You Wear Another Mans Clothes

you wear another man’s clothes

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ayato [綾人]

he wasn’t a jealous man, but it’d be a tremendous lie if he said he didn’t experience it. his jealousy didn’t stem from insecurity or low-self esteem. his tendency to get jealous was sowed in petty, childish annoyance over anything else

jealous? debatable. possessive? of course. the need or obligation to uphold a facade around others made it a fun challenge. it forced him to act sneakier than a fox when it came to showing his true feelings and intentions

he was so smug about it. sure, you didn’t know he was behind it but he didn’t mind. the reactions people had towards you compensated for it

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TEASING THEM

synopsis: teasing your husband with sexual gestures.

content warnings: soft - nsfw + fem!reader

ayato: you saw him in the kitchen so early in the morning just getting a glass water, and just wanted the idea of teasing him. you needed to take a shower but you didn’t want to take it alone, so you brushed yourself into his arms, pressing your chest and breasts against his form arm and smiling… a lustful smile. “im going to take a shower..join me” you offered tracing a circle into his arm. his eyes sparked with lust nearly immediately.

childe: you climbed into his lap after he sat on the couch ready to watch something. wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering right above his lips with a smile. now his dull blue eyes were piercing straight into yours as you whined “I don’t want you to sleep here tonight… sleep with me.” It was enough for him to carry you into the bedroom.

diluc: gosh, you knew exactly how to tease him. sitting right above his groin with your legs wrapped around his waist. tracing shapes into his muscles with one hand, gently grinding on him, along with popping one breast out and gently bringing his hand so he could touch it. he was extremely red but you could tell with how hard he was getting he enjoyed it.

itto: all you had to do generally was trace shapes into his chest and say how muscular he was. in all honesty it was something that sparked his ego a bit. sometimes if you stepped over a line, like suggesting he stay with you for tonight his cheeks and ears would glow pink.

kaeya: you bother him while he was working, simply teasing him by caressing his chin. placing your knee between his legs while he kept a stern grip on your waist. you kissed his neck having him moan gently into your shoulder.

author’s notes

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა thank you for reading! I had really high brainrot for this one, any reblogs + comments are appreciated along with likes.

© luvsdiluc’s works. Do not repost on any other platform, translate, copy, take heavy inspo. This belongs to me and I am the writer. Thank you.

Pink

tags: SFW, GN reader, mutual pining, fluff and flirting, friends to possible lovers, implied that reader works at jujutsu high, requited unrequited love, hopeful ending

wc: 2k

“You?”

Satoru stands against the wall opposite you, shoulders relaxed and hands tucked into his pant pockets, suit jacket hooked casually through his arm. He looks handsome, he always does, but it wasn’t who you’d been expecting to pick you up.

After your date had started to go downhill you’d texted Shoko for assistance in getting out of there, and she’d quickly reassured you of your impending ride home.

She could’ve been a little more specific.

“And here I thought I’d saved you,” he drawls, a bemused smile pulling at his lips. You’re sure that had he not been wearing his blindfold, you’d see his eyebrows raised too. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, leaning closer into your space.

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thank you, Satoru,” you say with a roll of your eyes, stepping forward into the hallway and closing the stage door behind you before starting toward the exit, “is there any particular reason that Shoko isn’t here?”

“No. I just so happened to overhear and volunteered,” he replies easily, rolling the tension out of his shoulders as his mouth curves wider into a grin.

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure”. All theatrics, you think. Deep down a proud part of you didn’t want to admit that you were relieved, and another felt defensive over his apparent need to save you from situations that you could handle perfectly well on your own. But it was easy to fall back into the familiar act, the back and forth bickering, the forced annoyance.

It was something you’d both wordlessly agreed to keep up. The daily teasing distracted the students from their own anxieties, it was familiar and gave stability, and admittedly it was fun.

It also meant you needn’t confront your own feelings about him.

You pause to undo the latch to the firedoor, having sneaked around back to avoid your date, only to have the heat of his looming body blanket you at your back. Both arms come to rest upon the door either side of your head, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see you all dressed up,” he murmurs, “is that so hard for you to believe?”

With bated breath you push the door open, running from his soft laughter where he stands beneath the frame, the cold night air an immediate shock against the heat flushing through your body.

“Just hurry up and get me home before I freeze,” you hastily throw over your shoulder, arms wrapped tight to your chest as you speed toward his car. It wasn’t hard to find, big enough for a man of his stature and just as striking.

“Don’t be like that,” he says, all melody and the intonations of a smile clear in his voice. Continuing your quick stride forward, you feel the muscles in the swell of your cheeks lift, and you’re grateful for the chance to smile where he cannot see it.

As you approach the passenger side of his car and hear the click of the door unlocking, both grateful and disappointed that he didn’t rush to open it for you. “Alright,” he huffs as he drops all his weight into the driver's seat, notably a few centimetres back in comparison to your own to accommodate his long legs. You pull the belt across your torso, clicking it into place.

“Just wait and I’ll tell you my address—”

“Already know it,” he interrupts under his breath as you speak, reaching up to hook his fingers into the fabric of his blindfold and pulling it down, other hand reaching toward your belt buckle and jostling it. You feel yourself stutter, flustered by the subtle consideration.

“You know my home address—”

“My plan was to quickly get you out of there because you were uncomfortable,” he assents as the gentle hum of the car starts, followed by the soft scuffing of gravel beneath the tires, “Shoko texted it to me on the way over”.

“I guess that makes sense,” you mumble apologetically. A minute of comfortable silence passes, and he again reaches toward the console to press one of the buttons. Then you begin to feel your seat warm up beneath your thighs.

The streets pass and along with them the street lamps, casting moving shadows across his face. Still, the light seems to gather in his eyes, warmth pooling in his expression. “So, what happened? What’re you so sour about?” he speaks again, the heel of his hand propped lazily atop the steering wheel.

You tilt your head toward the window, chewing the inside of your cheek, breathing through the throng of vines in your chest. Emotions were so physical, you thought — as real as any physiological wound could be. Guilt is heady, bitterness is sharp, it stings in your sinuses and it tightens your throat.

You were upset because nothing was working. Because it hadn’t been the man you wanted sitting across from you. Because even though you had been there to distract yourself from him, Satoru had shown up anyway.

“I’m not sour,” you mutter petulantly, entirely unconvincing. Satoru hums, a deep and amused rumble in his throat, and points toward the glove compartment by your knees.

“Take a look in there,” he says, “might be something to sweeten you up”.

With a suspicious glance, you reach forward and hook your fingers into the handle, feeling it pop unlocked once you pull. Inside is a small clear bag of what appears to be hard candy, nestled beside some documents and a phone charger.

Given the magnitude of his sweet tooth, you’d almost expected there to be more; a mountain of sweets spilling comically out into the space between your legs. You’re quickly drawn to your favourite flavour, the plastic wrapper crinkling loudly, your nose wrinkling at the sound.

There are some strawberry and yoghurt flavoured ones, small creamy coloured ovals decorated with pink swirls and soft in the middle, but not many. You’d seen him sucking on these ones a fair few times in the staff room, holding them between his wet lips and cursing whenever they slipped out into his lap. If you weren’t already aware of his affinity for chapstick you might’ve assumed that was why his mouth was always pink.

Rolling it between the pad of your finger and thumb, you hold it out for him to take. Neither the hand on the wheel or the one shaped around the gear stick moves, instead he leans and indicates playfully for you to feed it to him.

“What are you, a child?” you awkwardly clear the dryness in your throat, “eat it yourself”.

Unperturbed, he shifts the car into fourth gear before plucking the candy from your fingers, lips parting to place it on his tongue.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he murmurs, cheek hollowing as he sucks with the corner of his mouth curved into a barely there smile, “you won’t get anything if you don’t ask”.

Reaching in to take another of the strawberry and yoghurt, avoiding his sidelong glance as you sit it on your own tongue, the taste bursting along your palate. You could understand why he enjoyed them, the flavours intermingled well together.

“He kept speaking over me,” you confess, the words slightly obstructed by the sweet nestled by your gums, “and he was overly critical of the staff about the food. It was embarrassing”.

You hear him click his tongue, your eyes catching on the movement of his finger tapping restlessly against the wheel. “You know you can do far better than that,” he tells you, “clearly he didn’t, though. Otherwise he wouldn’t have taken you to that restaurant”.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask indignantly, teeth beginning to sink into the soft middle of the candy. Satoru’s tongue swipes across his lower lip, pink, finally finished with his own and savouring the taste.

“Come on,” he bemoans with emphasis, “they don’t serve anything you like there. Even I know that”.

Huh. Well that had been… true, for the most part. But it wasn’t something you were going to make complaints about, and it’d been easy to request certain things be taken out of the food. You could live with little things like that.

The night is much clearer than usual, considering the constant light pollution emitting from the city. It’s beautiful, and a bit romantic, to see the far off stars flickering back at you. You keep your gaze locked on them as you ask, “if you’re such an expert, where would you have taken me?”

He hums a short, playful song under his breath, adjusting the rear view mirror in your peripheral, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

The aggravation that twists into your expression is difficult to miss, and it makes him laugh, the sound loosening the knots of frustration. It’s becoming exceedingly hard to navigate how he makes you feel, a constant push and pull of mild irritation and affection, made worse by the fact that he seemed to enjoy eliciting reactions out of you.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was hoping to gain – what he wanted from you. Sometimes his hunger for your attention felt insatiable. Paired then with his continuous critique of the way others treated you, and of how you treated yourself, it was hard to dampen the kindling of hope in your chest.

You pluck out another sweet from the bag, arm extending across the space between you and pulling back again when he lifts a hand to take it from your grasp.

His eyes flicker from the winding road back to you, brows drawn together, his mouth jutted into a pout. Pink. You lean towards him, fingers grazing the soft plush of his lips where you press the sweet into the seam, indulging him. He blinks, and they part for you.

He appears to be fighting off a grin, jaw shifting with hollowed cheeks as he suckles. “Knew you liked me,” he says.

“The jury is still out on that one,” you murmur fondly, turning to lean back against the window, glass cool against your warm skin. The car turns into your street, beginning to slow and pull up to the curb. Disappointment blooms.

You feel for your keys as the engine cuts off, looping your fingers through the rings, other hand pulling the door handle to step out. Satoru is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Thank you again for… saving me,” you recite his earlier words, hoping it will clear the unsettling silence. He watches you awkwardly linger with distinct fondness, crossing his arms against the steering wheel and leaning his cheek atop them.

“Happy to,” he replies, “only sorry I was the one taking you home tonight”.

You snort. “He wouldn’t have been seeing my place tonight, regardless of whether or not it went well”.

He processes it, nods slowly from behind stray white bangs, and exhales a soft “good”.

Your fingers tighten around the jagged edges of your keys and you feel your pulse quicken, it ebbs through your body like the wing of a hummingbird.

“You’re not coming in either,” you mutter, amusement pulling at the corner of your mouth with the realisation that he was waiting for something. For you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mirrors your smile, shallow crinkles forming by his eyes. You lick your lips, he follows the motion and you taste the strawberry. You wonder if he’d taste like that too.

“Night, Satoru,” you breathe. He repeats it. You feel his stare heavily on your back as you walk towards your door, glancing over your shoulder one last time to catch a glimpse of him, cheek still leant comfortably against his forearms. His hand lifts to give you a limp wave, and you feel stupidly giddy at the gesture.

He doesn’t drive away until you are in the house, and you watch through the curtains as he pulls away. Perhaps things were not as unrequited as you’d once thought.

Almost losing you

=This was a request sent to me anonymously, Hopefully this did the request justice. spoilers for the 2.7 archon quest=

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In all the years you’ve known him, you always knew he was strong. You’ve watched him fight the demons of bygone gods before after all. Being a warrior was second nature to him, and being a spear that protected Liyue from the past was his duty. But often you wonder if that was always the case, you wondered if at some point in his life.. did he have people who accompanied him?. people close enough to be family? Though you knew he walked the plains as the Sole Yaksha, the last Conqueror, you still wanted to ask but you figured you shouldn’t bother him with something so Trivial. You were his partner yes, But you knew Xiao wasn’t one to bring up the past.

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“have you heard of the multiverse theory?”

akaashi looks up from his book, “what’s that my love?”

you shuffle closer to him on the couch, “it’s this whole theory about how there are multiple universes and how there are multiple versions of ourselves living in them.”

“interesting,” akaashi mumbles, closing his book to look down at you, “what do you think we’re like?”

you think for a moment, a small smile appearing on your face, “i mean i hope i’m cool,” you tell him as a small laugh leaves akaashi’s lips. “i’d want to be some kind of badass fighter who goes to fight space monsters. if not i’d love to be the ruler of a kingdom with a pretty outfit and a crown.”

“that’s,” he laughs, “very farfetched.”

“well it is farfetched here, but in other universes, it could be a whole different story,” you reason.

“very fair,” akaashi thinks, “they might have better technology for space travel than we do.”

“and they might have kingdoms that i could be an heir to,” you pout, “why does this universe have to suck so much?”

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the sun and the moon