Take A Hint

Take A Hint

Please just notice their advances

Ft. Diluc, Dottore, Itto, Zhongli

Diluc:

It's not you, it's him

Truly, he could not be any more vague

Why? You might ask?

Simply put, he's trying his best to romance you without letting you know it's him who's romancing you

Something something anxious you'll reject him something

So yeah, flowers, subtle gifts in the form of things you happen to need, everything is handed to you on a silver platter of convenience

And the sender himself is nowhere to be found or even heard of

Throw in how he's not exactly known for being amorous, as popular as he is, how could you possibly have suspected it was from him?

Of course you'd ask around, sparking a whole new chain of talk about your mysterious admirer

And lots of unwanted advice from the well-meaning citizens of Mond

"You should try asking around at the Angel's Share. Master Diluc always seems to know a little about everything, maybe he has something for ya."

Having no other leads, you went ahead with it

As with every other evening, the place was packed, drunkards exchanging tales over their liquor

There was nothing of value to be gotten from them, so you made a beeline for the redhead behind the counter

"Good evening, what can I get for you this time?"

"You wouldn't happen to have information, would you? On umm, the person who's been sending me all these presents."

He stiffens up, though not enough to be distinctly noticeable

He was going to say no, continue to lay low for a bit more, but when you looked at him so expectantly, it was hard for him to turn you down

It was even worse when you pressed further, prying for details to push your luck

Still, he caved and answered, fumbling as he did, because there was only so vague he could be the more you questioned

"You seem to know this person really well, it's almost like- Wait, Diluc, are you??"

In your excitement, you had gotten up, kneeling on the barstool and leaning across the counter to come face to face with him

"I've thought of something else you can get me, bartender~"

"Y-yes, and...what might that be?"

"You<3"

_____

"Just like that?" Kaeya confirmed, throwing his head back and laughing as he turned to his brother. "Yeah, just like that," you echoed, smiling at your lover who glowered at the blue haired captain. Diluc sat himself between the two of you as he wrapped an arm around you. "I told you it'd be easier to just ask them," Kaeya quipped, only to be silenced with a glare. "I recall," Diluc said. "But it worked out fine all the same." And fine it was, as he pressed a kiss to your temple, content that he no longer had to fret over hiding from you.

Dottore:

For someone who's all about the enjoying the experimental process, even he was growing tired of the lack of results

Were his hints (link to past post) too difficult to notice even for you? Had he overestimated your abilities?

Perhaps that was the case, so he'd have no choice but to resort to a more tried and true method

But of course even then he'd twist it in his own way to suit himself

It's not like there was any point in conforming to a standard the complete opposite of his own lest you fall for anything short of who he truly was

So he approaches you under the guise of a personal experiment, a little something that had piqued his interest

"You can be my lover for a... how's a month sound?"

You choked on your drink

As if being approached by the harbinger you worked for during your lunch break wasn't nerve wracking enough, that was what he wanted to talk to you about?

Despite his offhanded demeanor, seeming to not care about whether you agreed to it or not, you had a feeling it would be in your best interests to go along with it

It's not like you weren't at least somewhat into him anyway

His smile from under the mask did seem very ominous to any sane person though

Perhaps you weren't entirely sane, because the doctor's low chuckle didn't send you running for the hills in spite of you having no idea what he was planning

But really, how hard could it be to play the part of Il Dottore's lover for a month?

The answer was not at all

The position came with a number of privilege you were sure you'd miss once you lost them

Free access to anything under Dottore's command? Almost the same level of authority?

Really, it was insane just how much you were getting out of something that stemmed from his curiosity

And it really had you wondering just how he could afford to spare you all this luxury without batting an eye

Your colleagues, while understandably jealous, had been surprisingly supportive as well, giggling in your ear about how soft the doctor seemed to be for you

But all you could think of was how it was all a lie

You had to keep reminding yourself how quickly it would be over, and that you'd soon return to your old post

Even in the doctor's presence, which was often, you were doing mental gymnastics to stay calm at his every doting gesture

How was it even possible for him to hold you so gently? You'd never know

His duality was such that he could snap at the Regrator in a tone you're sure was icy enough to make the Tsaritsa proud all while holding you in his lap with the warmest possible embrace

And every moment felt like it'd last forever

Could he freeze time? You sort of hoped he would experiment with that and inevitably extend the time you had with him

You, ever the fool, had gotten comfortable with the arrangement even when you'd repeatedly reminded yourself not to

Although one could say you were an even bigger fool for not realising how he set you up to fall for him

Did you really think he was capable of looking at anyone he didn't consider special to him with enough warmth to melt a room when you can't even see his eyes?

On the final day of your agreement, you were finally starting to worry about how you were supposed to go about your old job after all you'd experienced with Dottore

Could you even function without remembering how nice it was to have his reassuring hand on your back?

"Oh my, anyone would think you were upset by the thought of leaving me if you pulled that face."

"Lord Dottore! I didn't notice- I'm sorry I-"

"No, this has been...a very successful experiment, if I do conclude. It has definitely helped me to confirm something important, I was just thinking of how to reward you for your help."

"I'm honoured I was able to assist, my lord. I'd be happy to accept any gift you might grace me with."

He frowned a little, and you were worried you had misspoken

Well, technically, you had, because he was hoping you'd have gotten comfortable enough with him over the month to drop the formalities

"Any gift? Then it's decided. We'll just have to make this a permanent arrangement, wouldn't you agree, my dear? In which case I think it only fitting that...when we're alone like this, you should call me Zandik."

The last part was softer, like the utterance of his name was for no one but you (it was)

Dottore might have been the feared harbinger, but Zandik was your affectionate maniac, and yours alone

_____

"Zandik, I never really did get to ask...why did you choose me for that experiment anyway? It just all seems far too fortunate for everything to fall into place so easily," you asked. You hadn't expected him to grin - more to himself than anyone else. "Yes, very fortunate indeed, you must be quite the lucky one then, favoured by the goddess of love herself, no?" he chuckled. He wondered if you would ever figure out he schemed it all, or if you'd remain blissfully ignorant. Gingerly, he took off his mask and set it on your face. "Would you look at that, it suits you too," he mused. "So why don't we just take it, that we were bound to end up like this one way or another, my precious?"

Itto:

You'd think it's obvious since he's such an outspoken guy

But he's fairly prideful too, so chances are, he's gonna try get you to ask him out

Unfortunately for him, he very much does want to cut the chase and ask you out so he doesn't have to wait

It's really a dilemma, and it doesn't help that no one in the gang apart from Shinobu gives sound advice

Just ask you out? Yeah right, Shinobu, he's gonna go with what the other guys say and just make himself seem so cool you'll be dying to go out with him

So he hangs around you a lot, dragging you with him and talking about how the Arataki Gang is doing stupendously

And who's leading the gang? None other than him, of course!!

Surely you'll think he's awesome, right?

Of course, credit where credit's due, he does end up talking about Shinobu a lot, praising her and how well she helps manage things

In part, that's supposed to help you see how humble he is despite his awesomeness

Too bad it gave the impression that he liked Shinobu, leading to you trying to set them up

Did you kinda like Itto? Yeah, sure, what wasn't there to like about him?

But that was also why you thought you should put your own feelings aside and help him out

And Itto, the sweet dumbass, not knowing any better, went along with all your ideas thinking you just wanted to spend time with him

You were taking him shopping for stuff!! That seems like a date, right? He was counting as a date

Yes, you were trying to dress him up and "coincidentally" bump into Shinobu and abandon them to have dinner together, but Itto didn't know the second half of that

He was absolutely memorising every detail to tell the rest of the gang after about how it worked and you slyly tried to go on a date with him

He was planning up how to tell them already

And you were dressing him up too? Look at you, acting like you're already married, he's very head empty

My guy is so ready to call you out on it when you bump into Shinobu a little earlier than expected

"Oh, what are you two up to? No offence, y/n, it's just that Itto typically doesn't come around town without some sort of mayhem following."

"Hey, you know that's not true, people love me, I-"

Red alert: he was looking stupid in front of his crush

And when you were quick to defend him? Boy, he looked like he wanted to kiss you then and there

You thought you were salvaging his reputation, but really, it just made you look like you were taking his side unconditionally

At least that's how it seemed in the moment

"How about that, boss. You actually got them to fall for you hard enough to overlook your idiocy. Who'd have thought?"

"Well, of course no one can resist the one and Oni Arataki Itto, y/n included, right my bug?"

You couldn't even be offended at his awful petname for you because there was so much to process

Were you dating now? Was that how it went?

Honestly, you could roll with that, as funny of a way as it was to get together

You didn't even have the heart to tell him about the misunderstanding because he seemed so proud to show off to everyone how you finally got together

_____

The members of the Arataki Gang gathered around with gathered sakura blooms as they scattered the petals around to congratulate the two of you. For the most part, Itto was just recounting the tale from his perspective, which was pretty funny to hear since you knew how it all actually went down. Had you really looked at him with the love the ocean had for the moon? It was almost embarrassing to hear how he described you, the poetic brilliance so unlike his typical crude speech. Certainly, it was a simple as comparing you to fresh grass in the summer, but it was very him to do so. And you supposed that was the magnetic charm of his after all.

Zhongli:

He can't think of a time when he's ever been so desperate to reach out to someone and yet so hesitant

But that had to be all the more reason for him to keep his distance because imagine if he lost you once he'd gotten attached?

Absolute devastation

But a small part of him insists you're worth the risk

Sadly, not enough to convince him because what if one day you realise you're just wasting your time with him? If you didn't actually like him any more than as a dear friend?

So you end up in this awful push and pull, hot and cold situation where one day he's inviting you out, eager to spend time with you

And the next day he's nowhere to be found, uncontactable as though he was never a part of your life

It got tiring really fast, so you roped in Hu Tao, since as his boss, she probably had his schedule

That and Hu Tao very much seems to be aware of something you aren't (aka the fact that Zhongli is immortal)

She wants to fill you in so badly because she's pretty done with watching Zhongli pine and then act like he never did

Still, she respects his boundaries (mostly) so she just helps drag him out of hiding

And by that, I mean calling him to work for something really important so he'll rush over

So you can imagine how his eyes widened when he saw you waiting with the director

"Director...and y/n, did I miss something?"

He knew he was being played the moment he saw Hu Tao's close-eyed smile but it was too late to run

Even then, Hu Tao wasn't one to break character, so she sent the two of you on some errands for her

So off you go, wandering Liyue on tasks you're certain have no relevance to whatever Hu Tao actually needs

Part 1: Scouring mountains for qingxin

At some point, Zhongli decided it'd be so much easier to just boost you up with his geo structures and catching you when you jumped/slid back down

No, he's definitely not the geo archon he's just very proficient at using his vision, he assures you

With the way he talks about Liyue as you search for flowers, even you end up piecing it all together

"What's it like to no longer be worshipped?"

"It's definitely more peaceful."

He pauses and slowly turns towards you

"I seem to be slipping up a lot today. This is exactly why I can't be around you. Still, what were the chances you'd figure this out before picking up on my feelings for you?"

Look at him turning the tables on you, it was now your turn to be flustered

How dare he

With a gentle tenderness only the passage of time could train, he picked out one particular flower from the bunch and held it beside your cheek

"Would it be inappropriate for me to comment on how you put even the loveliest of flowers to shame? Or should I find an equally appealing piece of jade or cor lapis to match the shine of your eyes?"

"What's with this sudden flattery?"

"You do bring out the worst in me sometimes. Even centuries of solitude couldn't grant me the patience to wait for you to choose me."

_____

You'd returned to the funeral parlour with Zhongli, both of you hauling massive bouquets in your arms. "We've found the-" Zhongli began, only to be cut off by his boss chiding him. "Aiya, I gave you the perfect opportunity and you still have no game!"

"No, but I did-" He turned to you with pleading eyes, but it was a sight too funny to pass up on. You'd make it up to him later, of course. But for the time being, you'd let yourself be amused with his suffering as payback for ghosting you all those times.

Commissioned by @monstersealclubber

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forest fire

Featuring— alhaitham x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, hurt/comfort fic, reader has a pyro vision, slightly suggestive at the end if you squint ⤀ summary: he comforts you when you overthink on certain aspects of your relationship | w.c. 1k+ ⤀ a/n: alhaitham strikes me as someone who's intelligent but doesn't overthink, so as an overthinker, this is so..so..so self indulgent

“You’re overthinking things again,” al-haitham states matter of factly. He continues to read despite the soft thudding of your footsteps as you pace the room.

“I’m not.” You argue, stopping in your tracks. “It makes sense. I just think… what if we…” your words trail off as you hesitate, biting your lip, wondering if you should continue your train of thought. 

“...what if we… end things now. Before things get worse…” you falter, wringing your hands, your voice as small as you feel under the watchful eyes of the heavens. Al-haitham’s shoulders visibly stiffen, pausing for just a moment to look up from his book, before slamming it shut in his hand.

“And where’s all this coming from?” he inquires, a quizzical brow arched in skepticism. Your boyfriend leans back in his seat, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation; you weren’t one to make rash decisions like this.

“Where’s this coming from… al-haitham were you even listening to me?” you throw your hands up in frustration and continue pacing the room. The two of you had taken a stroll this afternoon through sumeru city and you had thought it a good idea to have your fortunes read; your colleague at the akademiya, setaria, had sworn by nabiya and the accuracy of her readings, claiming that this relationship you had with the scribe should undergo the young fortune teller’s divination before proceeding foward: “Lest you waste your time on a doomed love prospect,” your friend had warned. Besides, it wasn’t that you necessarily believed in divination, but it didn’t hurt to have a little bit of fun… right? How wrong you were.

As you once again begin to pace to and fro, you miss the way al-haitham rolls his eyes from across you. “Don’t tell me this is all because of what that fortune teller said. You know they’re almost never accurate right? And you’re telling me you want to end things because… her cats recommended it?” Nabiya had read that your relationship would burn up, like a dying star, that it’d be better to save the trouble before everything went up in flames.

“No,” you continue, ignoring him, “she said the gods spoke through her. But anyways, I’ve been thinking ever since and I mean… just looking at our visions should be proof enough that maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.” 

“And pray tell y/n, what do our visions have to do with our relationship? If anything, I’d say it’s a good omen that our elements react so well together.” Ever the rational insight. Usually, al-haitham quite enjoyed listening to your theories, but this was getting absurd, making him wonder if perhaps, there was more troubling you beneath the surface than you let on. Because even he couldn’t predict the tangent you were about to go on when your pyro and his dendro vision worked wonders together, especially when encountering enemies during your investigations in the forest and beyond. 

“Yes, they do react well don’t they,” you chuckle, cynical. “Burning. In our forest nation.”

“Well actually only half forest,” he interjects, as a poor attempt at lightening the mood. In his quiet observation, al-haitham hears the slight shift in your tone, hears you struggling to choke back your true feelings in your tirade. And yet the more you processed your own reasoning, the more it made sense. Your lover is rational if nothing else, so he’s sure to see your point. The nails of your clenched fists dig into the flesh of your palms, your heart starts beating faster, the voices of a hundred different thoughts swirling in your head. Here in the knowledge driven nation of sumeru, it was a rare occasion that the head would agree with the heart, so when it came down to it, most chose to follow their head. You were no exception.

“Al-haitham I’m being serious.” As if your large, pleading eyes weren’t already enough to break his cool persona, your next words do. You turn around, unable to face him as you begin to speak.

“Pyro is destructive. When it spreads, it burns everything in its path, and what if I burn you. Maybe not literally but I’m sure you know the sages aren’t exactly happy their scribe is getting distracted lately. And the grand sage is rtawahist— he’s bound to connect the dots and say the same… I don’t want to be a liability to you al-haitham, or cost you-” 

Ah. There it was. Dating the infamous grand scribe had thrown both you and your relationship into the public eye, and the scrutiny of the akademiya itself was no exception. You felt the air escape from your lungs before you could continue any further. Al-haitham had all but jumped out of his seat, tackling your person and enveloping you from behind, in a rare embrace.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs, “having a pyro vision doesn’t make you the fire itself. And the sages have no say in my personal life, so even if you do ever burn me, well, forests need fire to renew and regrow.” He turns your body around to face him, fingers lifting up your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“I don’t care about any sort of destiny the gods or stars want to show me. I-”

“-plan to discredit the entire rtawahist darshan?” Al-haitham ignores your interruption and continues,

“And? I’d go against celestia as well if they think the element of our visions is enough of a reason to seperate us. You know I’m no zealot.” When the only response he gets from you is the fact that you shift your eyes away from his, he opts to pull you into himself, a hand on your back, the other behind your head. At this proximity, you’re able to pick up the steady sounds of his heartbeat. It was calming; it settled the rapid pace of your own heart to match his. Slowly, you bring your arms to wrap around his waist and press a soft smile into his chiseled chest.

“I fight for what I believe in y/n, and I believe in us. It’s going to take more than just some fortune teller to change my mind, so let’s not discuss this anymore… unless you’d like other ways to keep your thoughts at bay?”

“You know… despite the robot allegations, you’re actually quite romantic,” you tease, looking up. 

“And you’re strangely impulsive for an overthinker.”

“...shut up.”

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

fantasising about husband! aki who can no longer hide just how much he longs for you when you accidentally walk in on him.

fem! reader, 18+, friends to lovers, semi-angst, marriage of convenience, fluff, love confessions, mutual pining, (male) masturbation, making out, fingering, sitting cowgirl, dick riding, vaginal creampie

3.9k (unedited)

reblogs are appreciated ~

it’s embarrassing, really, just how quickly aki adapts to a life dominated by your presence, and yet, it happens so naturally, that without realising, he’s accepting it as easily as he does breathing. 

with the both of you now settling into the final years of your twenties, your marriage had been born from the promise of companionship, should neither of you settle with a partner of your own. it was you who had drunkenly slurred the idea after he’d accompanied you home after a night out—rambling something about how much you loved him—and because you were so stupidly inebriated, you had shrieked with laughter when he’d actually agreed. 

the promise isn’t mentioned again for the two years that had followed, until a few months after aki’s twenty-eighth birthday, and it is denji, of all people, who brings it up. in truth, after ignoring it for so long, you’d actually forgotten all about that particular night, and so, after aki shoos denji away with a carefully aimed glare, you’re pleasantly surprised when he then proposes that the two of you marry, because—in his very own words—it made sense. 

it’s not quite the proposal that you’d imagined when you were far younger, enamoured by the idea of marrying your very own prince charming, and yet, it’s all too easy to agree, and a month later, your life is eternally tied to aki’s with a single signature upon a piece of paper. 

only, a year later, and the relationship that is shared between the two of you remains strictly platonic. 

you aren’t exactly sure what you had been hoping to change once the two of you married, but even power has begun to notice that your marriage with aki isn’t at all what it’s made up to be. 

‘you don’t share a bed?!’ she’d exclaimed one evening after coming to visit and poking her nose around your bedroom long enough to discover that the wardrobe is home only to your clothes. 

‘we’re friends,’ you’d stressed, brows furrowing. 

‘yeah,’ denji had piped up from somewhere down the hall, head buried within the depths of your fridge, ‘but you’re married.’ 

‘hm, hm,’ power had nodded, agreeing, and you’d had to hide your grimace by busying yourself with shoving her from your bedroom and clicking the door shut behind you. 

the conversation had quickly changed after denji had convinced you to accompany them to lunch—‘cause you’ve got nothin’ in—but it’s still one that you catch yourself thinking about when you tuck yourself into bed each night. 

lately, more often than not, he’s the reasoning behind your last thought at night, and the first when you rouse from sleep in the morning. at first, you chalk it down to the fact that now the two of you live together, it’s only natural that he’s who you think of when ordering takeout, because it’s also obvious that you’d wonder what he’d like to eat tonight. it’s also totally normal for hope to rear its familiar heat in the centre of your chest when you return home from work—because, why on earth wouldn’t you pray that he made it home safe and sound? and, of course, it’s just curtesy to ask if he’d like to join you when you’re watching one of those shitty chick flicks that are shown every friday evening, hiding your smirk behind a cushion when he grumbles under his breath about how terrible the movie is, but still comes to slouch on the settee beside you, your feet nestled on his lap. 

there’s nothing unusual about marrying your best friend. 

at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

until, one night, everything changes. 

it’s new year’s, and your small group of friends have gathered to denji and power’s apartment. 

it’s just the four of you crammed onto the small settee, a concoction of what smells to be both vodka and beer glaring up at you from the depths of the glass that power had shoved into the palm of your hand upon arrival. you haven’t yet dared to take a sip. 

there’s another of those shitty chick flicks playing in the background, but no one is really paying attention to the screen, all eyes focusing on the clock that has been pinned—lopsided—onto the wall. there are only a few minutes until midnight, and suddenly, you’re all too aware of the heat of aki’s thigh pressing to your own, his arm brushing against yours when he lifts a hand to push a loose strand of hair from his face. tonight, the inky tresses are free from their usual tie, and for a reason known only to the heavens, you can’t stop glancing at him from the corner of your eye. it’s not as if you’re a stranger to this particular hairdo, but tonight, the blues of his hair entice your stare back toward him, over and over, and the more you do so, the more confused you become. 

fortunately, power pins your attention onto her when she all but throws her weight onto your shoulder, giggling loudly, ‘hey, hey!’ 

‘hey,’ you hum down at her, vaguely aware of denji jumping from his seat, hopping over the back of the settee, and disappearing down the hallway.

power leans forward so that her cheek is pressed to yours. the stench of beer is heavy on her breath, and when your nose crinkles, she only laughs harder. ‘you guys gonna kiss?’ 

you don’t have to look to know that aki is staring at the back of your head. awkwardly, you clear your throat, unable to hide your wince in time. denji returns, bowl of freshly cooked fries in hand. he’s already shovelling a handful into his mouth, belatedly remembering to share by shoving the bowl under power’s nose so suddenly that, in her surprise, her left foot kicks out and connects with his knee. he howls, the bowl dropped to his lap, and power snatches it, scoffing down a mouthful herself. cheeks stuffed, she points to the clock, and a garbled yelp of excitement escapes her. 

‘look, look!’ 

there’s just a minute left. 

a warm hand eases over your crown, and the way that your spine relaxes is instantaneous. it’s reflex, the way that you curl into his side—as you have hundreds of times before—and you pointedly ignore the way that power jabs her elbow into denji’s flank, his eyes watering as he chokes on another mouthful of fries. 

the clock tick-tocks, and the tip of a nose is ghosting over the shell of your ear. his fingers tickle down the back of your neck, and the brush of his lips at your temple welcomes you into the new year. 

it’s not quite the kiss that you’d hoped for, once, when you still dreamt of new year kisses way back in your teen years, and yet, your pulse skips a beat all the same. 

‘happy new year,’ he murmurs to your cheek, thumb slipping to press to your pulse, and you know that he can feel the way that it stutters, faltering beneath his touch. 

it’s just aki, you tell yourself, because it’s easier to lie than it is to acknowledge the way that your stomach twists itself into knots. 

from over your shoulder, you peek towards him, unsurprised to see that his stare is already focused on you. he blinks, once, twice, and something in his eye shifts, his lids drooping as his gaze lowers to your mouth. subconsciously, your lips part, as if to say something—anything—to save yourself from the press of the pad of his thumb at your throat, but all that comes out is a stuttered repeat of his sentiment, the words choked upon when that damned thumb of his strokes over the length of your jugular. 

clearing your throat, you try again, despite the fact that you’re sure he can feel the perspiration that has begun to form on the surface of your skin. you force a smile, one that is returned by the crooking of the corner of his mouth, and you will yourself to feign indifference, even though you’re sure that he can feel the way that your pulse jumps at the sight. 

‘happy new year, aki.’ 

ଓ

the new year passes. 

the world settles into its usual routine, and things in your shared apartment appear to be just as normal. 

only, they’re not. 

aki has always been a constant in your life, this, you’re grateful for. yet, after new year’s, something changes between two of you. you’re a little slow to realise that all too suddenly, he’s everywhere. 

he’s there when you’re stirring your morning coffee, squinty eyed as he smiles when you thank him for boiling the kettle for you because you’re running a tad late this morning. it isn’t until you’re rushing out of the apartment, handbag swinging on your shoulder, that you realise that he is the one who is late for work, as he’s usually out of the door at least an hour before you drag yourself from your bed. 

he’s also there when you’re returning home from work, waiting to greet you as you’re kicking your shoes from your feet and slumping onto the settee with an exhausted groan of relief. the tips of his fingers are kneading at the ache that has formed in the arch of your foot, and you fail to realise that he’s staring at the column of your throat, as your eyes are closed. this happens once, twice, and upon the third time, you’ve started to become a tad suspicious, because usually, he doesn’t arrive home until long after the clock reads six pm. 

a month later, when he catches you kicking at the boiler because it’s stopped working, again, it is he who calls to have it fixed. in the meantime, he leaves freshly boiled hot water bottles outside of the bathroom door, ready for you to bundle into your dressing gown after you finish bathing under an uncomfortable spray of cold water. you’re a little dramatic, sure, when you exclaim that the cold is going to be the death of you, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the smile that tugs at your lips when he huffs, rolls his eyes, but still takes your hands in his to warm your fingers. 

another month passes quickly, and another, and another. you’ve grown long accustomed to the fingers that stroke at your elbow whenever he passes by, to the knowing smiles that conceal secrets that you’re not privy to, hidden behind the rim of his mug as he all but inhales yet another mouthful of coffee. he still comments on your shitty chick flicks, yet, sometimes, you compromise, and he forces you to sit through a range of disaster films that stretch on for almost three hours at a time. oftentimes, you’re falling asleep beneath the blanket that he’d thrown over you just an hour or so before, and yet when you wake, you’re tucked into the comfort of your own bed. 

all too soon, you find that each smile, each brush of his fingers, each cup of coffee, each hot water bottle, and each blasted three hour disaster film, are all driving toward something that you can’t control. 

spring arrives, and with it, so does the realisation that you are helplessly in love. 

and yet, it isn’t you who confesses first. 

today, exhaustion has you sent home from work an hour earlier than usual. again, aki’s brogues are stacked neatly on the shoe rack when you step inside, the front door clicking shut behind you. you’re too tired to ponder on the reason why he’s home far earlier than he should be, your feet kicking themselves free from the shape of your heels. the relief is instant, and a sigh has your chest heaving, shoulders slumping low enough for the strap of your handbag to slip down to the crook of your elbow. you allow it to thump to the floor, and you can already hear aki’s voice reprimanding you, but you’re shattered, and right now, all you want to do is go to bed. 

rolling your neck until it cricks, you shuffle your way down the hall, pausing by the living room door to see that the television is switched on, but muted. a brow raising, you move on, only to halt when you hear a noise coming from inside your room. if you were more alert, you probably would have hesitated just a second longer, but before you can stop, and think, your hand is twisting at the door handle, the door flying open. 

and there, sprawled across your bed, buried within your sheets, lies aki. 

only, aki is naked. 

the sheets are draped over his legs, his thighs spread, and between them, his cock stands proud, leaking an iridescent mess all over his knuckles. his abdomen is tense, muscles taunt underneath the surface of his skin, and your eyes linger for a moment too long before you acknowledge just what is happening. 

‘what the—?’ 

aki actually shrieks.

then, at the same time, you both yell at one another, the merge of your voices displaying varying tones of mortification:

‘what the fuck?!’ 

‘in my bed—seriously?!’ 

horrified, you’re spinning back towards the door, and he’s scrambling from the bed, and there’s a fumble, and all of a sudden, his fingers are curled around your wrist, and he’s begging you to stay, but all you can focus on is the wet of his knuckles pressing to your skin, and you blurt:

‘is that your wank hand?’ 

you’re not even looking at him, but you hear the stutter of his breath and his grip is tightening, ‘my… my what?’ 

you exhale loudly, skin aflame with embarrassment, ‘your wank hand—it’s… it’s wet.’ 

‘fuck, fuck,’ his fingers are all but ripped from your skin, and he’s stumbling somewhere behind you, cursing under his breath. curiosity has you daring to peek over you shoulder, but it appears that you’ve misjudged his ability to dress quickly, as he’s only just shoving a leg through the crumbled leg of his favourite sweatpants. and again, your stare is lingering between his legs, where his prick is starting to droop, his arousal now forgotten. only, he catches your stare, and he somehow stubs his toe on the bedside table, yelling another curse as he trips, falling flat on his arse as he does so. he’s wide eyed, a smattering of red staining both the bridge of his nose and the crests of his cheeks, and you can only gawk back at him, bewildered. 

for a long moment, there’s a tense silence that stretches between the two of you. 

you remain by the doorway, and he hasn’t moved from the floor, staring at you just as intensely as you stare at him. 

and then: 

‘i love you.’ 

your lips part, your mouth opens, and then it closes. again, you try, your tongue fumbling against the inside of your cheek, your breath catching in the back of your throat. again, your pulse is hurtling angrily at the side of your neck. again, your gaze slips, eyelids lowering, aimed between his legs, to where his cock is still half-hard, resting against the crease of which his hip meets his thigh. 

eyes snapping toward his, you squeak, ‘come again?’

he clears his throat, glancing at your mouth, once, twice, and then croaks, ‘i love you.’ 

your knees crumble, bending to accommodate your weight as you crouch before him. your face is buried into the palms of your hands, and your chest heaves as a tiny sob is forced from between your lips. there’s a relief, a hot, burning sensation that prickles at your stomach, and although this isn’t the kind of confession that you’ve dared to imagine, it’s a confession all the same. 

‘god, fuck, aki—’

he’s scoffing on a laugh, one that sounds as painful as it feels, and his hand is reaching to tug at yours so that he can see your face. ‘s’this where you say you don’t feel the same?’ 

you’re laughing—wetly, but still, it’s a laugh—and instead of answering his question, you ask: 

‘is that your wank hand?’ 

this time, he’s snorting, and his hands are pulling at you just as he’s leaning close enough that the bridge of his nose bumps to yours. it’s the only warning that you’ll receive, one that you deem unnecessary, as you’re already meeting him halfway, chin tilting upward just as his lips mould to the shape of your mouth.

you’re unable to focus on the taste of him, not really, not when his hands are grabbing at you greedily, your breath faltering when his fingers are urgently tearing at your clothes. the next few minutes are a blur, and his kisses are a flurry of tongues, gasps stolen between breaths when the blunt edges of his teeth bite into the plush of your bottom lip. there’s a pause when your shirt is all but ripped over the top of your head, his mouth like fire when his lips press to yours again, and it’s quickly followed by another pause as he helps you to shimmy you out of the remainder of your clothing. desperation has him kicking the fabric of his sweatpants from his leg, his fingers deftly ridding you of your bra, your knickers quickly joining the pile of discarded clothing soon after. 

his kisses are frantic, sloppy, and his fingers are blindly exploring each inch of skin that he can get his hands on. it doesn’t take long for him to discover the ticklish spot beneath your ribs, or the quiver of your thighs when his fingers grip at your waist, hoisting you atop him. a surprised oof escapes you, mostly formed around the fact that your head is spinning. 

things are moving quickly—too quickly—and when you manage to tear your mouth from his long enough to voice it so, he’s stilling, spine rigid as he peeks at you through a long strand of hair. 

‘wanna stop?’ the deep gravel of his tone suggests that he hopes for anything but. 

‘no,’ you confirm his hopes, the curve of your smirk smothered by the press of his lips. 

he’s mouthing at the pulse that beats a steady tune at your throat, his fingers, gentle as they pinch, stroke and tickle their way towards the centre of your legs. you shudder, anticipation trembling down the length of your spine, and when his thumb presses over your clit, your breath catches, eyes widening as you peer down at him. his touch is like fire, your skin scorched, thrilled, and he swallows down the lust-driven mewl that is muffled when he kisses you yet again. it’s almost painful, how slowly he works you open, your opening stretching around the press of his fingers, but he welcomes the feel of your lips at his throat, your teeth at his collarbone next, and your fingers twisting into the length of his hair. above him, your hips rock to-and-fro, and his fingers are tugging free with a wet squelch that has you grimacing, and him, grinning. your pelvis rolls, the plush of your cunt gliding up the rigidity of his cock, his balls heavy between his thighs, and the moan you exhale across the curve of his cheek is mirrored back to you, his lids blinking rapidly in order to watch the way that you sigh for him. 

‘love you,’ he breathes, pupils blown wide as he stares at you as if seeing you for the very first time. you’re unable to describe the warmth that is burning its way up the column of your throat, and yet, your fingers tug at his hair, again, coaxing him in for another kiss. 

‘i love you,’ he groans the syllables of your name, the width of him stretching the searing walls of your cunt wider than his fingers ever could. 

‘shit, yes—justlikethat—l-love—fuck, i love—hngh!’ repeatedly, his cock claims home inside the wet of your cunny, which eagerly welcomes him in, over and over, the schlick, schlick, schlick of his sac—long stained with the evidence of your arousal—smacked tight against the curve of your rear with each thrust as he pistons his girth past the stretch of your fluttering hole. 

‘g-gonna—ah, ah!’ and then, his slit is painting thick strands of opalescent jism that have your inner walls glimmering a pretty shade of pearl. your clit is still humming with the aftermath of your own peak, pulse deafening as it thunders an uneven beat past your tragus and down the canal of your eardrums. exhaustion has your thighs trembling around the width of his waist, spine curved as you collapse just enough to rest your cheek to the sharp jut of his shoulder, gasping loud enough to encourage the gentle hum of laughter from out of his lungs. the glide of his cock thump, thump, thumps dangerously close to the tight opening of your cervix, the seam of his sac glistening with the drooling mess that somehow oozes free from the vacuumed grip of your puffy orifice. eventually, he stills, spent, and the back of his head clunks against the wooden surface of the bedside table. 

he wheezes a laugh that bubbles from somewhere deep in his chest, and the force has his shoulder vibrating, your cheek jiggling along, until, soon, his laughter titters into something that sounds less pleasant. when the tip of his nose traces the shape of the shell of your ear, it’s cold, wet, and there’s a choked sob that gargles from the back of his throat, and your fingers clutch at his ribs, desperate to feel the warmth of him just a tad longer. ‘i love you,’ he murmurs, voice thick, hoarse, strained with the weight of a fear that you understand his ego won’t allow him to acknowledge aloud. 

still, you nose at the space beneath the cut of his jaw, and there, is where his scent is the strongest, the familiarity of nothing but him, him, him now intermingled with the salted musk that clings to the surface of his skin. and there, is where the shape of your smile eases the uneasy ache that roughly thwack, thwack, thwacks his jugular against the bridge of your nose until it begins to settle into a pace that comes with the soft exhale that flutters across the back of your head. and there, is where you breathe that no, this isn’t where you say that you don’t feel the same, because, actually, you love him too. 

he’s laughing again, vocal chords twisting around the sound of relief, and when his mouth seeks yours again, his hand comes to cup the shape of your cheek, fingers brushing at the wispy baby hairs that wind around the tip of his finger. the taste of him dominates the inside of your cheeks and the flat of your tongue, and when your fingers curl over the circumference of his wrist, the corners of your eyes crinkle with the stretch of your smile. and just as aki’s lips part—awed—you tug his hand from your skin, your fingers slotting between the crooks of his own. the corners of your mouth morph into the shape of a smirk, the dampened surface of your forehead nudging at his, and you ask:

‘is that your wank hand?’

♡ @akicore ♡ @bleubrri ♡ @half-baked-biscuit ♡ @meownotgood ♡ @nimbixan ♡ @playgrl0 ♡ @pussydrunkfyodor ♡

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

a new chatroom just opened!

↬ boyfriend texts ↠

◇ characters ◇ albedo, al haitham, ayato, childe, diluc, heizou, itto, kaeya, kazuha, thoma, venti, xiao, zhongli

◇ tags ◇ modern!au, established relationship, suggestive (on some), fluff (mostly), a dab of angst (kaeya), mentions of reader skipping meals (diluc)

◇ a/n ◇ unfortunately i can’t really make a readable ‘script’ version for this??? since i’m not sure how i’d display the branching dialogs and all. so uh yeah if this didn’t work on your phone then maybe try your pc!

◇ notes ◇ recommended to view via pc/laptop screen ◇ you will be prompted to give your name, but if you don’t feel comfortable you can skip them entirely - if you do give your name, the data will only be stored locally on your devices

some little tidbits / notes:

yes, the wallpaper changes based on your local time.

there are no ‘wrong’ answers, so go ahead and see if you can find all the possible combinations <3

(optional) send me screenshots of your favorite interactions or line lol

if you have yet to see ‘This chat has ended’ then- well, the chat has yet to end! be patient, it might take him some time to reply~ ;)

if the ui glitches, try turning the screen upright, back down, and then wait for a little (thanks @/prinrestcess for the tip!)

if you don't feel like thinking, here are the helper tools for heizou's chats: [morse code] [utf-8]

this took me literal  d a y s  to figure out... so if you enjoyed it, i would super appreciate your reblogs <3

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @paintingsofdragonspine | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon

ps. if you want to be removed/added from the taglist, just send an ask!

You’re on your phone, curled up on your side when the door opens.

The bedroom is bathed in the dim yellow of a lamp, while a mellow playlist sings out from a nearby speaker. Outside, the rain is tapping, gentle but insistent, against the glass of the window pane. The arrival of summer storms always makes you just a bit sentimental — they make you think of lazy Augusts in Monstandt growing up, free from the shackles of school work and the damp grass tickling your ankles.

You’ve been in Liyue many years now, and still the recollection persists; you’ve always been a creature of nostalgia, of sights and scents and feelings long since pressed into the scrapbook of memories.

The bed shifts, the weight of another person making it dip and sag. You let out a huff, chuckling when hands slide under your shirt, wrap around your waist. “Took your time.” you murmur, but let out a louder little giggle when lips press against the back of your ear. 

“You’re so ticklish.” Zhongli speaks into the warmth of your skin and you can feel the hum of it seep underneath. “Missed you today.”

It was Sunday, his busiest day. You missed him too.

Your fingers lace together over your stomach, and for the first few minutes, you both simply bask in each other’s presence, re-fitting yourselves around each other as if you’d forgotten in the hours you spent apart. The honeymoon phase, Hu Tao called it, and while you pout at the term, Zhongli just laughs and buries his face in your hair, delighted.

“You’re my honey, anyway,” Zhongli tells you, making you splutter and blush.

Oh well. If it makes him happy, you’re not going to contest.

Zhongli is tracing sweet little spirals on up and down your stomach, and you want to roll your eyes, give Zhongli an impatient glare, but you’re enjoying the ministrations far too much to protest. You make a small noise, instead, and drop your phone so your eyes can flutter closed and fully experience every touch and stroke that your boyfriend seems insistent on giving you.

You tilt your head back so that Zhongli can scrape teeth and tongue down the column of your neck, exhaling at the way each pressed kiss sends want to curl in your gut. After his workday ends, you’re free to do whatever you want to each other, and you don’t mind admitting how much you love to push the limit of whatever Zhongli is willing to give. 

Besides, you both have very few things you can call yours to begin with. A little mark or two won’t hurt.

“I have an early start tomorrow,” you sigh, breath starting to quicken. You shake off Zhongli’s hands to reach around behind him, keeping him in place by locking your fingers at the point of his nape. “We can’t do too much.” Still, the little moan that escapes you when Zhongli’s thumbs wander up to flick and rub at your nipples betray your true sentiments. “I mean it.”

“Y/N,” Zhongli says, a whine colouring his tone. He pulls you closer, brings you so that every inch of your back is pressed against his chest. He’s shirtless again, you notice, woeful. “It’s been so long, I’m starting to forget the feeling of being inside you.”

It makes you want to break. It makes you want to be broken.

But you have so many errands to do tomorrow, and it’s only the fact that you haven't seen him all day that you’re even home and not elsewhere, poring over whatever menial task Keqing has given you.

“Tomorrow babe, I promise,” you say, and you turn around slowly in the circle of his arms so that you can tell Zhongli your next words to his face. 

You know even before opening your eyes that the other is pouting, the plump jut of his bottom lip and his furrowed brow greeting you when your gazes meet; an enamoured laugh escapes you. He’s just so damn cute. Like this, you know you’re adored. Like this, you know you’re wanted.

“I missed you too, you know,” you whisper, assurance spilling fervently and easy from your lips. “I don’t want you to think I don’t.” you lean forward to kiss him, light and chaste, the sweet sound of it softly punctuating your sentences. “I just want to finish this one thing first.”

Zhongli is so wide that when he flattens his palms across your lower back to pull you closer together, he almost fully envelopes you in his arms. You’d hate to admit it to anyone, but it’s one of your favourite things, to be encompassed by Zhongli, to feel completely surrounded and not be cognizant of where he ends and where you begin. 

It’s intoxicating, to be cherished like this. You inhales; cotton, musk, citrus. You give him a tiny grin before reaching up to cup his face in your palms, squeezing gently. Affection makes your heart sing. That’s your whole world in your hands.

Zhongli wrinkles his nose at you, before pressing your foreheads together, understanding.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says, and you know he does. You’re both terrible at keeping a sustainable work-life balance, but ever since you started dating officially, you both promised to try. “Tomorrow, then.”

You inhale sharply, eyes fluttering shut when you feel Zhongli press his nose to yours, the little touches leaving you breathless. You bite your lip, yearning to have him inch just a bit closer. It’s so intimate it makes heat sear up your neck, settle around the tips of your ears. Oh, you want this. You want him.

“Can I still kiss you though?” Zhongli whispers.

Please, you try to say, but you’re already surging forward to slot your lips together, jaw falling open so Zhongli can slide his tongue into your mouth, wet and silky. You moan, tangling your legs so that they’re entwined, inseparable. “Babe,” you whine, as Zhongli nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“Can’t, won’t stop,” Zhongli murmurs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses all over your face. “Want you. Always want you.”

The words make your heart stutter, stop, restart. You’re never taking this for granted, Zhongli’s unrelenting, steady adoration. And you know he feels the same about you.

“Want you too.”

You roll over until Zhongli’s body settles over yours, pressing you lightly into the mattress. Zhongli nudges your knees apart so he can tug them around his waist, encouraging you to lock your ankles together at the small of his back. 

Leaning down, Zhongli finds his way back to your mouth, and the blood coursing through your veins feel like molten gold when he licks into it, curls his tongue around yours; it’s dizzying, almost, feeling the weight of his desire in the spit-slick glide of his lips, in the velvet thickness of your shared breaths. 

You never want to be unburdened of it.

You kiss like this, slow and sensual, the desaturated yellow glow of the bedroom filling your head with a pleasant hazy buzz. Hands stroke without intention, content to simply feel muscles ripple and flex underneath fingertips. The music playing on the speaker has faded into silence, and only the occasional giggle interrupts the sound of your lips meeting over and over, in the quiet of the space between.

Eventually, the pulsing ache tightening your gut peters out into warm embers, and you both become content to just press your lips together as exhaustion makes your eyelids start to droop and arms heavier to lift.

“Babe, m’sleepy,” you say drowsily; you yawn against his mouth, making the other snicker into the side of your throat.

“Me too,” Zhongli says, after his chuckles die out. He guides your head to lay on his shoulder, tucking it neatly under his chin. “It’s late, anyway. We should sleep. You have an early start.”

You’re barely conscious now, but you still pucker your lips so that you can place a soft smooch on whatever patch of skin you can reach. Your mouth feels tingly, pleasantly so. “Turn off the light before you drift off, please,” you murmur, before placing your hand on his chest. Like this, you think you can feel Zhongli’s heartbeat against your palm, pounding lightly underneath his ribcage.

How sweet, you muse, your thoughts starting to split and scatter in the moments before slumber. But aren’t you forgetting anything?

Your head jerks, just a bit, when you remember. 

Oh. How could you forget?

“Love you. Goodnight.”

It’s only when you feel a kiss pressed to your brow and you hear words whispered into the crown of your head that you deem it safe to go to sleep now. These are the sights, the scents, the sounds you keep close, intrinsic to the person you were, you are, you hope you always will be.

“I love you too.”

# — pairing: (barista)spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man (kazuha), barista!kazuha (briefly), beidou, chongyun, barbara, shinobu (mentioned)

# — warnings: mentions of minor character death

# — summary: happy birthday, dear spider-man~ 🎶

# — tags: fluff, brief angst, hurt/comfort(-ish), yes there's kisses involved who do you think i am

# — notes: here it is! a birthday fic for my special boy on his special day 🥺 i took a couple hours out of yesterday to churn this one out, and i want to thank @the-travelling-witch @catcze @kazeyu and @kazu-sun for reading this ahead of time to both give me advice and boost my confidence! i love you guys vvv much and i couldn't have posted this without your help 💕 like always, reblogs and reactions are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoy!

wanna join the tag list?

✦ — 🕷 + 🍁 — ✦

Silence is a privilege. You learned this very early on. To be silent, to bask in the stillness of a room, is a privilege not often awarded to people like you. You’re an energizer; a people chaser. You seek chaos and the wreckage that comes with it all so you can find something to fix within it. People flee from crime scenes and accidents, but you invite them. Of course you have to be careful when taking pride in a fact like that -- it’s not like you want people to get hurt, but how else would you be able to pursue your passion?

From the time you were young, you sought to help others in their greatest times of need. You were the first to help an injured kid to their parents when they got hurt on the playground and the first to dial the paramedics during a freak accident; you were the first to drop some sneaky medical facts on your teachers in your high school biology courses and the first to volunteer to dissect something for your lab courses. “The Good Samaritan”, your peers called you. “Our school’s very own guardian angel.” So it came as a surprise to no one that you got a full ride scholarship to the best university in the city with acceptance into their competitive medical program. You dove headfirst into your studies immediately after your high school graduation in hopes of getting ahead of the program when orientation started.

It’s hard for you to say anything bad about the whole thing, really. But if you had to conjure up a single complaint, it’s that your field is so noisy. The beeping of the pagers, the crackle of overhead intercoms, the rushed medical jargon falling from fellow doctor’s lips like waterfalls, the groans and cries of agonized patients and distressed families. There’s no time for peace. You regret it at times -- being as wound up as you are 24/7 is bound to take a toll on your health one day -- but the pros outweigh the cons most of the time. Besides, you tell yourself, you’re not a resident just yet; you can have peace and quiet at home at the end of the day, right? Right.

As of late, however, you’ve been wrong. Peace and quiet is nothing but a dream to you now and it’s all thanks to the city’s “beloved” vigilante.

Standing at the taller end of five feet (he’ll never give you an exact number), Spider-Man has become the sole reason why you can only hope and pray to the powers that be for a night of pure silence. He doesn’t swing by every night (thank the stars), but he’s in your apartment, lying half-dead on your carpet on most days which is enough to make you want to start pulling out your hair. You’d think that a man with enough flesh wounds to kill a normal person twice over would be silent as he gets treated, but no, he somehow manages to weave bizarre topics out of thin air whenever he’s with you. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly smart, smarter than he likes to let on, and snarky, too. Sometimes, you want to take off the mask that he wears, ball it up, and shove it in his mouth.

..Oh, but who are you kidding? Annoying as he might be, you’ve got a thing for the man, even if you don’t know who he is. He’ll drop by during the daytime whenever he sees you alone and sometimes, he’ll even give you things that he picked up during his little patrols -- plushies from outside vendors, wildflowers from the park… Once, he gave you a freshly clipped rose from a florist that was doing handouts not too far from where you were seated. The truth is that you like him and sometimes, you wonder if he likes you, too. It’d be complicated thanks to your existing crush on the cute barista of the cafe that you frequent, but it’d be a nice change of pace.

(Ah, love. Yet another noisy thing that you’re not quite sure you want to actually let into your life.)

Speaking of a change of pace, tonight is a quiet one. You’re not quite sure if that’s a good thing yet. You’ve heard sirens in various spots around your apartment, but each one died down within twenty minutes. You took that as a sign that Spider-Man’s been swinging here and there, which means that he’s bound to drop by sometime soon. So, rather than let your guard down, you decided to stand on your balcony with a comfy sweater pulled over your head. The night air is crisp and cool, albeit a bit stuffy from all the cars zipping about. When you exhale, you can see your breath coming out in puffs of white smoke. It’s nice -- the chill keeps you alert.

You let your mind wander while you wait for your patient to arrive. Embarrassingly enough, the first thing your thoughts drift to is the barista that you saw this morning. Kazuha’s always so upbeat during the day, even more so when he sees you (a fact that does very little to quell the excited thrumming in your veins whenever you see his face). He looked a little more tired today than he does normally -- when asked if he was okay, he merely told you not to worry too much about him. You’d agreed so as to not overwhelm him, but that didn’t stop you from stealing glances the entire time you were there. He caught you at some point and gave you a wink -- just thinking about it sends your stomach aflutter. It would be terrible if something was wrong with him, you think. Would you be able to help him?

You don’t get to think about it much more as a figure sailing through the air catches your eye. Spider-Man is so easy to spot, even in the darkness above the streetlights. You tense, somewhat hoping he doesn’t spot you. If he doesn’t, you could maybe get around to fantasizing about Kazuha a little more. Unfortunately for you and your potential fantasies, he does; Spider-Man changes course right before your eyes and lands on your balcony railing. He doesn’t lose balance once, instead remaining in a steady crouching position with ease. He really is something to behold.

You stretch languidly, relishing in the way your bones pop. “Alright,” you say as you turn towards your balcony door, “where’s it hurt this time?”

To your surprise and immediate concern, Spider-Man doesn’t speak right away. He adjusts himself so that he’s sitting on your railing instead, with one leg pulled up to his chest and the other dangling towards the floor. “No injuries tonight, doc’.” He rests his cheek on his knee and turns his head to face you. “I just wanted to see you. Is that okay?”

If it were a few months prior, you would’ve said no. Now, the very thought of turning him away causes needles to press at your chest. You close your balcony door and head back over, resting your arms on the railing beside him. “Of course.”

Spider-Man must hear something in your voice that you don’t, because he shakes his head slightly. “You can say no, lovebug. I don’t want to bother you.”

“If you were bothering me, I would’ve told you to leave.” You frown at him. There’s negativity rolling off of him in waves. That’s not like him at all. “Are you okay?”

“I…” He reaches for the back of his neck before pausing. He lets his arm drop. Was he about to--? “I don’t know.”

You nudge him gently with your shoulder. Go on, you say silently. What’s up?

Spider-Man picks up on your invitation and sighs. “Do you… like your birthday, by any chance?”

“Me?” You tilt your head curiously. “I guess so. Why?”

“I guess I’m really not normal.” He turns his head, looking past you and into your apartment. “I don’t like mine at all.”

You connect the dots rather quickly. You’d feign excitement, but clearly, doing so would do nothing. If anything, it might make things awkward. “Is… today your birthday, Spider-Man?” When he nods, you make a small humming noise. “Would me saying ‘happy birthday’ cheer you up, or..?”

“If it’s you,” he says, his voice soft, “then yes, probably.” You don’t say it right away. You hesitate because of his tone, but he takes the opportunity to keep speaking. “I lost someone important to me a few years ago today.” He inhales sharply. “And a few more in the years prior. Today’s more of a day of mourning than anything else.”

Your heart shatters. You wonder if he knows how small he sounds. “I--”

“They say you shouldn’t spend your birthday alone,” he continues, “so I decided to stop by. You’re all I have left, lovebug.” You can hear the fake smile in his voice when he speaks again. “You’re going to have a hard time getting me off your back. Sorry.”

You don’t know what to say. The silence lingers and all that can be heard is the sound of cars rolling by on the street below. A car horn blares every so often at the light nearby, but you still remain quiet.

Is that why he always comes back? Because really and truly, he has no one else in his life? You can’t say the same for yourself -- you have Kazuha to keep your heart and mind occupied during your down time; you have Beidou, Hu Tao, and Chongyun to keep you busy at school; you have Barbara and Shinobu to keep you on your toes at work. You have friends, people to fall back on. But Spider-Man… doesn’t. And it’s not like you can just introduce him to your friends, either.

To think that you’ve been complaining about him when all he’s been doing is spending time with the only person who gives him the proper time of day.

The guilt that seizes you makes you hiss softly. What do you do now? You’ve had tender and serious moments with Spider-Man before, but this is too different. Do you apologize for being an asshole? What good would that even do? Do you make a gift for him on the spot? No; that might make him feel worse…

“I’m grateful for you.” Spider-Man’s voice cuts your thoughts short. “I really am. I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess. I hope you can forgive me.”

“If I… didn’t want to be involved,” you manage, “I would have told you to stay away a long time ago. Don’t apologize; I want to be by your side.”

Again, you hear a sharp intake of breath. “That’s--”

“Dangerous? Stupid? Yeah, I’m aware. But since I’ve never told you this out loud before, you’re my friend, Spider-Man.” You rest a hand on top of his without looking him in the eye. “Whether you knew that or not, we’re friends.” It feels weird to say, but you mean every word. Of course, friends don’t think about unmasking each other and kissing them every once in a while, but you’re not going to dwell on that. Your face starts to burn. “I wouldn’t want to be rid of you at all.” You say honestly.

Spider-Man moves his hand so that he’s holding yours. “...I appreciate it.” He says after a brief pause.

And once again, there is silence. It’s one that you can bask in, you find, especially when Spider-Man’s grip on your hand tightens. His presence is comforting, and only now do you realize that he thinks the same of you. The city marches on below your balcony, everyone encased in the same chilly autumn breeze that causes rigid goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s nice, this silence. Is this the stillness that you’ve been missing out on because of Spider-Man? What are the odds that you’d finally be able to enjoy it with him?

You shudder and sneeze suddenly, shocking the both of you. Spider-Man jolts but eases into a laugh. “Are you cold?” He asks.

You sniff and tug the hood of your sweater up over your head. “No,” you grumble. “You’re cold. I’m just peachy.”

Spider-Man hops down and leads you inside, his fingers still intertwined with yours. “You’re a horrible liar,” he jokes. Once you’re inside, he stands in the threshold and laughs again. “You’re shaking.”

“Why couldn’t your birthday be during the summer or something?” You whine and make yourself small in your sweater. “It’s fucking cold outside.”

“What can I say, I like the fall more.”

“Whatever.” You ball your hands into fists inside your sweater pockets. “You’re not coming inside?”

Spider-Man shakes his head. “Something could still happen. I’m going to head back out.”

An idea comes to mind. It’s a stupid idea, a really, really, really stupid idea, but it's an idea nonetheless. You don't have much in the way of material goods to give him -- it'd be a cold day in hell before you coughed up one of your expensive medical supplies (as if he had any use for those with his speedy healing) -- and despite knowing him for as long as you have, he has yet to give any real hints as to what it is he likes. When you think about it, you realize that Spider-Man's been super careful as to not give you any kind of clues as to what kind of person he is without the mask. All of his likes and dislikes are a complete mystery to you, unfortunately.

Well, almost all of them. He's told you time and time again that he likes this one thing — one person.

“B-Before you do,” you stammer, “what’re your thoughts on birthday gifts?”

You can practically feel the confused look he gives you. “Why?”

Rather than let the embarrassment consume you, you let your body move on its own accord. You walk closer to him and place your hands on either side of his face. “Stay still.” You whisper. Without waiting for his question, you lean forward and place a kiss on his lips right over his mask. You can feel them just beneath the cloth and hear the noise of surprise that he makes, but you don’t let it stop you. You stay there for just a moment longer before pulling away. Your face heats up to an impossible degree and you keep your head turned away to avoid further humiliation. Spider-Man is completely quiet, likely with shock, and it makes you want to bury your head in a hole. He's told you before how much he likes you; even if he was joking, he's said it too many times for you to consider it as just a joke. A kiss should suffice as a gift, right? “Happy birthday," you mutter. “Now go--”

Before you finish speaking, a gloved hand comes over your eyes. You start to question what the hell he’s doing, but a pair of uncovered lips cover your own, silencing your protests. You melt into the kiss after a brief moment of shock and Spider-Man pulls you in closer with his free hand. Closer, closer, and closer still. He kisses you like you're something gentle, fragile, prone to break at any moment. And yet he tilts his head and nips at your bottom lip, kissing you deeply, like you mean something to him.

Friends don't kiss like this.

You can’t think. You can’t move. It’s just you and your masked vigilante and the sound of sirens outside.

The sound is what causes Spider-Man to pull away after a while. He doesn’t uncover your eyes right away and you hear fabric moving -- likely him fixing his mask. When he moves his hand, your vision feels hazy and your throat tight. You stand there in limbo, the two of you just staring at each other. You tug on the strings of your hoodie gently. “You should, um… you should get going.”

You wonder how he’s looking at you right now. Spider-Man clears his throat. “I… Yeah. You’re right.” He starts to reach for you, but he drops his hand and balls it into a fist by his side. “Will I… see you tomorrow?”

It’s a hesitant question -- a request, if not anything else. Am I allowed to see you tomorrow? You nod without hesitation. Who are you to refuse him? “Yeah.”

Spider-Man’s shoulders drop with relief. “Okay. Then…” He walks backwards onto your balcony and raises two fingers in his usual salute. “...Thank you for the birthday gift.” And with a push backwards, he tumbles off of your balcony and zips into the biting autumn night, leaving you in your living room.

You walk forward and close the door to your balcony. You turn your eyes to the clock on the wall. 12:00 AM, it reads. It’s October 30th. Your kiss was the last and only gift he'd received yesterday.

✦ happy happy happy birthday, kazuha.. i hope he enjoys his day with his new family 🥺💕💗

✦ i'll make an origins post about spidey!kazuha someday, hehe