at the ceiling. you don’t know where to begin, and he doesn’t know where this will end, and it’s really just a mess—but then he grabs your hand, a soft pout on his lips as he brings it into his grasp and plays with your fingers.

“why are you here?” he asks. it’s not accusing, just curious.

“your mom asked me to talk to you.”

“oh,” is all he says. he waits a moment before adding, “is that…is that it?”

you sigh, watching as he traces over the ridges of your palm and deepens his pout some before letting out a soft chuckle. “i guess i had to see my dead boyfriend too since he didn’t invite me to his funeral.”

“what if he’s turned into a ghost by now?”

“nothing will really change. he haunted me alive too, anyway,” you shrug, and he huffs, rolling his eyes and sending you a soft scowl.

“always so mean for no reason,” gojo mutters.

“satoru,” you start, and there’s a soft groan before he covers his face with your hand, hiding away from your serious expression, “we can’t avoid this forever.”

“avoid what, exactly?”

“satoru,” you warn.

“fine,” he mutters, letting your hand drop as he sits up. you miss the warmth of his skin under your touch instantly.

“why haven’t you left your room?” you start, staring at him sternly, side-eyeing the candy wrappers he’s carelessly discarded to his side table. “and when was the last time you had a proper meal? candy is not proper.”

“worse than my mom,” he grumbles, crossing his arms with a sigh, “i’m fine. you don’t have to worry about me.”

“i always worry over you,” you murmur softly, tracing over the stitching of his blanket that sits on your lap. he stares at you from the side, ponders your words for a moment before sighing deeply.

“i didn’t…i never wanted to make you feel bad, you know,” he murmurs, “i should’ve canceled going with her to that event. ‘m sorry,” he says quietly.

“‘s okay,” you hum—because, there’s really not much else to say. there’s no point in dragging it out, and it’s not like he ended up going anyway.

but he frowns, furrows his eyebrows and forms a small crease on his forehead at your words.

“that’s it? after all that, you’re just going to—”

“we’re just so different…you and i,” you cut him off, “everything that’s normal for you is crazy to me. and it’s just…it’s not easy.”

“i’m trying my best,” gojo says quietly, “but i don’t care if we’re different. it doesn’t—”

“well, you should. people don’t like seeing me with you, and you acting like you don’t hear what they say isn’t going to make them go away—”

“they’re going to say shit even if i do listen,” he cuts you off, sighing frustratedly before running a hand through his hair, “that’s how it’s always been. that’s how it’s always gonna be. so why listen if i don’t have to? i know i love you, and i’m hoping you love me too—or that’s kind of awkward because you have been saying it this whole time, you know,” he glances at you with a pointed look that makes you shoot him a scowl, “why should it be any more complicated than that?”

falling in love with gojo satoru is not easy—you don’t think it ever will be, but you think perhaps it’s time to stop seeing it as endless what-if’s and if-only’s. because gojo’s never lived one moment wondering about a what-if as long as you’ve been by his side. he’s happy, and in love, and he trusts you. and maybe, if you let yourself trust him too, if you let yourself count on his arms waiting to catch you as you fall for him, maybe the what-if’s and if-only’s won’t matter anymore.

“i’m sorry i don’t always trust you,” you admit softly, “i should stop doubting you so much.”

“yeah, you should,” he agrees, pouting slightly once more. cracking a smile, you lean into his side, poking his chest with your finger.

“don’t you dare ever think about taking someone else to an event that’s not me,” you warn, glancing up at his face as he stares on ahead. you almost think you see a ghost of a smile fight its way to appear across his lips.

“noted,” he nods, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “and you should stop treating your poor, sweet, sensitive boyfriend like he’s a sleazy jackass when he’s been nothing but hopelessly in love with—”

“i liked it better when you were a ghost,” you roll your eyes, and he huffs, pulling you down to lay with him as he brings the covers over your bodies. “i don’t think you’re an asshole, by the way. or that you’re like everyone else. you’re very sweet.”

he closes his eyes and hums, lips twitching at the corners. “and…?”

“...and annoying.”

“be nice to the dead,” he whines.

you let out a soft giggle, and he grins widely at the sound, and slowly, the tension shifts to the usual softness that’s always there when you’re with gojo. and maybe, he’s been easy to trust all along—if the gentle hearts he traces into your hip and the soft kisses he scatters over your forehead are any proof.

“and you’re a good guy,” you add with a gentle smile, cupping his face, “and i love you.”

“i love you too,” he grins.

“enough that you’ll come back to life for me?”

“i’ll see what i can do,” he chuckles before pressing his lips to yours, kissing you deeply to make up for four days of lost time.

ty ris for the idea i luv u ur so big brained <33

more genshin tattoo artist/piercer hcs bc i can <3 | part 1 | n.a : let's assume you're getting a piercing on your lips okay | warning : slight mention of blood in scara's part

piercer!scaramouche who barely utters a word, simply gesturing for you to sit and wait for him to get his material ready, not missing the way your eyes traced the pattern of his tattoo, from his neck to his chest - where it was hidden from his clothes.

piercer!scaramouche who catches your eyes running over his lips, how you blink and look away in embarrassment when he notices the way you were eyeing the snake bites piercings adorning his lips.

piercer!scaramouche who doesn't even try to hide his smugness, smirking down at your while his gloved hand turned your head towards him, it'll hurt a little falling past his mouth before he got to work.

piercer!scaramouche who keeps his indigo eyes focused on your mouth, thumb smoothing over your bottom lip before he worked fastly, the process nearly painless.

piercer!scaramouche who quietly looks your way to make sure you're not hurting too much while he cleans his materials quickly, pressing another clean tissue against the small beads of blood forming on your lips, an almost inaudible you did really good murmured under his breath while he offered you a rare smile of his, chuckling lowly when you turned away shyly from the close proximity between your faces.

tattoo artist!albedo who greets you curtly, i polite smile resting on his lip while he led you to a seat, noticing the way you let your eyes wander around his tattooed forearm and the star at the base of his throat.

tattoo artist!albedo who has a few piercings as well - two on each ear and one on his lips - and playfully smirked at you when he caught you staring at him while his ringed fingers weaved through his pretty curls, tying them in a low ponytail.

tattoo artist!albedo who asks you a few questions while he works, listening intently to your answers and pushing you to tell more about yourself, humming and giving a few replies to your small rants.

tattoo artist!albedo whose hands are gentle, whose words are sweet, making sure the needle doesn't hurt too much and pausing whenever you need to, small, nearly inaudible praise and encouragements falling past his mouth.

tattoo artist!albedo who mumbles something about being over in a few minutes, watching in amusement how you flustered from how close he was to you, raising his brows teasingly at you when you couldn't help but stare at his pretty face and from him removing his gloves slowly, gentle voice telling you that youve been really good, pretty and chuckling a little when you choked on your next words, patting your head in apology.

reblogs are highly appreciated! this is not proofread, sorry if i made any mistakes