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signsenough

Moon's reflection in water

thereficxl

pierrotlune-deactivated20260518

✧ TOO CLOSE TO THINK ✧

in which: lohen’s quiet closeness leaves you flustered, and when he gently holds your hand, your reactions only make him lean in even more.

warnings: fluff, flustered reader, soft physical contact (hand holding, close proximity), gentle tension, shy/observant lohen, mild romantic undertones

a/n: i fear the lohen brainrot has gotten to me i need this man so bad it's crazy. like?? this man is everything i want please i need him to come home

lohen doesn’t mean to make you nervous.

he really doesn’t.

but there’s something about the way he stands close to you — just a little too close — that makes your thoughts tangle into knots. he’s not even doing anything obvious. he isn’t flirting, not in the way you’ve seen other people do. he doesn’t use smooth lines or exaggerated compliments.

he just looks at you.

and that’s somehow worse.

because when lohen looks at you, it’s steady. attentive. like you’re something worth studying carefully, like every small reaction you have matters.

and unfortunately for you, you react to everything.

falsetactic

me after the author mischaracterizes me in a xreader fic

no hate tho

youshiin

chusuuke

genshin boys overhear you talking to yourself

premise. sometimes, talking to yourself feels safer than facing the guy you can’t stop thinking about…until he walks in on you mid-spiral. from awkward blushes to unexpected confessions, here’s what happens when your most embarrassing moments become the genshin boys' favorite memories

features. kazuha, diluc, childe, wanderer, alhaitham, xiao, ayato, cyno, itto, kaeya, baizhu, dainsleif, tighnari, thoma, heizou, bennett, kaveh, zhongli

kazuha

You're crouched beside a broken cart wheel, half-hidden in tall grass, muttering furiously to yourself as you examine the splintered wood.

“Of course it had to break here, in the middle of nowhere. No signal flare left, and I let the boat crew leave without me. Brilliant. Great job, really stellar planning—”

“You’re being rather harsh on yourself.”

You startle so hard you nearly fall backward. Kazuha stands a few paces behind, hands tucked calmly into his sleeves, his eyes full of quiet amusement and concern.

“You were gone longer than expected,” he explains, seeing your confusion. “Beidou sent me to check if you’d lost your way—or started arguing with local wildlife.”

You flush. “No, I’m just…talking to myself. Thinking through how to fix it.”

He steps closer and knelt beside you, examining the wheel. “Hm. The axle’s intact. A proper wedge might hold long enough to get you back to the road.”

You blink. “Oh. You’re not going to tease me about earlier?”

“I speak to the wind as if it listens,” he says lightly. “Why would I judge you for speaking to yourself?”

You glance at him. “And does the wind ever answer?”

He smiles faintly. “Only when I’m quiet enough to hear it.”

And then, just like that, he gets to work, gathering branches, finding rope in your satchel, never once asking why you chose to be alone in the first place but just staying until the cart moves again. Maybe the wind hadn’t answered, but he had.

diluc

He walks into the tavern early in the morning, expecting silence. Instead, he hears your voice in a low, frantic whisper as you await his arrival: “Okay, you’ve got this. He’s just a man. A tall, brooding, red-haired, intimidatingly handsome man—Archons above, why am I like this?”

He freezes mid-step, but the tap of his boot on the tile is loud enough to betray him. You whirl around, mortified, and lock eyes with him like a deer caught in emotionally compromising headlights.

He blinks once. Slowly.

“…I assume that was about me,” he says, voice neutral, but his ears are visibly pink.

“I—No—I mean—kind of?” you squeak, visibly crumbling under the weight of your own existence.

He clears his throat and looks away, reaching for a mug that absolutely does not need his attention.

“Understood,” he mutters.

For the rest of the day, he’s overly polite, painfully formal, and avoids eye contact like it’s flammable. Later that evening, you find a cup of your favorite tea left out for you—steaming, perfectly steeped, and completely unsupervised. The mug has a folded note under it, consisting of just three words: “You’ve got this.”

childe

He’s passing by your room when he hears your voice, quiet but distinct, and increasingly unhinged: “Okay. Plan A: cry. Plan B: threaten to cry. Plan C: run away and never return.”

He pauses mid-step, then leans against the doorway with a lopsided grin. “Wow, those are some elite-level crisis strategies. You sure you’re not Fatui?”

You shriek in embarrassment. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough to know you’ve got potential,” he laughs, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside.

You groan and hide your face. “I was joking. mostly.”

“Nah, I kinda like it,” he teases. “Plan A’s got emotional flair. Plan B? Classic drama. However, Plan C?” his voice softens just a bit. “If you ran, I’d just find you. You know that, right?”

You look up and find his smile stripped of mischief. It’s quiet and gentle in a way that makes your heart trip over itself.

“But…if you do need tissues, I’ve got plenty.”

Somehow, this ends with him dragging you to sit on the couch, arms slung around you, both of you buried under a blanket neither of you remembers pulling over your laps.

“New plan,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Plan D: stay right here.”

wanderer

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He'd simply been on his way when he found you pacing the courtyard, completely unaware of his presence.

“He probably doesn’t even notice when I smile at him. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just ignoring me. Ugh. I should just throw a rock at him.”

He replies instantly. “Try it. I’ll throw one back.”

You flinch so hard you nearly drop your bag. He’s already leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, unreadable as ever. His gaze flicks to you, sharp but dissolving into something strangely unguarded. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.

“I notice,” he tells you, quieter now. almost like it costs him something to admit. “More than you think.”

Then he’s gone, vanishing down the corridor before you can speak, like he never meant to say anything at all. But later, you find a small, perfectly smooth stone placed outside your windowsill. No note. No explanation. Just one rock, light enough to throw.

alhaitham

He’s walking past the study when he hears you, your voice sounding low, frantic, and clearly not meant for anyone else.

“Okay, if I just put the books back exactly the way he had them, maybe he won’t know I was here. Unless…he cataloged them by page wear. Oh archons—what if he did? Why does he have to be attractive and terrifying?”

His deadpan voice sounds right behind you. “For the record, I do catalog them by page wear.”

You jump, dropping the book you’re holding, but instead of hitting the floor, it lands effortlessly in his palm.

“Also, you’ve been muttering to yourself for three full minutes. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You open your mouth to explain, apologize, evaporate, anything, but he just walks past and plucks a book from your stack.

“You misaligned this one by 0.6 centimeters,” he remarks, tone neutral. “But I’ll let it slide.”

You’re still frozen, blinking at him.

Without looking at you, he adds almost offhandedly, “Next time you wish to come by, just ask. I’d rather see you here than not.”

And then he starts reorganizing beside you. He’s silent, efficient, and just close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

xiao

You’re sitting alone on the quiet terrace just outside Wangshu Inn, knees pulled up to your chest as you mutter into the dusk. “Why did I say ‘sweet dreams’? Who says that to Xiao? He’s the vigilant yaksha, not some character from a bedtime story. He probably thinks I’m a sentimental weirdo—”

“I don’t.”

You whip around. He’s suddenly there, silent as ever, standing just behind you in the fading light.

“I don’t think you’re weird,” he repeats, voice soft and steady, though there’s the faintest crease in his brow like he’s wondering if he’s said too much.

You scramble to stand, completely flustered. “Wait, how long were you—?”

“I heard my name,” he says plainly, as if that explains everything.

The air feels charged with embarrassment. Yours. Maybe his, too. After a pause, he glances away toward the treetops. His voice is quieter now.

“No one’s said that to me before.”

You blink. “Said what?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Sweet dreams.”

There’s something almost reverent in the way he says it, like the words feel too fragile in his mouth.

“I didn’t think those were something I could have.”

The breeze carries the scent of silk flowers, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without looking at you, he adds, “But I liked hearing it. From you.”

Your heart flips once, hard.

And before you can spiral all over again, he turns to go, but stops just long enough to murmur, “Goodnight. I hope…yours are sweet, too.”

ayato

He’s strolling through the estate gardens when he catches the faint tones of your voice, muffled but unmistakably dramatic. Curious, he peeks around a hedge and discovers you monologuing to a cluster of blue hydrangeas with passionate gestures.

“Lord Ayato, my dearest nemesis. Why must you smile like that? Why must your tea taste like heartbreak and fine politics?”

His brows lift in faint surprise.

“And why did I tell him it was ‘transcendent’? That’s not normal person behavior. That’s the kind of thing a swooning diplomat says before fainting into their fan.”

Ayato brings a hand to his mouth, stifling the laugh that bubbles up. He knows he should announce himself—knows it's indecent to linger—but curiosity roots him in place. It’s rare to see you so unguarded, and rarer still to be the subject of such poetic vitriol.

You pace a few steps, oblivious. “He probably thinks I was flirting. Which I wasn’t. I think. Ugh.”

He waits just a second longer, watching as you sigh and press your fingertips to your forehead like a tragic heroine from a stage play, before stepping forward, his fan snapping closed with a soft click.

“I didn’t realize I’d been cast as the villain in your private soliloquy.”

You freeze. There is no mistaking his voice, nor the silk-smooth amusement threading through it. Slowly, you turn.

“I must say, your critique was…vivid,” he continues. His expression is polite, but his eyes betray him, bright with barely contained laughter. “And rather unfair to the tea, which I assure you is not culpable for your emotional distress.”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He tilts his head, as if considering something seriously.

“Though I do wonder what heartbreak tastes like to you.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

He inclines his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Next time, speak your grievances aloud to me instead. I assure you, I respond far better than flowers.”

cyno

He walks in on you muttering and pacing in circles.

“Okay, okay. Don’t laugh if he tells another joke. But also don’t not laugh, because then he’ll think you hate him. Ugh, why is this so complicated?”

He appears behind you with a perfectly straight face and says, “What do you call a fake noodle? an impasta.”

You shriek and nearly trip over a chair. He waits. You groan.

“That was…better than usual,” you admit.

He pauses as he appraises you. His lips twitch. “So. You’ve been rehearsing responses to my jokes?”

You blink, caught. “No. Definitely not.”

He steps closer, arms folded, head tilting in mock-serious thought. “Interesting. That implies you anticipated more. Which means…you’re expecting me.”

“…to keep telling them?”

He nods solemnly. “Correct. And now that I know you’re preparing, I’ll have to escalate.”

You groan again, this time into your hands, and he finally cracks a smile. Later, he’ll tell you a compliment disguised as a riddle. You’ll pretend not to swoon. He’ll pretend not to notice. Neither of you is very convincing.

itto

You’re standing in front of a mirror, hyping yourself up. “You’re brave. You’re bold. You can flirt with Itto today. Probably. Maybe. Okay, no, don’t flirt, just survive eye contact.”

A voice behind you booms, “Well hey, I think you’re already killin’ it!”

You scream and spin around so fast you almost knock over a stool. Itto’s standing in the doorway, grinning like a kid who just found candy and a beetle.

“Also, flirting’s totally encouraged. Ten outta ten, would recommend.”

You clutch your chest. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Since the part where you said you were bold and brave or whatever. Sounded super cool, so I figured I’d stay for the ending.”

You groan. He’s still grinning.

“But hey,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh, “you don’t gotta overthink it. Just talk to me like normal! Or, y’know, you could flirt if that’s easier.”

You entertain the idea of feigning amnesia, knowing he’d probably fall for it. Instead, you mutter, “...I liked your hair today.”

He lights up like the sun. “See? You’re killin’ it!”

Somehow, this ends with him offering to coach you through flirting with him. The audacity.

kaeya

You were only meant to drop off a report. Nothing more. Just a quick visit to the Knights’ headquarters, a few signatures, and out. And yet here you are, lingering in an empty hallway, your forehead pressed lightly against a stone pillar as you mutter to yourself.

“Genius. Absolutely genius. ‘Nice weather, Kaeya.’ That’s what I went with. Might as well have added, ‘Hi, I’ve been harboring a wildly inconvenient crush on you since Stormterror was still a problem. Want to date and/or be the reason I start writing terrible poetry again?’”

A breath of laughter—not your own—cuts through the silence.

“I’d be open to both,” a familiar voice replies.

You freeze.

He’s there, lounging against the window alcove like he’s been there all along, elbow propped casually on the sill, head tilted with interest. His smile says he heard every word. His eyes say he enjoyed it.

Kaeya pushes off the ledge and strolls toward you, every step perfectly unhurried. “Next time you plan to deliver a monologue about me, perhaps wait until I’ve left the building. Unless,” he adds, voice dropping with playful weight, “you were hoping I’d hear it.”

You can feel the heat rise to your face like a sunrise.

“I was just thinking out loud,” you manage.

“So I gathered. And for the record”—he passes close enough that his cloak brushes your sleeve—“I find it flattering.”

You briefly consider flinging yourself out the nearest window.

At the end of the corridor, he glances back over his shoulder, smile curling just shy of sincere.

“If the weather stays this nice, do let me know if that wildly inconvenient crush turns into something more actionable.”

And then he’s gone.

A junior knight passing by gives you a puzzled look. “You, uh…look like you saw a ghost.”

You exhale, voice thin. “Worse.”

baizhu

You’re by yourself in the back room of Bubu Pharmacy, sorting herbs and muttering under your breath. It’s been a long day, and unfortunately, your brain has chosen to perseverate.

“If I faint in front of him again, I’m just going to say it was low blood sugar. Not the fact that he tucked my hair behind my ear like it was nothing.”

“Hmm. I’ll make a note to check your glucose levels...and perhaps develop a tincture for sudden-onset romantic distress?”

You whip around so fast that a handful of Qingxin spills onto the table. Baizhu stands in the doorway, serene as ever, holding a tray of tea like he didn’t just obliterate your self-esteem.

“It’s a surprisingly common condition,” he adds, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Often triggered by gentle gestures and poor coping mechanisms.”

Changsheng pokes her head out from behind his collar and lets out a tiny, delighted laugh. “Lovesick. Very contagious,” she stage-whispers.

You bury your face in your hands.

Baizhu sets the tea down beside you with quiet care. “I could prepare a cure, but I fear the malady is mutual—and, strangely, quite welcome.”

dainsleif

You think you’re alone, sitting quietly in a dim corner of the library and murmuring your frustrations to yourself. Dainsleif, combing the shelves for a particular volume, pauses when he hears the soft thread of your voice carry through the candlelight: “I bet he doesn’t even remember my name. I’m probably just a temporary footnote to him anyway. Someone who fades like shadows at dusk.”

His low voice answers from just beyond the glow of your lantern. “You are not a footnote.”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Dainsleif steps into view. The candlelight flickers across the lines of his face, which remains composed and unreadable but not unfeeling. He doesn’t speak gently, not exactly, but there’s a steadiness to his tone that seems to lessen the musty air.

“Names are more than words,” he says. “They are memory. History. Presence.”

He kneels slightly and locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing.

“I remember your name,” he continues. “Not only the shape of it. I remember the weight it carries when you speak it. I remember the careful way you said goodnight two nights ago, as if you weren’t sure I’d hear it, or hold it.”

You can’t breathe. You can’t look away.

“Don’t assume I forget the things that matter,” he says, rising to his full height again. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his posture softens. And then, without waiting for a reply, he turns and disappears into the stacks. For a long moment, all you can hear is the echo of his footsteps and the pulse of your own heart—louder now, and somehow less alone.

tighnari

You’re elbow-deep in soil, half-focused on coaxing the withered pardisah into a new pot, when your frustration finally boils over.

“Okay, next time, just say thank you and walk away. Easy. Normal. Not, ‘Wow, your ears are so expressive today,’ like some feral maniac.” You groan and press your forehead to your palm. “He probably thinks I’m studying him like a botanical specimen. What is wrong with me?”

“To be fair,” a dry voice answers behind you, “most people don’t notice ear movement unless they’re watching very closely.”

You nearly send the pot flying as you whip around. Tighnari is leaning beside your bag of soil, arms folded, one brow arched in faint incredulity.

“You were there…the whole time,” you croak.

“Roughly since the ‘feral maniac’ part,” he amends, tail flicking with suspicious amusement. “You were a bit harsh on yourself, but entertaining.”

You cover your face. “I swear I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” he says gently, and then—surprisingly—smiles. “I didn’t mind the compliment. It was…oddly specific, but sincere. And clearly the result of long observation.”

He steps past you, crouching to inspect the flower you nearly murdered in your panic.

“Next time,” he adds, not looking up, “less spiraling, more speaking.”

His tone is neutral, but his ears betray him with the smallest, involuntary flick.

And then he mutters to himself, “They’re only expressive when you’re around, anyway.”

You pretend not to hear. For now.

thoma

You’re alone in the kitchen—or so you believe—flipping gyozas with intense concentration and muttering under your breath. “Okay, Thoma likes them crispy. Not burnt. Crispy, like his smile. No, wait, what? Focus!”

“Crispy like my smile, huh?”

You flinch. The spatula slips from your fingers and clatters to the stovetop. Thoma is casually leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like he definitely heard more than he should have.

“I’m flattered,” he says, stepping closer. “But now I’ve got questions. What, exactly, does a crispy smile look like?”

“I—I meant the gyoza, not your— Wait, no, I meant both—I mean—”

The oil hisses sharply, like even the pan can’t take it anymore. Smoke streams upward.

“No, the gyozas!”

Thoma is already by your side, grabbing the pan with practiced ease and sliding it off the stove.

“You know,” he says, grinning as he surveys the damage, “you didn’t have to set them on fire just to impress me.”

“I didn’t—!”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Means I get to help.” He tosses you a wink. “Teamwork, right?”

Somehow, you end up shoulder to shoulder, sleeves rolled up, hands floured, trying again as he gives teasing tips on “optimal gyoza symmetry.”

Later, as the final batch sizzles golden and perfect, he leans just close enough to murmur, “Still not sure what a crispy smile is, but if we’re talking about yours…I think I get it now.”

heizou

You march down the corridor, shoulders tense, voice pitched low but laced with despair.

“No, Heizou, I don’t need your help picking up the papers I dropped. I just need a convenient hole to bury the cadaver of my dignity in, thank you very much—”

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder.

“AAHH—” you scream mid-sentence, spinning on instinct and swinging your bag in self-defense.

Heizou barely ducks in time, a laugh tumbling out as he stumbles back, half-shielding himself. “Whoa, violent thoughts and airborne satchels? I should’ve brought a warrant first.”

You freeze, mortified. He’s already dusting off his sleeves like it’s just another day at the precinct.

“Really now, that’s the welcome I get?” he continues, far too amused for someone who was nearly concussed.

“You snuck up on me mid-spiral,” you retort, torn between embarrassment and residual adrenaline. “That’s reckless behavior, even for you.”

He raises a brow, utterly unbothered. “I prefer to think of it as instinct. I happen to have an uncanny sense for when people are saying my name behind my back. Or in this case, aloud. To themselves.”

Your eyes widen just enough to give you away. Heizou smiles like he’s just cracked another case.

“You know,” he adds, stepping just close enough for his voice to drop a tone, “talking to oneself is a perfectly natural response to emotional distress. Especially when that distress has, say…a face and a name?”

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re insufferable.”

He tilts his head. “And yet, I’m the one you keep muttering about.”

You try to come up with a retort. You fail.

“Don’t worry,” he continues smoothly, already turning on his heel, “your secrets are safe with me.”

“You are the secret,” you call after him.

“And still,” he says without looking back, “you can’t seem to stop confessing to it.”

bennett

“Okay, just be normal. If I trip, I’ll just play dead. He won’t even notice. He’s used to disasters,” you tell yourself as you pace in tight little circles outside the Adventurers’ Guild.

“Wait, was that about me?”

You nearly leap into the decorative flower box beside the stairs.

Bennett stands behind you, blinking wide-eyed, equal parts confused and concerned.

“No—I mean—kind of?” you stammer.

He scratches the back of his neck, flustered. “I mean, yeah, stuff does kinda explode around me sometimes, but…hey, you’re not gonna trip.”

He pauses, then adds quickly, “But if you do, I’ll totally catch you! Probably! I mean, I’ve got decent reflexes! Usually!”

He’s turning red now, voice rising an octave as he tries to dig himself out.

“Not that you’ll fall, or need catching! It’s just—If you did fall, hypothetically, I’d be there. Probably. Hopefully. Unless something explodes first.”

You both stare at each other in silence for a beat and then burst out laughing.

“So,” you say, grinning, “wanna grab lunch before something does explode?”

“Yes! Wait, are you asking me out?”

You hesitate. “…Would it make you trip if I said yes?”

“Most likely.”

“Then, I’ll give you ‘probably’ as my answer.”

“Perfect.”

kaveh

He hears your muffled voice through the wall.

“If I see his ridiculously pretty face one more time, I’m going to cry. Or combust. Or both. There is no middle ground anymore.”

A suspicious creak of the floorboard makes your soul exit your body. The door swings open slowly. Kaveh stands there with a tea tray and the most theatrical expression known to man.

“Well,” he says, in full dramatic cadence, “had I known my face was wreaking such havoc on your emotional equilibrium, I would’ve brewed peppermint for the nerves.”

You groan and throw a pillow at him.

“Ah! betrayed by the very person moved to tears by my beauty. So you’ve chosen emotional combustion. Noted.”

You peek between your fingers. “Kaveh, please go.”

He places the tea tray down very deliberately. “I’ll leave,” he says, moving toward the door, “but only after I point out that I’m flattered, deeply and profoundly.”

He stops in the doorway, looks back with a grin just slightly too genuine.

“By the way,” he adds, not quite looking at you, “it’s mutual. The whole…emotional-overload-in-each-other’s-presence thing.”

And with that, he leaves. The tea cools quickly. You do not.

zhongli

You’re standing outside Wánmín Restaurant, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and muttered self-advice as you wait for a certain funeral consultant to join you for lunch.

“You can’t just stare at him every time he talks. He’s not poetry. He’s a man. A terrifyingly wise, elegant man made of tea and regret.”

You pause, frowning at the phrase.

“Tea and regret?”

You jolt and whirl around. Zhongli is standing just behind you, his expression unreadable, as if weighing your words with the patience of centuries.

After a moment’s pause, a faint smile graces his lips. “I believe that’s a new metaphor.”

Then, with a quiet elegance, he gestures in the space between you.

“You may continue your soliloquy. I find it…endearing.”

You feel your composure unravel, cheeks flushing crimson as you try to meet his calm, knowing gaze. For a moment, the world narrows to the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet dignity of a man who understands more than he lets on, and you silently wonder if maybe, just maybe, he is poetry after all.

bananana2217

1000 Players Simulate Civilization: Rich vs Poor

notsoheterosapien

Ship obsession so bad you make gifs out of them

nyanluv

Late nights

Base from GOCHUJAN_G on twt

Still on the mc grind yuh

inozuart

just watched ish's 1000 players rich vs poor,,, absolute cinema. minecraft roleplay will never leave me and that's okay ❤

trinityiswired

So Cocky (18+ MDNI)

Satoru Gojo x Roommate!Reader

CW: PiV, unprotected sex, creampie, somnophilia if you squint, dubcon, spanking, squirting, cunnilingus, Satoru switching from a soft dom to a little bit of a hard dom.

WC: 1.7k

High pitched giggles muffled from behind your roommate’s bedroom door. Ever since Suguru dropped out of college, he left Satoru to find a new roommate. You. No one else would deal with his antics other than you and Suguru.

This brings you to the present, covering your ears with your pillow as moans muffled through the walls. The erotic sounds of the girl, “Gojo, you’re so biggg!” Oh my god please shut up! Satoru wasn’t silent either, his deep grunts and panting were slightly less louder than hers. It was almost every night he brought a new girl over, boxes of condoms filling the bathroom trash. Gross. There was only so much you could take before the sound of sex overwhelmed you. Your feet took you to the front of his bedroom door, raising your hand to bang on it. “Satoru! You better keep it down before I—” The door opens, sweatpants loosely hanging on his hips. “Jesus you fucking smell.” I pinch my nose. The girl scrambles with her dress messily put on and a pack of condoms sticking out of her purse pushes past you. “When can I see you again?” She asks nervously. “I don’t do the same girl twice. Sorry sweetheart.”

She scoffs, “Whatever Gojo, you were just a cheap fuck, y’didn’t even kiss me, sleaze.” leaving our apartment in a huff. It was dead silent, you looked at Satoru in a confused daze “Okay—So like..Huh??”.

A sigh escapes his lips, “Didn’t even get to finish.” Whining in his sweaty glory, “It’s no wonder she left so mad, you treat girls like shit, huh?” You say blankly. “Not to ones I like!” He argues, “You must hate every girl.” you snort.

“Nuh uh, you’re just jealous because you get no play, unlike me.” He crossed his arms, “You’re too cocky for your own good, bet you didn’t make her finish either.” you roll my eyes. “Bitch—” “Ah no, I can’t stand smelling you any longer, you reek.” He pouts and heads to the bathroom, the squeak of the shower handle before the sound of water rushing.

You laid in bed slowly drifting off to sleep after 30 minutes of that seriously awkward moment, not hearing the creak of your bedroom door opening. Satoru’s eyes glaze over your sleeping form, “You’re so mean to me…I’ll show you cocky..” He huffs, lifting the blanket off your body. You stirred—A smile on his face seeing you sleep so peacefully. His slender, nimble fingers tuck under the edge of your underwear, dragging them down as gently as he could. God. What a pretty pussy, he could only think. The tip of his fingers grazing against your slit, working in circles to get wet just for him.

A sharp inhale from your mouth, a sweet gasp that graced his ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay sweet thing.” He coos, his tongue pressing against your deprived cunny. Your eyes flickered open, “What the hell are you doing-” Your hand quickly pressed against his head, “Nono, it’s okay, I’ll make you feel so so good.” Taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, licking slow and deep stripes up your heat. Oh, “Satoru—!” His cerulean eyes stared at your face contorting in pleasure, a groan rumbling in his throat when his name left your lips in such a sweet expression. His nose bumped at your clit as his tongue became more fervent and almost desperate to drink in every part of you. Maybe being woken up so gently made you so dazed, that you couldn’t realize how you rolled your hips against his mouth. His eyes rolled back as you used his mouth, you didn’t even see him pumping his cock while he ate you up like a starved man. “Wait wait-I’m gonna cum.” You cried out, thighs tightening around his head. “Come on, cum, baby.” His voice was sweet like saccharine as he spoke, his tongue driving inside your slick-covered cunt. “That’s it–” His fingertips dig into your thighs when your legs tremble and tighten. Your deliciously pitched moans crying out his name as if it were a prayer, your release mixed with his saliva dripped from his chin as he rose up from between your thighs. A smug grin spread on his face when he wiped the mess with the back of his hand, his length twitching and rosy, needing its release so badly. He had such a pretty cock, pale and pink with veins running down the member as if it would just cum from the lightest touch. “I need to be inside you, please let me..” Staring down at you half lidded and panting.

Coming down from your high, “Wait–You need a condom, don’t you.” Your legs rest around his waist. He leaned down, “I am not using a condom when it comes to you, roomie.” His fingers tilting your chin up, “You’re the only exception.” pressing his lips against yours affectionately, full of need. His tip teasingly nudging at your entrance, his breath shaking from the slight touch. He reaches down to hold his cock, tapping it against your dripping core before making his tip slide into you. “Fuck.” He staggers, his forearms caging you under him. “Almost made me cum.” He says strained, inching himself further into you. Shaky breaths left your lips, “Don’t move yet.” He was stretching you so well, could you take him? It wasn’t really up for debate, he’d make you take every inch of him. “Can I keep going, baby?” He said warmly.

You could only nod as he fed your aching cunt more inches till you were met with the hilt. Labored breathing as all you could do was moan, taking what he gave you. He moved slowly, his arm holding himself above you and his other hand cupping your face. “You look so beautiful under me, look at that pretty face—That pretty cunt, so talkative.” He cooed, watching himself disappear into you. Was he this gentle with every girl?—No he couldn’t be, what you heard earlier was the exact opposite of this. “Toru, feels s’good..!” I moan, “Fuck, ‘Toru’ huh?” He grunts, his hips starting to move at a rougher pace. “Say it again..” His hips meet the back of your thighs with loud a ‘plap, plap, plap’, skin slapping skin. “Toru–Ah..!” When the tip of his cock hit just the right spot that had you crying his name with an arch of your back. “Right there?” His eyes widened, focusing on hitting that spot just for you. “Yesyes, I’m gonna cum.” So tight, your walls hugged and squeezed around his cock as you came again.

“You’re gonna break my dick if you keep…Squeezing me so tightly.” He says breathlessly, not relenting on his movements. “Too much..!” You choked out a sob from oversensitivity. “I wanna cum too, you can keep going for me, can’t you? Just one more, yeah?” His hand reached down to press on your tummy, “Too fucked out to speak I guess.” He watched as your eyes rolled back, his hand grabbing your face.

“Who’s cocky? C’mon you can say it again, can’t you?” Your first orgasm left a creamy ring around the base of his cock, a new feeling building up in the pit of your stomach as he pulled out to the tip before plunging himself back in.

He wasn’t shy with his voice either, his grunts soon grew into higher-pitched moans, silencing himself once in a while with a feverish kiss. He slides out of you, gripping your waist to flip you onto your stomach. He littered kisses down your spine as his hand idled away at finding a pillow to put under your stomach, sheathing himself back inside once he did. He admired how beautiful you looked from behind, your back arched and your sultry eyes glancing back at him when your hips moved in tandem with his to meet his thrust. “That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock.” His hands caressed down your sides before digging his nails into the fat of your hips, letting his foot brace on the bed as he fucked into you deeper. Chasing his climax, “A-Ah wait, oh my god!” You gasped, clinging onto the sheets, trying to scramble a bit forward as his cock reached even further in this position. He laughed, “Don’t run away, I’m soo close.” He landed a harsh smack to your ass. You moaned out, and a strange feeling started to bud, “I have to go to the bathroom, something feels weird!” His ears perk up, “Oh? Are you gonna make a mess for me?” Your eyes widen, “S-slow down, ahn!” I gasp.

A gush of clear fluid came from your cunny as you screamed out, drooling onto the sheets. “Thaaat’s it baby—” his eyes scanned the room, meeting the nightstand with your birth control pill displayed on top. Isn’t that such a coincidence? “I’m gonna stuff you so full.” Smiling into the crook of your neck as you could only moan pathetically around his manhood. His hands reach for your chest as he pumps himself into you, rubbing circles around your sensitive buds. “Yesyesyes..” He says through his teeth as his moans turn into whimpers as his fat cock empties a generous load of his thick seed into you, his thrusts slowed down but he had to make sure that he fucked his cum into you juust right. When he pulls out his cock slaps against his stomach before softening, watching his seed ooze out of you and down your thighs with that fucked out look on your face. “Sweet thing.” He kisses your face so gently, standing up to get a warm wet rag to run along your body. He massages your legs with a loving gaze on you, “You okay, baby?” You look at him sleepily, “Mhmm…” He leans in towards your face, “God, you’re just so perfect, don’t wanna fuck another pussy. Just want yours.” hugging your tired body close to his.

Sure he was cocky, but maybe he was right to be when he fucked you so good.

Fate’s Unravel

Presenting: Luca Michaelides x Reader (Saint Spell's Love Guide to the Magical Student's Spellbook)

Summary: What if Y/n found a way for Luca to exist again? (I just want to be delulu)

Author: My heart aches for him. I wrote this so fast… He’s the reason why I wanted to write fanfics (Kylar stole me for a moment). It’s a crime that Saint Spell’s isn’t more popular. I shall contribute.