mimiccry

[mimiccry]

Movie Night’s End

Venti x Reader (platonic)

summary: basically you and Venti watch a shitty show, and you fall asleep by the end.

word count : 590

———————————————————————————

“…What? They barely have any chemistry, what do you mean, ‘I love you’?!”

You aggressively took the final sip from your soda, then threw it across the room towards the recycling bin. It stubbornly clunked against the edge and landed on the floor.

You sigh loudly and slump to the carpet.

“How many more episodes are they gonna stretch this out for?”

Venti, who was sitting on the couch above you, rested his head on his palm in thought. You wonder how he had been sitting in criss-cross-applesauce for so long. Won’t his legs go numb? You suppose that’s what doesn’t happen when someone is as naturally flexible as him: complete freedom in sitting positions. He responds,

“Hmm, normally this would mean a whole new season, but who’s to say that it’ll be all resolved by then?”

The screen looks odd from this 90° angle rotation, even more so with your right cheek and eye squished on the fuzzy surface below you. Right now, the characters had just had their first dinner together, and now one of the pair was stalking the other’s trip back home.

You turn on your back and look up at your friend.

“Throw in a misunderstanding trope?”

He grins.

“Aaaand ensue one more season of avoidance, and then another season of reconciliation!”

“Oh nooo…” you groan. “How much to bet that you’re correct? Hundred bucks?”

He scoffs.

“Nah, I’d give it a twenty.” You sit of abruptly.

“That’s it?! Have you seen this before or something?”

“No…I’ve seen this happen countless times in other shows. It’s a tale as old as…well, who knows?” He says wistfully.

“Jeez, how much of these shitty shows do you watch, you weirdo?” You sit up and poke his foot with your finger. He lets out an “egh” sound and draws his feet away from you in favour of stretching his legs out towards the other end of the sofa.

“What?” He protests. “At least it’s not boring, right?”

You sigh and partially nod.

“Know any good shows so we can actually enjoy this?” You jokingly ask. He ponders this question for a few long seconds with his finger on his chin.

“No…” he concedes.

“…maybe you can choose the good ones?”

You don’t have any willpower left to overcome the second-hand embarrassment that comes from watching badly written shows. Putting on a heartfelt animated film sounds much more appealing at this point.

…

Maybe one of Venti’s songs could do you some good. It’s late, after all.

“Hey Venti?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up from the pen he’s trying to spin with his fingers.

“Can you sing me one of your songs?”

The pen flies out of his grasp and twirls gracelessly to the carpet at another failed attempt. Venti doesn’t seem to care, though.

“Any song?” Is all he asks while staring at the ceiling. You blink harshly to try and stay awake. When did you get so tired? This is quite a strange spot to be in, sleepy and sitting on the hard floor of the cold living room.

“Any. Your writing is miles better than whatever we just saw. I need a refresher.” You chuckle. He grabs his lyre from the coffee table and strums the strings a few times to ensure they’re in tune. While he plays his song, the resonance of the lyre’s plucked melodies lull you to sleep. Venti hums instead of singing, and his voice leads you into your dreams, your mind taking its hand before letting go as you fall unconscious.

———

notes: i’m not too proud of this one but no one’s perfect. might proofread again later but i’m gonna collapse from exhaustion

[mimiccry]

Pretending? Not This Time - F!Reader x Sunday

Featured Column - Honkai Star Rail

They agreed to act like a couple for the sake of a mission. Neither of them ever said when the performance was supposed to end after the mission was over.

✒️ Word Count: 2895 🏷️ Relevant Tags: Nameless!Sunday | Pretend Relationship Turned Not-So Pretend | Convincing Fake Couple | Non-Canon Planet Setting

Happy Easter to those who celebrate!

They were barely off the platform when Sunday laced their fingers together.

[Name] didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance over. Didn’t even pause in her stride.

But he felt the flicker.

A quiet shift in her grip. A precise, controlled breath drawn in through her nose. And then, as if nothing at all had changed, her thumb idly brushed along his knuckles like it had always belonged there.

Convincing. That was the point.

Not too convincing, though.

The trail to Kshira Vitra IX was still fresh. The Stellaron on this planet hadn’t gone rogue, it was being used. And somehow, it all led to a couples retreat posing as spiritual healing, where the guests were being used as test subjects.

'Couples only. No unbonded attendees allowed. Peace, love, and gentle detoxification.' read the poster

The most reliable intel had come from inside, which was the issue. Or, more accurately, it had required them to go inside.

And the only way to do that?

“Confirmed partnership. A relationship, or binding emotional connection. Cohabitation optional, but recommended. Our guests must be in union with another.”

Dan Heng had blinked at the screen as he read the attendee requirements, dry as ever. “So we need a couple.”

“Or people who can pretend to be one,” Himeko added.

Sunday had turned his head slowly toward [Name]. He didn’t even smile. He just tilted his head, just enough for his gold earring to catch the light.

“We could try.”

And for reasons [Name] would blame on stress, caffeine, and not enough sleep that week, she agreed,

“All right.”

The place was… over the top. Marble columns polished to mirror-like shine. Silk drapes and vines from every corner. Low, dreamlike music piping through warm-lit halls. But it was the staff that made her wary, they were too helpful, too curated, always drifting just close enough to listen.

To top it all off, their suite had one bed.

Of course.

She threw her bag into the wardrobe and pretended not to see Sunday observing the space with the mild interest of a man measuring a stage.

He wandered toward the balcony doors. Opened them just slightly.

Then, with the same calm cadence that made him so difficult to read at times, he said, “We’ll be watched. Everything from posture to tone. They’re gauging our chemistry.”

“I know,” [Name] murmured, setting her coat aside. “I read the field brief. We only have a few days.”

He turned. Leaned his shoulder against the glass.

“And in that time, we need to convince a facility built on intimate trust that we’re genuinely close.” A pause. “Would it help if I touched you now and then?”

She raised a brow. “If you have to ask, you’re not convincing enough.”

He smiled at that, one of the rare ones that reached his eyes, and stepped closer. “Duly noted.”

They were absurdly good at this.

It should’ve been a performance. It was a performance. That was the whole point. But there were no lines to rehearse. No script to follow. Just Sunday pressing a kiss to her temple when the attendant passed by, [Name] curling her hand into the fabric of his coat while they strolled past a fountain, and him drawing lazy circles on her back while lounging in a sunroom with other guests.

“Your partner looks at you like you hung the stars,” said a softly smiling woman in one of their detox seminars.

[Name] didn’t miss a beat. “He just really likes stars.”

Sunday followed suit, speaking at the same time as [Name]'s deflection, “Only because she reminds me of them.”

Later that day, alone, she asked, “Was that really necessary?”

He didn’t look up from the fruit he was slicing. “There was an attendant in the hallway. The camera’s disguised in the chandelier.” A beat. “You do remind me of them, though.”

Of course he said it like that. Lightly. Carelessly. As if her face hadn’t gone a little warm, and his fingers hadn’t lingered an extra second brushing hers when he handed over the plate.

She was already tired of holding her breath by the next evening.

They were doing too well. The system flagged them as exemplary. Their rapport was “soothing to observe.” A guest counselor asked them to share their “ritual of connection” in a group session.

[Name] nearly choked.

Sunday didn’t miss a beat. “Each night, we set aside fifteen minutes for recalibration. No distractions. Just honesty.”

“Even when you're frustrated?” someone asked.

“Especially then,” [Name] said, crossing her arms.

Sunday tilted his head toward her, amused. “Would you like to recalibrate now?”

She kicked his ankle under the table.

Later, when they were alone again, she asked quietly, “Is it easy for you?”

“What is?”

“This. Pretending. Touching. Saying the things you say.”

He looked at her for a long moment. The moonlight spilled in behind him, catching the edge of his halo.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

The words were quiet, but not guarded. Not a defense. They sat in the space between them like something half-carved—real, but unfinished.

[Name] leaned against the balcony rail, arms folded, her gaze angled downward toward the glimmer of the artificial lake. From here, the facility looked flawless. Uniform. Tranquil. A latticework of glass and light pretending it had nothing to hide.

But they’d seen enough by now to know better.

Guests murmuring about dreams they never experienced before. Reflections that didn’t quite match. Moments that felt like memories, but weren’t theirs to begin with. And no matter how gently the staff smiled or how warm the handwoven blankets were, there was something pulling beneath it all.

Like the world itself was smoothing out its edges—sanding them down until no one could tell what they used to be.

She closed her eyes briefly. “You’re good at it, though.”

“At pretending?” he asked, stepping up beside her.

“At making it feel like it isn’t,” she said.

That earned a breath of a smile, genuine, quiet, a little lopsided. “I’ve had a lot of practice giving people what they want to hear. I used to believe it was kindness.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Sometimes.” His voice dropped slightly. “But not when it keeps them asleep.”

The wind shifted just then, soft and strange and carrying a scent that reminded her of pressed leaves and lavender oil, comfort meant to mask. [Name] glanced up at him, noting how the breeze barely moved the edge of his coat. Even now, there was something unshakeable about him. As if the world bent around his stillness.

Yet he was quieter tonight. Not just in words, but in the way he carried himself. Like whatever part of him that had needed to be the poised face of a system no longer had reason to be.

“We’re almost done here,” she said. “Once we hand off the notes, someone else can come in and finish the job.”

Sunday nodded. “Himeko will want it cleaned up by the book. March’ll turn it into a heartfelt rescue op.”

[Name] snorted. “Dan Heng will say it’s inefficient.”

“And still end up leading it.”

They shared a smile, brief but familiar. Like they'd known each other longer than they had. Maybe it was just the forced intimacy, or maybe something real had threaded its way through the act without either of them noticing when.

“Do you ever think about what happens after?” [Name] asked.

“After what?”

“All of this.” She gestured faintly—to the suite, the mission, the pretend-softness of it all. “When it’s not part of the assignment anymore.”

He looked at her then, not as Sunday the reformed heir, or the Dreamweaver-turned-passenger—but just as someone standing beside her, watching stars that didn’t belong to either of them.

“I think about it more than I should.”

[Name] let that sit.

And when she turned to go back inside, she didn’t let go of his hand.

The next morning, the system upgraded them.

“Model partnership,” said the message in their shared inbox. “Congratulations. You’ve both been selected to lead this evening’s Fireside Surrender Ritual. Your continued presence enhances the harmony of the retreat.”

[Name] groaned into her pillow.

“Tell me that’s optional,” she muttered.

Sunday, halfway through buttoning his shirt, just glanced over his shoulder. “Optional in the same way gravity is.”

“Fantastic.”

Still, they played the part. Led guided affirmations beneath an artificial sunset. Offered thin slices of candied lotus root to other couples as symbols of vulnerability. Sunday took her hand in his, eyes trained on hers with all the gentle reverence of someone who hadn’t been raised to perform it.

And when he leaned in and touched his forehead to hers briefly, just enough, it was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

No one told them to do that.

No one was suspicious though either.

Their final report was nearly finished by the time they returned to the suite.

[Name] laid out her last few transcribed logs, most of them referencing altered perception and dream-shifting patterns that couldn’t be explained by simple suggestion. Sunday cross-referenced them against the cognitive fade maps he'd built, patterns of thought dissolution tracked from other guests' accounts.

“This doesn’t look like traditional manipulation,” she said. “There’s… something recursive about it. Like the dreams are feeding on each other.”

“And strengthening with each new participant,” he added. “It’s beautiful, in a way.”

“That’s one word for it, regret not scheming that yourself way back when?”

He glanced at her with an unamused expression, then back at the projection. “No, I've learned my lesson... Well, if it's not beautiful, then what would you call it?”

She hesitated, thinking for a moment.

“Honestly? Lonely.”

That surprised him. He didn’t speak for a while after that. Just reached out to draw a line between two nodes on the display.

They were close enough now that their arms brushed when they leaned forward.

When [Name] turned slightly, her shoulder settled against his. He didn’t move away.

“You never really stop missing it, do you?” she asked.

“The Dreamscape?”

“That, and being looked at like you know all the answers.”

He hummed, not quite agreement, not quite denial. “I’ve found better things to be now.”

She tilted her head toward him. “Like?”

He met her gaze. “Something that doesn’t need to be believed to still be honest.”

She paused for moment before her voice dropped to a murmur. “You’re not pretending right now, are you?”

“I haven’t been for a while.”

The air between them turned still.

Not in the fragile way that begged to be broken, but in the kind that lingered, aware of its own weight. A breath held just before the plunge. The light from the room’s wall panels had dimmed to a soft gold, bathing the space in that fake-sunset warmth the facility loved to simulate. It should’ve felt artificial.

It didn’t.

[Name] exhaled slowly, like the admission had settled something behind her ribs she hadn’t realized needed it. Sunday hadn’t moved, but he was watching her the way he sometimes looked at constellations—measuring, quiet, reverent in a way she never knew how to take. She turned her eyes back to the table, to the projection still hovering between them, half-finished now.

But the mission felt… far away.

“You’re going to say something charming again,” she said finally, tone dry, “and I’m going to pretend it didn’t get to me.”

“No,” he said softly. “Not this time.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t fill the moment with some veiled metaphor or brush her hand with his thumb or tilt his head like it was all part of the performance. He just sat there. With her.

It made her nervous in a way battles never had.

She reached for one of the marked notes, any excuse to look down, but her fingers grazed his instead. He didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

Not even after a beat.

He let the contact rest there, simple and undemanding, like he was offering something without putting it into words. And that scared her more than anything he could’ve said aloud.

Because it meant it was real.

Because it meant she had to choose whether to let it be or make something or it.

[Name] cleared her throat. “We’re off-shift now.”

“Yes,” Sunday said.

“You can stop… all of this. The handholding. The looks. The... lingering.”

“I could.”

“But... neither of us want that... do we?"

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened.

“No, I think not.”

She didn’t say anything. Just leaned forward, closed the last of her notes, and reached for the projection. It dimmed with a quiet blink. The task was done.

And still, his hand hadn’t left hers.

[Name] looked down at their fingers, then up at him.

“You don’t know what this means,” she said, not unkindly.

“I don’t need to,” he replied.

Something in him had shifted, and it wasn’t just the role he’d chosen to shed. It was the way he waited. Open, steady. Letting her decide how to meet him there.

[Name] didn’t lean in all at once.

It wasn’t planned or practiced. It just happened slowly, naturally, the way a tide meets the shore. No hesitation. No dramatics. Just her fingers brushing the side of his face, and then her lips finding his.

It was soft and more real than anything they’d rehearsed these past few days.

He breathed her name into the space between them like a secret, one he wasn’t asking her to echo, just hold.

And she did.

When they finally parted, it wasn’t because the moment faltered. It was because it didn’t.

Because it could’ve gone further, lingered longer, turned into something they weren’t ready to touch just yet.

Her forehead rested lightly against his.

Sunday smiled, but it was tired around the edges. Not from her, never from her, but from the knowing. The weight of responsibility that tugged just outside the warmth.

“We should finish the final pass,” she murmured. “Get the last of the logs prepped before our window closes.”

“I know.”

His hand slid from her cheek, down to her wrist, just a brush of his thumb before he let go.

[Name] stood first. She didn’t rush. She didn’t look back right away either.

But she felt the way he moved behind her, quiet as ever, yet more solid now. Grounded, not because of the persona he'd worn before, but because something about that kiss had made him more certain. More here.

When she reached the terminal, she glanced over her shoulder.

Sunday was already at the interface, syncing the last of the flagged dream patterns into a clean relay.

He didn’t say anything, but he caught her looking and offered a small nod.

No need for anything else.

For now, they had work to do.

The retreat eventually came to an end.

No sudden alarms, no masked escape. Just a soft chime at dawn and a courteous message: We hope your journey toward inner peace continues wherever the stars may lead you.

The bags they’d never really unpacked were waiting at the door. The same attendant who’d checked them in offered a perfumed cloth and a serene smile as she led them toward the shuttle bay.

And still—still—they walked hand in hand.

It wasn’t for surveillance anymore. The surveillance had stopped yesterday. [Name] had personally traced the last of the internal eyes and flagged the outermost nodes.

But Sunday still curled his fingers around hers as they moved through the garden courtyard. He still placed his hand lightly at the small of her back as she climbed the shuttle ramp. She still leaned into his side on the descent, eyes closed for a moment longer than necessary.

It wasn’t habit. Not really. Habits were unconscious. This was choice. Quiet and deliberate.

And neither of them were the type to say so aloud.

When the transport finally docked at the Express, the crew didn’t comment, though March gave them both a very long look and mouthed something exaggerated as they passed. [Name] ignored it.

Sunday didn’t. He gave the faintest nod in March’s direction. Acknowledgment without explanation.

Inside, everything looked exactly the same. Same worn rugs. Same hum of the engine underfoot. Same quiet between departures.

But as they moved down the corridor, shoulders just brushing, she realized something had shifted.

They weren’t walking apart anymore.

They weren’t measuring the distance or angling their bodies just right for appearance.

They were close. Effortlessly so.

And when they reached the cross-section where their quarters split, [Name] paused—not to correct course, not out of confusion. Just to look at him.

Sunday stopped too.

They hadn’t said what came next. Not in detail. Not out loud. But he reached up, tugged lightly at the edge of her coat as if to straighten it and then left his hand there.

“I’ll finish the final analysis,” he said, voice low. “Pull the relay logs before sending them over to Himeko.”

She nodded. “I’ll clean up the rest of the behavioral data. There’s some drift in the patterning I want to map before it’s archived.”

They stood like that for a breath. Two.

Then she added, almost as an afterthought:

“My door’s open. Later.”

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled that quiet, sure kind of smile that didn’t need performance behind it.

“I know.”

And then they went their separate ways.

For now.

The intention was to post this yesterday for ya know, Easter Sunday--but then the Ottawa Senators lost and I just couldn't (yes, I am Canadian).

[mimiccry]

“Shikanoin-sama, I am trying to pray. I would be very grateful if I were able to do so in peace.”

“Sorry, sorry. Of course.” A pause. “It’s just that you look so… yummy.”

You withhold a sigh. In a controlled manner, you say, “Shikanoin-sama, please refrain from having thoughts of cannibalism while inside the shrine.”

“Ah, it’s not cannibalism, though,” he points out. “I’m not human, remember?” The statement is accompanied by a flick of his ears.

“Please refrain from having thoughts of eating me while in the shrine,” you rectify evenly. The exasperation you feel does not leak out into your tone.

You can almost hear the kitsune’s pout forming on his face. “…Not even a bite? One little bite? One tiny little bite?” He leans over and pinches his thumb and forefinger together beside your head for demonstration, in case the original message was unclear. 

You reply, “I cannot stop you, Shikanoin-sama. However, if you do so, I will need to ask you to leave.”

“Aw…” His footsteps retreat somewhere behind you. When there is silence, you breathe out and empty your mind, refocusing on your prayer. 

O-Inari-sama…

You feel a soft puff of air on the back of your neck. The hairs on your nape prickle and stand on end; you suppress the shudder that arises. 

You crack your eyes open to cast Shikanoin a stern look. He is standing a few paces away, looking around the shrine’s interior in an exaggerated display of distraction. When he meets your eye, he pulls a surprised face. “What are you looking at me for?” he asks in a tone of complete innocence. “It must have been the wind. It’s very breezy in here, you know.” 

You purse your lips and shut your eyes, thinking, Inari give me strength. 

Just as you have settled back into focus, you feel it again, this time tickling the outer shell of your ear. With a curt sigh, you straighten your back, turning to face him. “Shikanoin-sama, I am afraid must ask you to leave.”

He pulls back from your side. “What? But that wasn’t even biting!”

“Now,” you enunciate, before adding, “Please.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” the kitsune grumbles. He walks backwards out of the shrine, taking slow and deliberate steps. His hands are held out in front of him, his four tails bowed down behind him, as if that is sufficient to convince you of his sincerity. “See? Oh—but before I do go, tell me—are all miko this stingy?”

The urge to return a piece of his tormenting behaviour is irresistible. You allow a drip of sardonicism to enter your voice. “No, only me,” you say without looking at him. “So it is a pity that I am the one you ended up bound to, isn’t it?”

You cannot be certain how your remark is received, so you steal a glance in his direction. To your mild surprise, the kitsune is smiling as he steps outside of the doors.

Once certain you are alone, you decide it best to start the prayer anew. You bow twice, then clap your hands. Pressing your palms together, you mumble, “O-Inari-sama, I do not know why you have sent your messenger to me, nor how I ought to respond to his behaviour. I will admit he does not align with what I expected of a divine spirit, but… I trust there is a reason for this. Please grant me the patience and strength of will to accept his wisdom, and if nothing else, please allow me to retain my privacy in his presence. You are the one who understands most deeply its importance to me.”

You linger in silence for a moment longer. A draft of wind brushes past and rustles the sakura growing outside the shrine. It is breezy here with the spring wind ushering in, you must admit. You bow deeply in front of the altar once more before making your way to the exit.

[mimiccry]

ready, aim, fire

venti / reader, 1.8k words

venti says confessing is simple, as easy as 1 2 3. you just need to ready, aim, fire.

general audiences, love confessions, consumption of alcohol, nonlinear narrative (italics are used to represent past events)

notes: read on ao3 / work tag :: requested by anonymous + reposted. beta'ed by mimikyu + ekolu.

“Confessing to your crush is just like shooting an arrow,” Venti says after swallowing a mouthful of wine. It’s the second year you sought his help in exchange for a few drinks. However, since you’re the only student for his love classes this Windblume, he suggested rendezvousing at Angel’s Share in the evening. You were going to take the tab but he said this was just a session of two friends catching up, and he earned a quick buck from performing so he could afford to pay the bill.

As typical of him, he draws an imaginary bowstring, aims, and fires at you, winking to top off the act.

Your heart is shot—it’s not the first time Venti hits bullseye either. He’s chipped your walls with his arrows—unknowingly or not. From a muted life, you think you hear the birth of a melody in your chest. 

Badump.

Badump.

It only plays for him.

“But I don’t know how to shoot an arrow,” you mutter, playing with your frail and smooth hands under the table. They’ve never held a weapon. Years living on the sidelines meant you’ve done nothing.

Barely had a friend, never stayed past midnight, and you’ve never fallen in love. It was too dangerous, too exciting, too anything.

The first time you sang was when Venti invited you from the crowd in front of the fountain. Your performance was horrible, but his vocals miraculously blended with yours, soothed the crowd and salvaged their mora.

You’ve sought him ever since. Stepping out of your comfort zones never felt unfamiliar with him.

“I’m not saying it literally, silly,” Venti jokes as he tips his head back to finish his wine while yours remains untouched. Alcohol might not be what you need when he causes your world to spin, yet the red liquid gleams as he pours himself another glass, catching your curiosity. “Heard of the phrase ‘ready, aim, fire’? Confessing follows these simple steps.”

A laugh slips from your lips. Not only is his analogy cute, it’s funny he claims they’re simple. To his credit, he is a marksman as he is a bard. These things come easier to him than they do to you.

“You never mentioned these steps in your class last year,” you note, swirling the liquid in your glass, observing its deep translucent red that shifts to purple under different angles. It’s like Venti’s eyes that appear blue against the bright sky when he performs, but in seclusion or moonlight, it glows green.

Right now… it’s green. Undoubtedly. A green that reminds you of spring; of new beginnings.

“It’s a love poem writing class, not a love confession class,” Venti quips. “I would have charged double if that was the case. Speaking of lessons… didn’t I grade your poem you submitted last year? We can start with that.”

You blink.

He smirks as he leans forward. Crap. He’s caught you staring.

Flustered, you grab your glass of wine and gulp it down. Your throat burns. How does Venti appreciate its texture? It does give an excuse for the heat accumulating in your body though, you’d give it that.

“It wasn’t a proper love poem…” Carefully, you set your empty glass down. Venti merrily pours more for you. “I was just practising how to use parallels and metaphors.”

“It was a finely written poem. Maybe you should teach me how to write once in a while, hm?”

“No, no…” you shake your head and swallow the portion he poured—he refills it seconds later. “If I was as good as you, I wouldn’t need to ask for help… again.”

There’s a pause.

“I didn’t know you had trouble writing a poem. You only seemed anxious about delivering it,” Venti says.

You nod. Your hand instinctively reaches for your glass without thought. 

“Well, I can’t do both.”

The burning sensation hogs your thoughts from meandering to anything more depressing. Just one more swing of your glass to your lips—your grip tightens, but the glass remains on the table.

“...My poem didn’t feel good enough,” you admit with a sigh. “This is my first time being honest with how I feel.” You press your palm against your forehead. “Plus, I don’t know if he’ll like it. He’s…”

You.

The bard who all of Mondstadt praises. He’s able to command words capable of wrapping people’s eyes with a veil of hope. He’s able to construct tunes that touch someone to the point of tears. Your words, in comparison, will not make a dent to be remembered even if your feelings behind them changed your whole world.

Venti chuckles, tapping on the wooden table. You straighten your back.

“The essence of a poem is the emotions,” he states, voice firm. “Prose is merely wrapping paper. It’s the gift that matters.”

“What if…” you bite your lower lip. “What if the gift isn’t what he wants to receive?” you whisper as if out of breath.

The bar is loud. Hooligans roar and boast of their achievements as laughter bursts from every corner. There’s clanging, banging, and cheering. You barely heard yourself over the wall of noise, which is why you’re surprised Venti reaches for your shaking hands—with a hold so tender—and fosters a smile.

“The only way to know if you’ll hit bullseye is to try.”

He lets go, curious in the wine he barely touched while you’ve at least emptied your’s twice. Embarrassingly, you’re the reason the bottle only has a few sips remaining.

“Are we ready?” Venti asks, practically sparkling. His glass has been emptied and you expected him to drink the bottle clean, but he holds his gaze on you. His smile is dangerously sweet.

“F—for what?” you say.

He gets up from his seat and extends his hand.

“We’re learning how to aim an arrow straight to the heart!”

Ready.

Venti stands at the plaza, strumming his lyre to the crowd of kids. With the setting sun as his backdrop—dashes of pink, purple, and orange—the stage is spectacular. You’re behind the pillar, occasionally peeking past its structure to catch glimpses of the performer who has captivated his audience. Your grip on your letter tightens.

“When it comes to a confession, you have to catch them at the right time,” Venti instructs as he walks along the night streets of Mondstadt. His shoulders bump into yours whenever you sway, the result of alcohol sloshing inside your stomach.

“And what do you mean by ‘the right time’?”

“When your heart is ready.”

“How will I know?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I’m serious, Venti.”

“Pray tell, why do you seek the answer so earnestly?”

“If I don’t, it’ll haunt me.”

“I think you already have your answer.”

Today is the day.

Aim.

The music fades. An applause follows shortly, mixed with high-pitched cheers. You stroke the letter, anxious. When a kid shouts for an encore, you’re unclear if that’s a blessing to have seconds more to think this through or a curse to stretch the anticipation thin.

“Is there a manual? Do I need to have nice scenery?”

“I quite like when the sun is setting,” he says. 

You let out a soft gasp. “You do? Are confessions nicer at twilight?”

Venti shrugs. “The liminal space between day and night—romantic, don’t you think? But what’s of greater importance is to have you and the person fully present.”

He stops walking to turn and graces you with his ever-changing coloured eyes.

A blurry figure passes. It’s a mother dragging her child away from the plaza. He whines, using his whole body to resist his mother’s pull, but his mum persists. 

Venti should be smelling the surrounding flowers or counting his cash—most importantly, he’ll be alone. If you’re not quick, you’ll miss this moment.

You set your sight on the banks of the statue of Barbatos. 

It’s empty.

“Greetings,” a voice says. 

You bump into the pillar and groan in pain. The person grabs your shoulders, preventing you from stumbling backwards.

You turn and are caught in blue eyes that shine like stars against the darkening sky.

“Venti! You gave me a fright!”

“Sorry,” he giggles before checking you for wounds. His touches leave you in a trance, and a gentle gale strokes your face, its comfort like a hammer crashing the pile of worries you had. The rising moon spotlights him. Maybe it is the trick of moonlight, but the ends of his teal braids glimmer. 

“What’s this?” Venti asks. “Is that a letter?”

You place your hands behind your back, pressing yourself against the pillar.

“Nothing,” you utter.

He places his hands on his hips, unconvinced, and questions again, “Then why are you hiding it?”

“It’s not important.”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful grin stretches across his face. “Not of importance? More reason for me to take a look, don’t you think?”

“Well…” You bite the insides of your cheeks. This was not the plan. You want to burn this letter and bury its ashes so as not a single speck gets found—

“I’m just playing,” he laughs. Your chest lightens, relief the letter isn’t a point of focus anymore. However, edges of his lips pull up, mischief in his eyes. You swallow. “The real question is why are you hiding behind the pillar?”

“I’m not hiding!”

“Then why not join the crowd when I perform? I was heartbroken to see my number 1 fan being so shy… unless… you wanted me all to yourself?”

Your cheeks burn.

“I knew this wouldn’t work.” You stare at the ground, lifting yourself to your toes, preparing to sprint. “I’m sorry, I should—”

Venti grounds you by pressing your shoulders.

“Calm down. I have no clue what’s going on.”

It’s your turn to be in disbelief. 

“Really,” he pats you and that soft breeze returns. “So… why are you behind this pillar?”

A shiver runs down your spine. It’s not from the wind or the stone pillar. It’s from the way his eyes glint, like a pirate towards his treasure. 

You bite your lips and swallow.

“And when that person gives his full attention…” Venti comments, his sentence hanging in the air.

There is only one thing left, and you both know what it is.

Fire.

“I like you.”

After sleepless nights, you found a suitable rhyme. The poem in your hands encapsulated everything you wanted to say unwillingly compressed into 5 stanzas, stitched and glued with emotions, yet nothing could beat these simple words.

(Simple. It rings in your head according to the way Venti said it at the bar.)

You think you see the night sky twinkling in his irises.

His smile grows into a smirk as he leans forward. He tilts his head, and as you stare into the window to his soul, you can’t deny the way his gaze falls to your lips.

Your heart thumps widely—badump, badump, badump, badump.

There it is. The tune your body learnt to hum whenever you’re within his influence. It reaches a crescendo when you close the gap between you and him. Your heart plays a melody you never want to end.

When he pulls away, he whispers into your ear.

“Bullseye.”

author's note: if it wasn't for the writing challenge (june edition) where i tried to write at least 200 words every day, this story would not have been completed. thankful for my friends ekulo and mimikyu for reading this through as wel

edit: i accidentally deleted the og post, so i'm reposting it on tumblr... but thank goodness i published it on ao3 bc otherwise i would have lost this fic... forever...

[mimiccry]

to kiss in cars and downtown bars ☆

☆ feat. | kazuha, venti, kunikuzushi, heizou, xiao and aether! ☆ summary | you go out to a bar with them. antics ☆ tw: mentions of alcohol and bars, suggestive - reader is referred to as "pretty", "beautiful" , "handsome" etc ☆ author's note | this is perfectly normal i am perfectly normal for venti i am so n o rmal. im so sorry if this is too suggestive

venti |

you're sitting on one of the high barstools, watching venti out of the corner of your eye. he's singing, gesturing wildly with the hand that's holding a wineglass filled with something that looks like champagne, and his hair's not in its typical two braids; you'd watched a group of girls do it up in a singular loose dutch braid. you wonder, briefly, how it would look loose, cascading around his face and catching on his cheekbones. you wonder how it would look if you ran your hands through it, how it would look sticking up? you wonder how he would look untucked, maybe if you kissed him....

when you snap out of your reverie, he's staring right at you, a knowing smirk ticking up the corner of his lips. as if he knows exactly what you're thinking. a hot flush spreads up from your chest, and you're positive you've turned red. the flashing lights play across his face as he tilts his head, and suddenly the room is far too hot, far too confining, and you're regretting coming out at all. you turn away and flash a smile at the bartender, setting a few bills down on the counter before gathering your purse and shouldering your way through the crowd.

outside, it's started to drizzle, and the air is cool and crisp on your fiery cheeks. you close your eyes and turn your face towards the stars, listening to the sounds of the bar behind you, the wind whistling through your hair. you shiver; it had been warmer when you had left and so you had neglected to bring a jacket, and now goosebumps pop up all over your arms. you sigh, thumbing your phone in your purse, ready to call a taxi to take you home, when someone grabs your arm from behind.

you spin around, muffling a shriek--and realize it's venti. he's smiling at you in that self-satisfied way, the same smirk he was giving you in the bar, the same smirk that has your heart pounding faster than it should be and your cheeks flushing. "venti!" you stutter out, squinting at him. "what are you doing out here? you should be in there." you gesture in the vague direction of the club.

venti's gaze flicks up and down your body, and suddenly, despite the goosebumps, you're far too hot. "well," he says, shifting from foot to foot, and is it your imagination, or does he look nervous? "well, you looked intoxicated. and i thought i should check on you, and help you get home, since you're my friend."

at that word, friend, you deflate. of course. you're just imagining things. you're just friends. you clear your throat. "i appreciate it, but i'm fine, really. i'm just tired, seriously. i think i'll call a cab and go home."

venti quirks an eyebrow, toying with a loose strand of hair that hangs in front of his face. you're seized with the sudden urge to tuck it behind his ear and you entertain the idea. just friends. "do you want me to walk with you?" he asks. "it's such a lovely night, you can see all the stars!"

you can't help yourself; you glance up. raindrops pitter down your face, trickling down the neckline of your top. you shiver. clouds coat the sky, a quilt of puffy gray against a deep navy background. "you can't see any stars, venti," you say, exasperated, still looking up. "and i'm cold. i think i'll just.. call a taxi. thank--" you look at him and cut yourself off, because he's staring at you.

the look in his eyes sends a sucker punch to your gut, knocking the wind out of your lungs and seizing you with the urge to curl into yourself. then he blinks and the moment's gone, and he's holding out his coat. "here," he says gently. "i'll walk with you."

you take it from him, and your fingers graze his, and it feels like you've been dipped into a pot of molten lava.

walking home is almost torture; walking just so apart, close enough that your fingers brush when you step but not enough for you to grab his hand if you wanted. the rain soaks your hair, plastering it to your forehead and droplets collect on his eyelashes like diamonds. when you reach your door, he smiles. "have a good night, yn," he tells you, turning to make his way off of your stoop.

"wait," you call, taking off his jacket. the rain plunges around you in ice-cold sheets, and you miss it already; the smell of champagne and flowers clinging to the warm fabric. he glances over his shoulder. "keep it," he says. "i'll get it next time."

and he winks.

kazuha |

when kazuha calls you, for some reason, you pick up. and, for some reason, when he invites you to the bar downtown (it'll be fun, i promise) you say yes. when he hangs up, you cradle your head in your hands and debate calling him back and cancelling, but then again, it's been a hard week, and maybe a night out is just what you need?

lurking in the corner of the bar, you realize that a night out is not what you need. the bar is hot and stuffy, and everyone reeks of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. you wish desperately for your bed, and you lost track of kazuha an hour ago. you cup your hand around your phone screen, squinting to see the time, and realize that it's almost dead. "shit," you mutter. "shit, shit. shit." you lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes, considering walking home or maybe taking public transport? but at this hour, the buses are notoriously known to be packed full of drunks and junkies, and you have no desire to deal with that, not now.

"hey, yn," slurs a voice near your ear. "yn, yn, yn! yn! can you hear me? yn!"

you jerk your eyes open and squint. "kazuha? are you... are you drunk?"

kazuha laughs; a noise so uncaring and free, so unlike his usual self that you have no choice but to smile. his usually pale cheeks are flushed, whether it be from the drink or the heat, you don't know. his hair hangs around his face, and the top button of his shirt has come undone. you wrench your eyes away from it and search his face instead. "drunk? me?" he asks, so innocent and dubious that you could've believed him if it weren't for the fact that he's leaning heavily against the wall. "i'm not drunk. i haven't drunk anything tonight. i'm just saying hi to my favorite pretty friend. can i not say hi to my favort.. favort... favorite pretty friend?"

you flush, tearing your eyes away from his face. "do you know how you'll get home, kazuha?"

he ignores this question and instead takes your face in his hands. "your eyes," he says, eyebrows furrowing, "are like pools. i could, i could dive in them. and swim. mmm, i love swimming." he lets go of your cheekbones, the skin where his hands were on you burning, almost as if on fire. "hmmm."

"okay, that's enough," you say, taking his elbow and steering him towards the exit. "i'll take you home. do you have a car?"

"yes! yes, i have a car. i drove here. are you going to drive me, favorite pretty friend?" he asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

and so you wind up in kazuha's shitty red bug, his forehead resting against the dashboard. "kazuha?" you ask worriedly. "are you going to puke?"

he laughs dryly. "maybe. it wouldn't make a difference, not in this shitty car anyway. it's already been ... trashed." he leans back in his seat, finally, and gazes up at the stars. "the sky looks beautiful," he whispers, almost to himself. then he looks at you, the sparkles of the constellations reflected in his eyes causing you to blink and lose your focus for a moment.

the rest of the ride passes in silence, with you occasionally glancing over to check on his state--every single time, he's watching you. you can feel his eyes rake over your body, pausing when he gets to your eyes. you shift uncomfortably in your seat; why is he doing this? after maybe the fifth minute of this, you pull the car over. "okay, what is it?"

"what?" he asks quickly, folding his hands in his lap.

"why do you keep... staring at me? looking at me? do i have food on my face?" nervousness keeps you rambling, keeps you from looking at him.

"oh, i... no," he mutters, and when you finally do look at him, a flush is creeping up his neck.

"then?" you demand, impatient. you hadn't signed up for this, babysitting a drunk kazuha when you could've been tucked into your bed with your book, maybe some ice cream.

"i was just, i was just thinking how much i'd like to... kiss you."

you freeze; opening your mouth, and then closing it. "i'm sorry, what?"

and then he's holding your face, similar to the way he did in the bar, and tipping your chin up. his hair falls into your face, feather-light strands brushing your cheeks. his eyes catch onto yours, intoxicating, filled with the night sky. he brings his lips to yours, and he tastes like sweet champagne and, undeniably, kazuha.

when he pulls away, your hands are shaking on the steering wheel and he settles back with a self-satisfied smirk. "well," he says conversationally, his flushed cheeks and blown pupils shattering his façade of nonchalance. "now that we've got that out of the way, shall we continue?"

kunikuzushi |

you heave a sigh, nursing a coke, scrolling through instagram on your phone. why are you here, at a dinky bar, with kuni nowhere in sight? he had been glued to your side for practically the entire night; sullen, quiet, and holding a bloody mary from which he had taken exactly two sips, and then all of a sudden, he'd vanished.

now, in his place, is a burly boy with his hair combed aggressively away from his face--he's been trying to buy you drinks all night, all of which you had politely refused. now, he's teetering on the edge between tipsy and fully, completely, wasted. "oh, come on, you pretty little thing," he urges. "just one drink? just one drink and one dance, come on."

you fight the urge to get up and leave; that'll make him angry, and in his current state, you don't want to deal with it. "no, thank you," you say again, politely. "i'm the designated driver for my friend, and i have to stay sober."

he rolls his eyes heavily, taking a huge swig from the current drink in his hand. "oh, but fuck that, handsome. you can just come home with me, and your friend can call an uuuuber. come on, i promise i'll make it worthwhile!"

you shove down a retch and flash him a civil smile, turning back to your phone. you jump when he slams a glass down in front of you. "drink!" he shouts, and you cringe away from his flying spittle. "drink, godammit! i said, drink, i don't care about your pathetic little friend!"

you open your mouth, ready to bite back a retort and storm out of here, fuck kuni, when none other than kuni stands between you and the man. all five-foot-four of him. you can't help but feel flattered, his hat clenched in his fist and his hair mussed. he leans close to the man and whispers something in his ear that causes him to jerk back and settle on a stool at the other end of the counter.

"kuni," you breathe, grabbing his shoulder. he spins around, looking at a spot above your right ear. "kuni, thank you. i mean--i could've handled it, but thank you."

"i know you could've handled it," he spits out. "i just. well. i wanted to help. you've been sitting here, and you look so--" he clamps his mouth shut, pointedly looking at your eyebrow. "anyways. are you ready to go?"

you shake your head, confused. "i mean, yes-- i am, but i thought you were having fun? don't you... we can stay here a little longer, i don't mind."

"no," he says stiffly. "no, we're going. i would like to go now, so we are. unless you'd rather stay here with that guy?" he raises an eyebrow and gestures towards the man he'd just run off.

you can't suppress the chuckle that bubbles out of your chest. classic kuni, ditching halfway through and taking everyone with him. although in this case you can't be annoyed, judging how you weren't enjoying yourself anyway.

"okay, no, no, i'm coming," you laugh, grabbing his hand. "c'mon, it's an absolute madhouse. keep ahold of me while we go through, otherwise who knows what would happen?"

kuni has seized up, looking at your hand in his, his hat dangling limply from his other hand. "um," he mutters. "um, i. yeah, sure." and he drags you through the crowd.

kuni's hand in yours, his rough callouses against your smooth palm, sends sparks up your arm. you want to watch his constantly angry face split into a smile--or at least ease up on the frown. you want to watch him laugh. and you want to kiss that bastard.

the two of you emerge from the bar, stepping out of the suffocating heat into cold night air that can't be above freezing. why had you opted to go sleeveless? you shiver, rubbing your hands up and down your arms, casting a glance at kuni's thick jacket. "kuni," you say, smiling at him. "can i borrow your jacket? it's so cold out, and i don't want to walk home...."

kuni scoffs. "who said we were walking home? it's cold, i don't want you to -- i mean, it's too cold for this. my ears are going numb."

you tilt your head. "you don't want me to what?"

his pale cheeks go red. "i mean, i don't want you to catch a cold." you laugh, and he quickly adds, "just because, you know, then you wouldn't be able to drive me anywhere! no other reason, that's it, i promise."

he looks so flustered you almost feel sorry for him, but you can't stop. "you're worried about me, aren't you?"

he crosses his arms. "i'm not. i am not worried about you. stop smiling at me like that! it makes me want to--" he cuts himself off, but this time you don't goad him. you look at him, your heart a butterfly in your chest, your hand warm in his. you step a little bit closer and bend and place a kiss on his cheek. "just for warmth," you tell him, his face beet red and his hand death gripping yours.

xiao |

somehow you've persuaded xiao to let you put his hair up into a ponytail, and archons, you want to kiss him.

you lean against him as he tugs on his hair, scowling at his reflection in his phone camera. "xiao, leave it alone," you tell him, pushing his hands away. "it looks good! it looks good. i promise."

he sighs. "i guess if you say so," he mutters, tucking his phone into his slacks and shouldering his way into the bar. you lag behind, watching the muscles of his arms tense as he reaches up--again--to tighten the ponytail. he turns around and flashes you a small smile, pointing towards the bar. you give him a thumbs-up, grab a coke, and lean against the wall.

it's two hours later, after you've struck up a conversation with a boy--he's awfully cute, you have to admit--that you realize you haven't seen xiao in quite some time and you haven't checked your phone. pulling it out, you see that xiao's blown it up with texts, ranging from yn, where are you? to yn, i'm going to leave without you to yn, coem hep me. you excuse yourself and stand up on your tiptoes, scanning the floor, a furrow creasing between your eyebrows. he didn't really leave without you, did he?

arms wrap around you from behind and you whirl around, coming face-to-face with xiao's chips-of-gold eyes, his nose an inch away from yours. "yn," he says, his voice a deep rumble. "there you are, i've been looking for ages."

you stumble back. his breath smells like wine, and he smells like his cologne--sharp, faintly floral. you inhale deeply, reveling in the smell, and then ask, "xiao, are you drunk?"

he scoffs, shaking his head, but you can tell--he's listing to the side, his hands gripping your shoulders far too tight, his last couple of texts. that explains it. sober xiao would never be this close to you, let alone touch you. and yet, you wonder, staring at his lips, if perhaps...? what other things could drunk xiao do?

you step closer, grabbing onto his forearms. "do we need to leave? are you tired?"

"no," he replies, turning his head. you watch his adam's apple bob and wonder, again, what it would be like to kiss him. "i was just... tired of you flirting with that pretty boy."

you let loose a sharp burst of a laugh, thinking that this must be a joke. it has to be. xiao would never say anything like this, xiao would never act like this, this has to be a fluke. but when you look at him, his eyes are serious, his face unsmiling. "oh, xiao," you say finally. "are you jealous? you shouldn't be. you're awfully pretty as well, you know." and then you clap a hand to your mouth, surprised that you said that. out loud. to xiao.

but he's smiling at you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners, making him look absolutely irresistible. "am i, now?"

and he watches you flounder for words, burying your face in your hands. "no," you reply, your voice muffled. "you're... hideous. ugly. disgusting, even."

"hmm. sure, yn," he says, stooping to pull your hands away from your burning face. "let's get you home. i think you're a little drunk." and with that, he plants a kiss on your mouth.

shikanoin heizou |

you and heizou had planned to meet at the bar, because you lived on opposite sides of the city and catching a taxi together seemed more like a waste of money than anything. he'd called and let you know that he was standing just inside, so you head for the door and let yourself in, shoving yourself past the crush of bodies, desperately scanning the crowd for any glimpse of inazuma's famous detective. finally, you see him, and your heart... stops.

his hair is loose, his usual headband missing, and he's in something so much simpler than what he usually wears--your heart starts up again and stutters, and you wonder briefly how you haven't fainted yet. "heizou!" you shout, gesturing wildly. he turns away from the girl he's talking to, and his smile freezes on his face. his eyes rove up and down your body, taking you in, and his gaze pins you in place. you couldn't move, you think, even if he asked you to. not with those eyes on you.

you curtsy, trying to deflect his attention from you, trying to get him to stop staring at you like that. "yn." he smiles, winking at you. "look at you, all dressed up. i can hardly keep my eyes off you." you blush, knowing he's just a flirt and he says this to everyone, but you can't help but wonder, just a little, what it would be like to have him all to yourself.

"you look not too shabby yourself," you manage to force out, butterflies taking flight in your stomach when he grabs your wrist and yanks you out towards the dance floor.

it's five songs later when you protest against another dance, claiming your feet hurt--you've got blisters on the back of your feet and your toes feel like they're being severed with a chainsaw. you're not drunk, but he's vaguely tipsy, more flirtatious than usual; his hand is on your hip and the other is on the back of your neck, cradling it like you're going to kiss him. which you just might.

"noooo, yn," heizou whines, reaching for you as you peel off your heels and step back. you laugh. "heizou, you'll have no problem finding someone else to dance with. i guarantee it."

he pouts. "but i want you to dance with me! no one else! yn, please, please, please...."

the words send sparks through your chest and a flush rising in your cheeks, but you sit down on a chair. "no," you say firmly. "heizou, seriously. you're a dignified detective, act like it!"

he makes his way over to you and plops down by your feet, resting his cheek on your bare knee. "i am always dignified," he says, his voice muffled by his position. he turns so that his chin digs into your kneecap, and normally you'd push him off, but for some reason, you can't move. the place where his chin is on your knee is burning hot, boiling even, and you wish desperately that you were outside, sitting on the curb in the cool night air.

and that's where you wind up ten minutes later, heizou leaning against you, waiting for a taxi. "i don't understand why you don't have a car," you say, gently trying to shove him off.

"i don't understand why you don't," he retorts, braiding a strand of your hair. you sigh.

"it's just not logical for me. i can take the bus. but you can't, because you have no idea how to take a bus."

heizou rolls his eyes. "i can too take a bus. i'll prove it to you." he makes to stand up, but you grab his arm and pull him down.

"you can prove it to me another time, when you're not so... inebriated."

"inebriated," he repeats. he turns so that he's looking at you, staring right at you, your gaze caught in his, unable to look away. he leans closer, as though he's going to kiss you, and for a moment, you think he might. maybe, if you could just....

a honk blares beside you, and the two of you jump apart as though electrocuted. heizou's flushing, not looking at you, rubbing the back of his neck, and you're sure you look the same.

"a cab?" the driver asks, uncaring of what he's just interrupted. "a cab for ... yn?"

aether |

aether's handsome, and he's been staring at you for the better part of the last fifteen minutes. you and aether are friends; not best friends, not acquaintances. but you're just friends, which is what you keep repeating to yourself when you're seized with the urge to grab his face and kiss him senseless. he's in a loose black top with the upper two buttons undone, his face is flushed with heat, and his hair is escaping its typical braid.

"here," aether says, sliding a drink over to you. you take it from him, raising it in a cheers. you take a sip, closing your eyes. when you open them, aether's making a face at you over your glass, and you choke. as you're about to lower it down, he reaches out a finger and tips the glass up, spilling juice all over you. you cough, gripping the counter for support, frantically fanning the air in front of your face as though it would help.

aether cackles madly, snorting as you gasp for air. a dimple forms in one cheek, the perfect size to press your thumb to it. "oh, that was funny. oh, the look on your face!" he picks up his drink and takes a sip, making a face at the sharp taste.

"it's not funny!" you wheeze, crossing your arms--and then lowering them as you realize that you can't breathe.

"it was so funny," he retorts, setting his drink down. he leans closer. "you have to admit," he says seriously, eyes searching your face, "that it was funny. you're laughing."

you want to slap him, but you also want to grab his hair and pull. would it be soft, you wonder? would it tangle around your fingers....

you shake your head to clear your thoughts, almost as if they're cobwebs. you let loose a final bark of a cough and cast a glare at the glass that sits beside you, pushing it away. aether tilts his head and studies you, sipping his drink slowly. you lean closer and watch his eyes widen a fraction, bracing your elbows on his knees. his face flushes slightly--and you knock the bottom of the glass up, spilling the liquid inside all down the front of his shirt.

aether splutters, jerking his knees up so that your hands slip and you have to right yourself on the stool, laughing. "oh, you should've seen your face!" you tease, handing him a stack of napkins.

aether stops scrubbing at his shirt and sets his napkins down. you can't tell if he's gathering his composure or plotting something back against you, and you study his face, trying to figure out what he's thinking, when he reaches for you and grabs the back of your neck with one hand and your waist with the other, standing right in front of you. his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath, smelling like alcohol and cherries. his eyes are wide, his pupils blown, and yet his lips never touch yours.

he finally pulls back, and your whole body is hot, and you find that your fingers have found their way to his wrist and your nails dug into his flesh. "you should've seen your face," he says, grabbing the pile of napkins beside him.

[mimiccry]

*knocks* It's refreshing to see Venti writers still active.

I have a request for a drabble. Well, I'll be back later to request more if you're still open.

Reader and Venti but reader knows Venti's identity and it's basically them asking what's his most ridiculous prayers that he answered or ignored from his people.

Just something comedic :p

Uhh if you don't want to do this request or am not accepting any, go ahead and feel free to ignore.

~Rii☆

Oh hello, welcome in welcome in~! And of course you can request me anytime you want darling! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*

İt was a beautiful day with sun on the ethereal blue sky, burning your skin bit by bit, as you two sat beneath the massive tree signatured by Vanessa the dear hero.

Venti, your long time boyfriend who you knew as Barbatos your dear god, sitting beside you with his head resting on your thigh. An as cold as a winter breeze cider on his other hand that he borrowed from Diluc’s tavern. Looking above at the sunny sky.

As you played with his hair and undid his braids just to mess with him, he giggled softly and looked up at you adoringly, before his teal hair ends light up slightly, he closed his eyes and listened to something. You looked down at him with confusion as you tilted your head to the side. “What are you listening?” You asked with a gentle voice.

He smiled to himself softly and opened his eyes, looking up at you gently. “I am listening to the whispers of my children.” He said with his signature playful smile on his face. His hand moving up from his cider to your hair, ruffling your hair a little. “The whispers of people of Mondstadt? Like prayers?” You asked with awe, he really was a god wasn’t he. Sometimes you forgot his identity duo his behavior.

He let out a giddy squeak and nodded softly. “Yes darling, prayers of my children.” He said and closed his eyes again. Just laying in your lap with content. You stayed like that for a little while. Before a thought popped up in your mind. “Venti, what was the most ridiculous prayer that you answered from your people?” You said and giggled. Playing with his hair gently.

He opened his emerald eyes and looked up at you with dumbfounded expression before chuckling himself. “Let me think. Hmmm~” He said and sat up from your lap, a finger resting on his chin playfully as he thought to himself.

“Oh! Oh! Yes there is one! Let me tell you a tale my dear!” He squeaked and beamed with a silly smile. He adjusted his sitting position and cleared his throat.

“One time Klee prayed that she wanted ice cream gardens, she said she wanted to pick all kinds of ice cream from the trees! Then a man prayed to have the power to renew all his organs and add new limbs whenever he wants. And one time Joseph wanted his lyre strings to be made from heaven silk, like how can I do all of that!” He hardly said all that between giggles.

You laughed out and fake punched him. “Okay okay stop! I can’t believe people would pray for these… İt must be really funny to be an archon sometimes.” You said and continued to giggle. He looked at you with lovestruck gaze as you laughed and giggled alongside you.

“Your laugh is why this world was made for…” he murmured and rested his head on your lap again as you blushed softly.

I hope you liked it, o(｀ω´ )o

[mimiccry]

-Life’s Sweetness-

Asaba Harumasa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Just fluff. A Valentines at the office. (Lol, and I’m 2 days, almost 3, late to the party)

Word Count: 3.5K

Valentine’s Day, a day where people showed their affections for others through chocolates, flowers, or other obnoxious gifts. It was a holiday to poach money from people to persuade them if they didn’t somehow buy a gift for their lovers, their significant other didn’t care as much. A random act of kindness was much sweeter than any chocolate given on Valentine’s Day due to tradition or obligation.

But… you weren’t completely immune to falling into the scheme of buying gifts for the people you care for. Something small, but meaningful. Eacpsilly for a certain ebony haired man that just so happened to be your deskmate and partner.

Your sneakers made barely any noise as you stepped lightly through the H.S.O. Headquarters. A small fabric bag full of gifts slung on your shoulder and applying pressure to the muscles of your back from how heavy it was. Stepping around a corner, you noticed most of the desks in the office were already full of gifts already. Numerous bundles of flowers, plushies, and sugary sweets.

A small smile etched across your lips, and you walked into the quiet office before coming around to observe your desk. The white surface was bare, not a single gift or sickly sweet in sight. It shouldn’t affect you much, you were probably the most unpopular out of Section 6. Many people, especially Harumasa’s fans, disliked the idea of you being a part of Section 6. It was as if the public viewed you as an average among elites. You were still a rookie after all, but you always seemed to work best with Harumasa, which is why you were paired as partners a little while after your transfer.

Ignoring the bareness of your desk, you stepped over to Harumasa’s desk, which was -as you had predicted- the fullest of any other members. His fans were… what we like to called “unhinged.” There were numerous letters, some of which you could see had numbers in them, some with pictures, and even some with paragraphs upon paragraphs, likely pouring their heart out in hopes to ignite some parasocial relationship with him that was never going to happen. Hell, there were even plushies and fan drawings of him in some of this pile!

With a shake of your head, you dig around in your fabric bag, finally finding the bottle you were searching for. You placed a bitter gourd juice on his desk and a small bar of 99% cocoa dark chocolate. It was a far shot getting a chocolate bar, but you only hoped he would at least try it, seeing as it was one of the most bitter chocolates out there. A warmth blossomed on your cheeks seeing your gift differing so dramatically from others, surely he’d get suspicious. He was observant like that after all.

You couldn’t spend much time reminiscing, or else you would take back your gifts out of utter embarrassment and fear of getting found out. Before anyone else arrived, you went around to the other members desks, placing personalized gifts on their desks, pausing at Yanagi’s which was just as similar as yours, almost completely empty save for a few cards or sweets that splotched the space of her desk.

Once Yanagi arrived, you had already started on everyone’s coffee. A cup already made specifically for her ready with her name written prettily on the thick plastic holder with sharpie.

“Oh, (Y/N). Good morning.” She gives you a small smile, a stack of papers and a folder neatly pressed against her chest in her arms. “You’re here early?”

“Oh, good morning, Yanagi. I decided to come early to make everyone’s coffee. Thought it would be a nice start to the day.” Your expression remained cool and neutral, not giving away that you had come early to give everyone gifts. You handed her the coffee, watching her take a satisfied sip before sighing in bliss.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” She says and places a gloved hand over your shoulder as a kind gesture of appreciation. Her glasses gleaming off the light of the lights above.

The other members of Section 6 filed in shortly after. Miyabi was practically drooling over the melon left on her desk, her eyes ignoring anything other than the voluptuous fruit. She wasted no time cutting into the juicy sphere and placing a slice into her watering mouth. Her ears shuddered in happiness, her eyes closing in bliss. Soukaku just devoured any snacks that sat on her desk, but especially enjoying the spicy snacks you had left her.

And last but not least, fashionably late as always, Asaba Harumasa. His slender frame walked through the entrance, his hands already crossed behind his head with a small yawn already leaving his mouth. Drowsiness blinked from his eyes as the glimmering gold of his eyes focused on the mountain of gifts and accessories laid practically covering his desk space.

“Oh? What’s all the fuss about? You shouldn’t have guys~” His lips tugged into a teasing grin, his frame shadowing behind you before he came to investigate the objects occupying his space. “Didn’t know I was so popular. It’s about ten or twenty gifts more than I got last year.”

Was he… seriously bragging right now?

“Well, ‘Mr. Popular’ your coffee is in the pot over there. Still warm.” You interject, pointing your finger over to the coffee machine, pure black coffee brewed to perfection from an intelligent machine sitting in the pot simmering.

“Awe~ just for me? I knew you liked me somewhere deep down!” His hands clasped together dramatically, bringing them to press against one of his cheeks while his mouth upturned into a wide appreciative smile. “You don’t seem as popular. Want some of my gifts? I’m not going to touch most of this just from a quick glance.”

“I want it!” Soukaku raised her hand wildly, sitting up from her desk.

“Hey! I was offering them to (Y/N) first!” Harumasa argued back, pouting as you beckoned Soukaku over without a seconds hesitation. “You know, now I’m starting to think you actually hate me…”

“Oh don’t be dramatic, Harumasa.” You scold lightly, rolling your eyes at his dramatics as you let Soukaku pick and choose what she wanted from Harumasa’s mountain of sweets and snacks. “I would much rather Soukaku enjoy them than me. I can always buy my own valentines stuff. I’ve done it before.”

Harumasa was oddly quiet after your comment, but you didn’t think too much about it.

Once Soukaku went back to her desk with a newfound spark of happiness with her newly acquired food, you sat back down with a sigh before looking at your thick stack of paperwork. Your fingers held your favorite pen loosely, wrist fluidly gliding over the wooden desk as you signed off and detailed your boring reports.

Every now and then, you would glance over at Harumasa. Of course, he wasn’t doing any paperwork whatsoever, and the due dates had long since past. His eyes were instead skimming through some of the obnoxious valentines gifts hoarding his space. A plethora of colorful expressions crossed his face, ranging from horror, disgust, and light hearted smiles. There was even one point he practically slammed a card closed with a red blush on his cheeks, obviously something he didn’t want to have seen or read.

After some time passed, Harumasa was shredding almost every card or picture he’d gotten. His fans really were unhinged. The only few he kept were either from kids or genuine words of appreciation and admiration from fans. Sugary sweet candies and chocolates were tossed in the trash, plushies given to Soukaku or if there was one of himself, offered to you with a flirtatiously teasing wink and a mischievous smile.

It was almost as if he had saved your gift especially for last. His gloved hands picked up the bitter chocolate you’d gotten him, inspecting it curiously before flipping it to the back to read more of the nutrition facts and ingredients. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to open the bar and break off a small piece of from the corner. The piece disappeared behind his soft plush pink lips, jaw moving slowly, savoring the bitter richness of the chocolate. A second piece was then broken off and slotted between his lips once more, his eyes closing in concentration.

And the ever clever mind of Asaba Harumasa was just that, clever.

He never really opened up much about himself, especially to the press or any fans or social media posts. He kept his personal life locked behind iron bars only few had the privilege of glimpsing inside. Section 6 was one of those privileged few, as well as the siblings that ran Random Play. It narrowed down his suspicions on who sent these gifts.

The letter gave you away.

‘May the bitter tastes and flavors make life feel sweeter. Your life deserves the sweetest things.’

How cheesy. Only you would think of something that cheesy and heartfelt to write in a card accompanied by gifts he would enjoy. The letter was signed by a straight line, precise and strict, almost as if you were drawing a line you didn’t dare want to cross no matter how much you or him edged it.

Harumasa didn’t acknowledge you for the gifts you’d gotten him, much more interested to see what you would do next. Would you admit you were the one who placed them there in the wee hours of dawn? Would you remain anonymous, treating him the same as always, but locking your heart tightly away in fears of having him slip through your fingers too soon as he eventually would.

The next day came similarly to the last. Gifts appeared on the desks of Section 6, all except for yours. Yanagi got an expensive bottle of her favorite hair product and a new sleeping mask for small breaks in the office. Miyabi got a multitude of new brushes for her woven scrolls and another melon, this time bigger and flavored a bit differently. Soukaku got some new art supplies for her doodles in the office and some stickers.

Lastly, Harumasa got a new choker, an ink stamp of his signature (ahem, for his lazy nature to help with paperwork), and an expensive leather archery glove, much better than his current one that looked worn and tattered at the edges. The choker was a smooth and crisp leather, narrowed slightly where his Adam’s apple would press flush against the material. A yellow gem sparkled under the light, shimmering a similar shade to his smoldering golden eyes.

“Oh, that looks nice, Asaba.” Yanagi comments, papers hugged to her chest per usual as she adjusted her glasses and looked over the gifts he’d gotten. “Someone clearly admires you strongly.”

“It seems that way.” Harumasa comments, looking over the gifts with a strangely conflicted yet heartfelt expression. His deft fingers toyed with the choker in his hands, running a smooth thumb over the expanse of the light leather inked black. “Did you get some too, Tsukishiro?”

“I did.” She answers swiftly. “Everyone’s gotten very unique gifts these past two days. I suspect it’s someone from the agency. They’re all very carefully selected for each of us.” Her glasses shine off the light as her dark pink eyes shifted to your empty desk. “The only one who hasn’t gotten one of these gifts is (Y/N). She has been arriving early these past few days.”

Harumasa shifted his gaze to your desk, clean and empty albeit a neatly stacked pile of papers and a picture sat diagonally to your computer of you, him, and the rest of Section 6. Your chair sat vacant, as it had for hours as you helped out a different section with their reports and management of files.

A frown etched onto his pale pink lips, dark ebony brows furrowing as he thought to himself. Now that he had confirmed to himself that it was you giving him and everyone else these personal gifts, he needed to get you something right? His conscious (and heart) wouldn’t let your kindness go unpaid. After all, the gifts you got weren’t cheap by any means.

You were too kind for your own good sometimes. Always taking care of his gruesome paperwork when he was on sick leave or just too tired or lazy to do it. Making his coffee in the morning along with any other member that hadn’t been there at the office yet. Giving away any of your food or medical supplies to Soukaku or him in hollows when you yourself needed those things too. And even now, helping another section get out of whatever mess they’ve caused themselves with their files.

The day before valentines was no different than the last two, gifts once more on everyone’s desks. Except there was one thing different. There were flowers on your desk. A small vase full of tulips, roses, carnations, and hydrangeas. It was something you weren’t expecting at all, but it wasn’t something unpleasant you didn’t welcome. The card attached to the thin transparent plastic piece read ‘Thanks for helping Section 4, I owe you one. Let me know what you want ;).’ The note had the second in command of Section 4’s phone number signed with a winking face and his name on it, very clearly implying he had taken an interest in courting you somehow.

Your cheeks blossomed with warmth after reading the small letter card attached to the bouquet. It was at this time, Harumasa walked in, earlier than normal he might add. His eyes were immediately drawn to the decently sized object obscuring your desk. Naturally, his sharp golden gaze didn’t miss the tint of pink coloring your cheeks, a foreign feeling twisting in his gut.

“Oh? Who’s this from? You got a secret admirer or somethin’?” Harumasa inquires, a faux smile on his face as he leaned over you to snatch up the card from the thin plastic stick. Despite your protest, he turned himself around from you to keep your arms at bay from snatching it back before he finished investigating. “The guy from Section 4? Heh, how cute, he even left you his number. Such a gentleman!”

His tone was bitter, almost as bitter as the medicine he pocketed in his mouth on a regular basis. The expression he was making didn’t match the intensity his eyes shown. A teasing grin pulled taut over his mouth, but his brows creased and twitching ever so slightly, golden irises having a darker glint in them than their normal mischievous shine. It didn’t help his stomach was knotting up more and more and his heart was beating firmer against his ribcage.

“Don’t be mean, Harumasa!” You finally pulled the card out of his strong gloved hands and fitted the card back between the thin flimsy plastic in the vase of flowers. “I don’t need him to owe me anything. I was just doing my job. I am appreciative of the gesture.”

“In that case, want me to walk down and tell him you won’t be calling him then? I’d be more than happy to do that for my wonderfully kind partner!” His attitude perked up, gloved hands coming to rub together evilly, eager to shoot down a man’s flirtatious gesture towards you. He did have a knack for pissing people off.

“That… won’t be necessary, thank you.” You replied wearily, confused by his sudden change in behavior. “Oh!” Your eyes flickered to his throat, a new choker adorning his slender neck. The yellow gem gleamed in the light, brightening up his already pale skin and accentuating the features of his neck. “That new choker looks really good on you, Harumasa.”

“You think so?” The way he smiles makes you regret even saying anything. He raises his right hand, his new archers glove wrapped snuggly around. His fingers trailed suggestively down his Adam’s apple, down to flick the small gem before trailing his fingers down to the edge of his buttoned shirt. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow his pretty fingers, and he seemed to know that. “It does doesn’t it? An admirer of mine got it for me~ I’m so lucky~”

“That you are, Harumasa.” Your smile faltered slightly, your cheeks flushing as you finally tore your gaze away from his neck and half exposed clavicle “it’s nice to be admired from time to time.” Your fingers reached out to gently run the pads of your fingers over the petals of some of the roses that sat in a small corner of your desk. “Lets you know that someone cares enough to show it to you through small acts of service. Or words of praise and appreciation. Or even gifts. Though I much prefer something like that on a random non-special day than a holiday or occasion.”

Harumasa listened to your words intently, liquid gold eyes watching your fingers tenderly touch the flowers another man had gotten you. The first gift you’d gotten for the upcoming Valentine’s day. His cheeks puffed into a pout, strong yet thin arms coming to cross over his tone chest.

When Valentine’s Day officially arrived, Harumasa came into the office on time, frankly a little early. An incredibly large and obnoxious bouquet of flowers in tow as he sat it on your desk loudly, startling you out of your focused daze of paperwork. It startled the other members of Secruon 6 too, especially Harumasa arriving early! The flowers took up practically the entire space in front of your desk! You didn’t even believe they made bouquets that big!

“H-Harumasa what is this?” You ask bewildered, eyeing all the pretty flowers perfectly arranged to accentuate all the species of flora in their own aspects. Roses were the most common among them, varying in color and size. “I-it’s so big!”

“Well, I couldn’t just let someone show me up in getting my partner a gift can I?” He replies proudly, triumphantly picking up the bouquet of flowers you received yesterday. “There’s no need for these anymore right? I’ll help you clear them out!”

Without giving you any time to protest he dropped the other flowers into the garbage can, a sly and victorious smile plastered over his face. It was then you noticed a small red ribbon clipped to his inky bangs, sparkly with a little cat pendant in the middle. His hands placed on his hips proudly, holding his nose high.

“Besides! Your best gift is right in front of you.” He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, slender digits splaying over the expanse of his chest. “Having me as your ever so trustworthy, hardworking, dashing partner!” You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden change in behavior. He was acting like a child, exaggerating himself for your praise and favor. “H-Hey! I’m trying to be serious here!”

You adored the way a gentle pink dusted his pale cheeks, his arms instead coming to cross over his chest with his lips puckered in a kiddish pout. His gaze was averted, ebony locks slightly obscuring the visage of his golden eyes. A warm hand came into contact with the exposed flesh of his arm, making him jump, but soon relax once he realized that warmth was coming from you and your tender touch.

“Harumasa.” You say his name gently, sweetly, almost as if you were addressing him as your lover. You squeezed against his forearm lightly, a genuine and incredibly warm smile painting over your lips. “Thank you. I’m very lucky, to have a partner like you. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Harumasa’s eyes widened, face exploding in blossoms of red that rivaled the roses on your desk. He pulled away from your touch quickly, coughing lightly before covering his mouth with a gloved hand, his other hand coming up to put some distance between the two of you.

“Ahem! Uh, it’s hot in here isn’t it? I’m going to grab some fresh air for maybe an hour or so, maybe I won’t even come back now that I think about it.” He turned on his heel, footsteps quick as he approached the entrance. His ears peeked out from beneath his dark hair, flushed just as red if not redder than his face. “Anyways! You guys got this without me, right? See ya!”

And just like that, Harumasa was gone. The office was quiet, everyone having witnessed the exchange between the two of you due to his boisterous entrance. Yanagi didn’t even try to stop him when he decided he was going to leave. You couldn’t help but think about what an odd, yet wonderful devoted companion he was. You truly were lucky to have him.

Your gaze suddenly caught the sight of a card nestled between some of the stems of the flowers, small and barely noticeable. Carefully extracting the card, you flipped it open carefully, Harumasa’s surprisingly neat and beautiful penmanship decorating the white paper. Your eyes widened slightly, a blush dusting over your cheeks before they closed with a shake of your head. You pocketed the card, a reminder to yourself to thank him. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach as you replayed the words written on the paper to yourself again.

‘Life is already sweet enough with you by my side. -Harumasa, your ever devoted partner ;3

“Done reading? Why don’t you take a break! Relax~ I’ll still be here when you come back.”

[mimiccry]

no (hyoid) bone to pick • heizou x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of suicide, murder, blood, and corpses (nothing very detailed but please be aware) , reader is a forensic scientist

“Regarding the victim’s past mental health problems and the medicine she has been using for the past months, her suicide can be explained by the depression she’s been experiencing. The divorce must have taken a toll on her. Poor soul, may she rest in peace.”

Heizou gave the man in front of him a close-eyed smile, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all. ‘Bullshit.’ The interview was not going to his liking, it seemed. 

“Ah, I see. Thank you for your input and contribution.”

The man’s eyes lit up immediately. 

“So, May I take my lea—”

“Ah, there is my favorite doctor!”

Heizou stood up quickly, leaving the man hanging in the room while not batting an eye. Intentionally, of course.

On the other hand, hearing his loud and somewhat energetic voice, you sighed while arranging the papers that were in your hands. You seemed tired, he noted. And worst of all, you seemed in a bad mood. Ah.

“Hey.”

It was a simple, curt response. One that he expected but didn’t like it nonetheless. He decided he wasn’t going to dampen your mood by wasting your time even more like he usually did. 

“Got any news?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Not good ones, I suppose?”

“Well, good for the investigation.”

“Oh, they must be bad then.”

“It’s probably not a suicide,”

Hearing him hum in acknowledgment, you sighed and thought: ‘Of course, he’d guess’ and continued. 

“Their hyoid bone is fractured and they are past 30, which means their bones are not flexible at all, also since they don’t weigh much— It’s unlikely for the hanging to cause a fracture. So I’d say it’s most likely to be a…”

You were giving a piece of important information while his thoughts were having none of it.

‘Are they rambling? Cute.’

“Yeah, guessed so.”

“I could guess you’d guess, detective. I am afraid that’s all I got. I wasn’t even allowed in the medical examination room, and the autopsy reports are—”

“Whoa, you sneaked a peek for me? My my, aren’t you adorable—”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, his presence was comforting. After being surrounded by dead bodies and the smell of blood all day— his cologne was refreshing in a way. And maybe his personality was also helping you to clear your head. But you’d never say that to his face and feed his ego even more.

You let out the breath you weren’t aware of holding and spoke again,

“Can you get me the blood samples of their ex-husband?”

“Ah, so we are on the same page. Though I don’t know why you need it, of course.”

This was surprisingly going well; you were waiting for him to play around a bit first. Well, it clearly saved you from the headache.

“Thanks,”

Finally, your eyes met his. Ah, now looking at him closely, he seemed tired too. Though it didn’t affect his smile, his eyes were telling a different story.

“...want to grab a drink?”

Okay, maybe the tiredness didn’t affect his smile, but your suggestion clearly did wonders because you could’ve sworn his eyes shined at the sound of it.

“Lead the way, then.”

He extended his hand to you. You looked at it for a few seconds before placing the reports on it. You opened your phone and looked at the time, all while avoiding his eyes, the words slipped between your lips,

“The café or the vending machine?”

 “...vending machine.”

His tone sounded like a disappointed child who was pouting. 

Good thing you didn’t look at him because, boy, was he sulking. He mentally sighed and followed after you.

‘So much for wanting them to hold my hand.’

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ notes!

☆ heizou is my baby, i love him sm <3

☆ not proofread (again), so it might get rewritten later! (it probably won’t, anyway)

☆ why do i study medicine?

☐ money

☐ my family forced me to do so

☐ because i want to help people

☒ to write fanfics based on what i’ve learned in class

[mimiccry]

…𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: In which replying to a mysterious letter leads you back to the one place (and person) you could never quite forget. …𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Childhood friends to lovers. …𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: None. …𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 2,256 words. …𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: Gender-neutral reader; renga is a collaborative form of Japanese poetry which consists of a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable scheme; Heizou Hasegawa is a character from the novel series Onihei Hankachō by Shōtarō Ikenami, who acted as possible inspiration for Shikanoin Heizou, who was inspired by a real figure—an interesting and more comprehensive explanation of this can be found here. Reblogs and comments are appreciated.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

𝙰 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚊𝚔𝚞𝚛𝚊.

It is a letter which appears under your door, written in an elegant hand on a plain slip of paper, left unsigned. You are addressed by your pen-name at the top; the rest reads as follows:

I have heard countless tales of your famed verse, and read many of your novels on my travels—no, I will be honest; I confess that I’ve read all of them. I cannot help myself. Such wit and mastery of words as you possess is simply astounding. In particular your most recent tale, A Thousand Boughs of Sakura, was exceptionally engaging in how you utilised verse to leave hints in the text towards the true identity of the culprit; and I must say that you almost fooled me with the shocking conclusion! 

In the spirit of your skill, and my current being in town—entertain a poor soul with a game of renga, will you? I’ll start:

—Secrets tossed on wind

The rest of the paper is blank, as if the author has already anticipated your compliance to the proposal with complete confidence. 

The letter’s arrival itself is nothing out of the ordinary: you often receive such messages from fans, offering praise, questions and comments regarding your publications. It is, however, one of the rare occasions where the subject of interest has been yourself, rather than your work, and the first where a request has so specifically, not to mention so directly, been made of you.

Indeed, from the request to the manner of writing, the letter initially strikes you as terribly entitled, and you have the mind to toss it away and forget about it—but, skimming your eyes over the message again, you hesitate. 

Despite the novel being released a few weeks ago, this is the only letter you have received to pick up your writing technique: using differences in the pronunciation of kanji to suggest alternative meanings to the phrase; implying hidden messages through synonyms which, though identical in meaning, contain different radicals to the alternative word. Whoever the sender of the message is, they must have an acute eye for detail—a quality you can respect. Perhaps this mystery reader of yours is worth a moment or two.

You walk to your desk and unthinkingly pen another verse:

—All one must do is listen

You hardly know where to leave the reply—it is not as if your messenger has indicated their whereabouts, beyond ‘currently being in town’—yet somehow you trust that it will find its intended recipient. You pin it in a corner of the local noticeboard, and think no more of it for the rest of the day.

——————

—To hear the rustle.

Penned in the same elegant handwriting, this is the new line which has joined the previous verse when you pass by the noticeboard on the following day. You remove the letter and take it back to your home, where you spend a few moments considering how to respond. 

Your reply, as you pin it back up, reads thus:

—Verses penned by unknown hand 

The next day, another line:

—Anonymity’s respite.

And so is your first complete stanza concluded. You thumb the edge of the translucent paper, considering how next to proceed. 

Of course, the first thought to arise is that there is no need to ‘proceed’ with this game whatsoever: you have fulfilled this reader’s request at no great benefit to yourself, and there is no obligation compelling you to elaborate upon it further. You could end this playful exchange now and feel hardly the worse for it. 

And yet, that peculiar hook, on which your career and passions are founded—that irresistible inclination named ‘curiosity’—has taken hold somewhere within you, is tugging you gently in the direction of the mystery. You wish to know more of this enigmatic admirer of yours; you wish to know why something about him (you feel, somehow, that it is a ‘him’) feels almost familiar. If nothing else, you enjoy the creative interplay. 

You raise your brush to the page, and continue the poem. 

—Where is respite found?

—Asks the cowering sinner

You read over the line once, twice. Something, a niggling feeling in the deeper recesses of your mind, is beckoning to you, inviting you to wonder at this choice of words.

It feels like your partner is hinting at you, playing with you much in the same way you do with your own audience. You wonder what the clue may be, return to the previous lines you have composed together, come to a tentative hypothesis. 

You think you know the direction in which to guide this inquiry. 

—Shed of virtue’s mask

—Like young blossoms in summer

—Trembling in fear of cyclones.

You return the letter to the noticeboard. Over a week has passed already; what began as a favour on a whim has grown into a routine, even a commitment. 

There is room yet remaining on the paper for one more stanza; one final chance to crack the code, to solve the puzzle laid out for you. This method itself, you acknowledge, is a clue. 

You feel much like Hasegawa, the protagonist of A Thousand Boughs of Sakura; reading between the lines and hunting down scant hints to identify the criminal before it is too late. (In your novel, the criminal turns out to be an old acquaintance.)

The difference is that you are no detective; merely an author, a poet. Your skills reside in capturing the immaterial, not assimilating the real. 

Even so, the opening line of the final stanza gives you confidence that you are on the right track.

—What is a cyclone?

—But that which intuits vice 

—Wielding intellect 

—Catching arrows with bare hands

—Leaving no buds to fester.

My, what a beautiful poem we have composed! Our hearts must truly beat in harmony with one another. Your intellect is as sharp as I remember. 

Midnight, tonight. I will see you at the usual spot.

——————

The letter does not specify where you are to meet, nor does it need to. Since childhood, there has only been one location you frequented enough for its significance to become instinctual. You head toward the coastline, where there grows a certain sakura tree overlooking the shore, identified by its gnarled trunk which is twisted with age. 

There is a reclining silhouette already outlined against the tree when you arrive. Perhaps the details have changed here and there—the height, the clothing—but the figure itself, you could not mistake for the world. 

In unmarked silence, you join Shikanoin Heizou beneath the sakura tree. 

For a time, neither of you speak. What is there to say? You have not seen each other in years. Circumstances, not to mention your own selves, have altered within the rift of time you have spent apart. The last time you met was in the early moments of adulthood, when he took on the mantle of a detective and your aptitude for writing began to raise you into company higher than anticipated. 

Thinking back on it now, you never said a proper goodbye; he simply had to leave one day, and subsequently you drifted out of each other’s lives through no devices of your own, as a cloud disperses into smaller fragments and is scattered on the wind. You never received any letters from him, either; it did not occur to you to send one of your own (and if you had, how were you to know where to send it?). But you never forgot him—Archons, never. 

The fact that he is here now gives you hope that he did not forget about you, either. 

The silence grows, deepens, becomes uncomfortable. Somebody will have to take the first step; and this time, it is your turn. You run your tongue over dry lips. 

“What a surprise it is to see you here, Heizou.”

For all of your usual eloquence, any skill with words has abandoned you now. You feel exposed and frightfully inexperienced, like you are sitting at an empty page in your father’s study, wondering how to compose your first haiku. 

He smiles, and the world is stable again. “Not much of a surprise, I’m afraid. You figured me out.”

“You wanted me to,” you reply, and you find yourself falling into a rhythm of effortless exchange similar to the renga game—except this time, you are not separated by ink and paper, but face to face. The interaction feels easy, like the rift of time between you is nothing at all. 

You ask, “What were your reasons for approaching me through letters, rather than directly? Diverting as your puzzles were, surely it should have been far simpler to greet me in person, not wait until now.”

“I couldn’t risk speaking with you any earlier, for both of our sakes. Until recently I was part of an undercover investigation, and had I been recognised, the confidentiality of the case may be compromised. And on your end, I figured it would be embarrassing for somebody of such high standing as yourself to be seen hanging around somebody like me.”

Something is off. His explanation is sound, but there’s a matter he hasn’t addressed. “A letter signed with one’s name alone ought to be privacy enough—yet it was your choice to remain anonymous,” you point out.

Another smile lifts the corner of his mouth, this time a touch meek. His eyelashes lower as he glances downwards. “Would you rather the honest answer, or the one which will flatter me?”

“Offer me first the flattery,” you propose, “and only the honesty if I fail to decipher the truth myself.”

“My intention was to test your discernment. I remember our childhood battles of wits fondly, but after such a long time, I wasn’t sure how your character held up. So much time spent in high society can change somebody; I wanted to know whether you were still the same person I knew before taking any action to introduce myself.”

“Am I still the same person?” you ask out of interest. 

“Of course you are.” The reply is so quick, comes so naturally, that it warms you. 

So, that is the flattery. 

You scrutinise the man in front of you; his posture (the way he leans against the tree trunk, yet drums his fingers on the wood), his expression (how his eyes glance between you and the floor, like he’s just as shy and skittish as you are, perhaps even more so), his explanation (which is obviously false—he read your works, meaning he must have been aware at least to an extent of your personal development).

“And the truth,” you conclude after a careful period of reflection, “is that you were afraid. Afraid that, after all this time, I would hold towards you feelings of contempt for leaving so abruptly. You did not sign your name in fear that my knowing your identity would provoke me to be hostile, or to rebuke your advances.”

“And would you have done so?” 

“I never thought ill of you, Heizou,” you say. When you say his name, his eyes widen by a touch, brighten a little. “Not once, even if I tried to. And…” You sigh, leaning back against the tree beside him. “You may comfort yourself with the fact that I was afraid, too.”

Heizou looks away, in thought. Silence settles upon you once more. This time, you are comfortable in it. Yes; there is comfort in having Heizou standing beside you once again, close enough that, should you wish, you could…

(He flexes his hand, and you know you are thinking of the same thing. Neither of you act. It’s still too soon, too hasty, to go there yet. You want to get to know him again, from the beginning, before going there.) 

“Is it really true, that you read all of my novels?” you blurt. 

“Every single one,” he replies in earnest. 

You scratch your neck. “Was it… ahem, was it obvious that Hasegawa was based on you?”

“I did notice some similarities, yes,” Heizou admits with a chuckle. “In fact,” he continues, a smirk beginning to creep onto his face, “if my memory serves me correctly, you describe him as handsome no less than seven times.”

Heat rushes to your face. You cough into your first, and Heizou laughs again, the sound full and bright and everything you’ve missed in the last few years of your life. 

“Don’t worry—you were subtle in every other part of the story. I wasn’t exaggerating in my initial praise, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such attention to detail in the narration as well as the plot itself. It really is extraordinary.” 

You’re accustomed to receiving praise from fan letters and colleagues, but getting it from Heizou feels different, somehow; it feels more valuable, more real. “Thank you,” you smile, suddenly all bashful and self-conscious again. He smiles back. You have to look away.

“What do you plan to do now, then?” you ask, changing the subject to something less involved with yourself. “I assume your incredibly-confidential, undercover-agent case is over.”

“I’ve been considering staying here for a while—until another case comes up, at least.” Now he’s the one to look away. A slight hint of red dusts his cheeks, a shyness reveals itself in the upturned corners of his lips, and his voice takes on a softer, more self-conscious note. “This might be a little presumptuous of me, but… I was thinking that I could stay with you. If you’d have me.” 

Your reply is so quick, comes so naturally, that it warms you. 

[mimiccry]

Hugs!

Summary: Heizou’s been working all day and you miss him. So you give him a big ole hug :]

Word count: 200+(short and sweet!)

Warnings: None!

Edit/05/2025: Removed the kiss at the end, didn’t like how forced it felt.

———————————————————————————

“Ah… sorry Heizou, I might’ve seemed a bit frustrated today.” You apologized.

“You’ve just been dragged around with work all day long, it was hard to talk to you.” You sighed, the weight being lifted off your chest like butterfly taking flight.

He smiled at you.

“No worries, we’re here now. Did you want a hug? Is that it?” He opened his arms shyly. You felt a surge in your chest as you lunged forward to give him the tightest possible hug you could. He coughed and stumbled at the impact. And, maybe a little bit from how tightly you were squeezing him.

“H-Hey now, aren’t you holding me a bit too tight?” He barely managed to say. You buried your head into his shoulder and shook your head.

“M-Mm!” You vigorously disagreed before continuing to squeeze him. He took a moment to think before squeezing you back just as tightly. Now it was your turn to cough. He chuckled,

“Look who’s unable to breathe now?”

After a few minutes you were still hugging, only now you were standing calmly rather than squishing the life out of each other.

———————————————————————————

a/n: just cute hugs! I might do this for other characters too, to make a series?

[mimiccry]

The first night you spent with him, Scaramouche discovered a part within his soul he wasn’t sure even existed.  

What got him even more was the morning that followed.

Scaramouche can’t remember when the last time was, he had a proper breakfast. Or one, he hadn’t been his own company.

But now you’re just sitting in front of him, in his kitchen, cutting fresh bread at the table while he prepares some coffee.

There is this nearly domestic air of it all, a certain stability he had yet to experience, fighting to throw him off his balance.

And for the first time, Scaramouche finds himself yearning to be pushed off it entirely.

Just one more morning with you. Just one more day. One more night.

He’s learnt, all there is with you is a concatenation, a constant repeat of “just one more.”

Just one more chance before it slips like water from his fingers, before he has to watch it burn down in front of his eyes. Before his company is reduced to one all over again.

And he finds himself thinking the fire that burnt down his life many times before has been flaring up in an entirely different way recently.

Just one more moment where he could actually feel like life offered him a shadow of mercy.

Where he can forgive the world because it has you.

So, he pours the coffee into two cups.

[mimiccry]

Doubts cloud my Judgement

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word count: ~ 1.5k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary: Learning to be vulnerable is no small task, even if it's for the ones you love.

The winds whip to and fro in the night, the steady rustle of the leaves quietly dulling the city’s noise. It was almost as if the air itself was feeling agitated, restless, almost anxious, and knew no other way to handle it but to tug and pull at the branches of trees, to wear at the city walls.

You were surprised when you stepped out onto the tavern’s balcony yourself. The winds in the city were always gentle in the past... Though, that thought did not occupy your mind for very long. You only adjusted your clothing in place, bracing yourself against the moderate winds as you looked around yourself… You were sure you’d seen the life of the party back downstairs disappear though this door earlier, and his absence was feeding a growing unease within you. Of course, it wasn’t very surprising that he’d managed to slip through your grasp yet again, he seemed to have a talent for that.

You have known Venti for quite some time now. A chance meeting in the plaza quickly grew into a well-maintained friendship, and you had fallen for him hard somewhere along those months you’d spent drifting in and out of each other’s lives. You know so much about him, all the way from his preferences in drinks to mindless thoughts on meaningless matters that reveal themselves in casual conversations… And the more you learnt about him, the more sure you were that you didn’t know the bard at all.

Venti doesn’t strike anyone as the type of guy to keep anyone at a distance like that, and at first, you were willing to believe so too. But the better you got to know him, the more he withdrew. The better you got at finishing his sentences, the less he started them at all. He’d smile, nod, encourage you to talk instead, keeping his cards close to this chest and his heart tucked away for reasons you couldn’t comprehend. That ends tonight, you decided. Weeks of this unexplained distance was starting to bother you.

Your eyes traced the steady-looking vines climbing the walls of the tavern’s exterior. Your brows furrowed as the insanity of the idea crossed your mind. You didn’t exactly have any other means of ascending the building, and if you knew that bard even half as well as you think you do, he’s sure to be up there on the roof. Still, you could fall. And it would hurt.

…

Yeah, like that was actually going to stop you.

You braced yourself as you grabbed onto the vines with your hands, and slowly hosted yourself up just a few feet from the ground to test the waters. When you found that the vines held your weight remarkably well, you started pulling yourself up, grabbing hold and steadily climbing the building. With a huff you were able to pull yourself up onto the roof, the familiar sight of terracotta tiles filling your view… And sat in the middle of the slanted roof was Venti, with his back turned to you, uncharacteristically absentminded. The sound of your steps didn’t register until you’re right by his side, at which point he jumped slightly, the reaction so small you could see how anyone else might have missed it.

“O-oh, Hello, friend! In need of some fresh air too, I presume?”

There was something about his tone that felt so…unsure. Like even he wasn’t buying his own guise anymore. And yet, he tried foolishly to keep it up, knowing very well it wasn’t getting by either of you. Curious.

“...Yeah. Do you mind if I sit for a bit?”

You decided to entertain it for a moment in an attempt at disarming the suddenly tense atmosphere. Venti’s shoulders sank in resignation as he realized this night could end one of two ways… And he wasn’t quite sure which outcome he feared more. Letting you in or shutting you out for good.

“Not at all.”

You sat down next to him, giving him a bit of space just for comfort’s sake. Venti noted your distance with a curious hum, his gaze finally rising from the red roof tiles to look in your direction. He held your gaze for only a moment before he averted his eyes again, clearing his throat nervously. The winds tug at your clothes as gusts crash against you.

“...Venti-”

“I don’t-”

You both spoke at the same time, cutting each other off. In any other situation you would have had a laugh at that… But tonight, not as much as an amused snicker, even.

“How did things get so weird between us, Venti?”

Your unsteady voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the gales. You looked down at your trembling hands, unsure if it was the nerves or the cold that had gotten to you. You didn’t get much time to ponder it before the bard next to you let out a huff, scooted closer and placed his hand over your trembling ones.

“Everything’s fine, my friend. Everything’s alright.”

His tone wasn’t one bit convincing as he flashed you a smile you didn’t believe for a second.

“Please. Just… give me an actual answer.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly as he tensed up. You could feel the way his breath hitched on the winds, the way they shifted directions for a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered his next words very carefully, trying and failing several times over to find a way out of this confrontation. But, there was none.

“You know me so well it scares me.”

You weren’t expecting that. A part of you had worried he had figured out your feelings, and was looking for a way out of the friendship. Another was growing concerned he simply got bored of you. You… Did not expect to learn just how frightened he was by your shared bond.

“...Wait, what do you-”

His grip on your hand fastened ever so slightly, and caused you to hesitate. Your eyes drifted up to his figure, hunched over himself as he looked anywhere but right at you. A brief flash of panic crossed his pensive expression as you untangled your hand from his, but was quickly pacified as you reached up and brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes. Finally, he looked at you properly.

“Venti, my dear… Can I ask you a question?”

You pleaded with a disarming smile.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Venti stammered, his usual effortless confidence completely discarded. It was as if he realized trying to salvage that image was like fighting a losing battle.

“... What is it you’re scared of showing me?”

He went silent after that, his eyes narrowed as his nose scrunched up into a thoughtful expression. He had been mulling over that question many times the past few weeks, but he never found a satisfactory answer. He had spent many nights awake trying to determine what it was about you that he had suddenly grown so fearful of, enough to outweigh the joy he felt in your company. And only now as he stared into your endlessly patient eyes did he realize what it was. Venti didn’t give you a verbal answer, no… He did something you weren’t quite expecting. He pinched his eyes shut with a sigh, and dropped his head onto your shoulder.

You had never seen him be this vulnerable before. His boisterous persona and endless charm often gave people a very different idea of who he was, and you had long ago figured out the man beneath the surface was much softer, much more delicate than he’d ever intended to show you. Still, this was a shot in the dark for him. You could tell how tense he was, his shoulders rigid, his expression strained, his hands fidgeting with the frilly hems of his sleeves… He was so painfully uncomfortable with this expression of vulnerability, and yet he was trying.

You didn’t waste another second before you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a firm, loving hug. You heard him gasp slightly as his eyes blew wide, but he didn’t fight it. You huffed in relief, your hands slowly rubbing comforting patterns into the tense muscles on his back. The familiar scent of fresh breeze and cecilias that always seem to cling to him filled your nostrils as you embraced him tightly. It took him a few seconds to even register what was happening, almost in disbelief at the course of this wordless conversation.

Slowly, with an uncertainty that was utterly unfamiliar to him, Venti embraced you back. His grip was weak at first, but then he suddenly squeezed you close as if you’d disappear if he let go. His shallow breaths trembled as he fought to keep his composure.

“You deserve to be cared about, Venti. Please… let me. Don’t push me away.”

Your own voice quivered as emotions started running high. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that had you at the brink of tears, but holding back the sobs only got harder and harder… Until you heard Venti sigh. And you felt tears on your shoulder. So you gave in trying to hold back too.

The winds around you calmed as the dawn broke on the horizon, the two of you desperately clinging onto each other all the while. Things would be different from now on, but Venti’s heart already felt light with relief after that night.

Hey everyone! It's been a minute since my last post... oops!

My point is though I love this guy to death and don't plan to stop writing for him altogether, I'm taking a bit of a Genshin break! I've been running out of inspiration for Venti fics and mostly just rotate him around in my head for hours on end haha

So! You can expect some stuff from other fandoms going forward. I'll make a pinned post about that once I've gotten everything sorted. There will be more Venti fics again in the future though, so don't be discouraged!

Thank you for reading as always! :3

[mimiccry]

Genshin characters as ways animals court and mate

Hello. Hi. I've never attempted a post like this before. Please don't burn me at the stake for making a concept post with multiple characters. This is just a long shitpost. There are probably better suited animals out there, I just chose from the ones I knew.

Characters included; Pantalone, Diluc, Xiao, Childe, Xianyun, Itto, Dottore, Venti, Albedo

Tags: man I don't even know, descriptions of animal copulation (non graphic), noncon (Pantalone) , aphrodisiacs (Albedo), alcohol for Venti, crack post, none of it is described in detail or graphic but proceed at your own discretion

Pantalone - Gerridae spp. (Water striders) OR Garrulus glandarius (Eurasian jay)

How Pantalone acts very much depends on who you are and how you behave. If you're simply a means to an end (his own release) then you can expect to be used, under threats of misfortune if you're uncooperative, and then discarded. But, if you've truly caught his attention as something worth keeping, then you can expect a well thought out, catered specifically to your tastes, display of his wealth and what he can offer you if you stick around. Gerridae males will mount the female while they're on the water surface and thrum his legs against the surface to attract predators (the female is more likely to be eaten since she is closer to the surface), only stopping once the female stops resisting. The eurasian jay has been observed to regularly give gifts, not only right before mating, and has displayed that conscious thought goes into picking what the female will appreciate the most, with often opting for bringing her something 'new and exciting'.

Diluc - Pygoscelis papua (Gentoo penguin)

Once Diluc finds himself ready to settle down, you can rest assured that plenty of care went into that decision. After hovering around you for a while, slowly finding that he doesn't wish to be without your presence (I could write so much about this turning point for Diluc whew) he presents you with two seemingly odd items. One is an old-looking key, the other a locket containing a few grape seeds. The key is for the back-door to the winery so you can always come and go. The locket belonged to his mother and the seeds inside are for you to plant. He hopes you're as ready to settle down and build a life together as he is. Gentoo penguins build their nests out of rocks and males will essentially present a female with a carefully selected stone to signify "I would like to build a nest with you". Gentoo penguins are also known for being very strictly monogamously, to the point that sleeping around or attempting to can get an individual kicked out of the colony.

Xiao - Drosophila spp. (fruit flies)

This one isn't exactly a calculated move on Xiao's part, and he'd prefer that this wasn't a byproduct of sexual intimacy (intimacy of any kind really). Due to his karmic debt, Xiao affects his surroundings and 'taints' them. On his partner, this means that for a time after being with him, they experience mild symptoms akin to those you'd experience after being in close proximity to old god remains. The emotional effects last a couple of hours and make others less likely to engage in any kind of social behaviour with you. Drosophila males use a pheromone to mark a female as unattractive after mating, reducing the chances of his sperm being outcompeted. Some evidence suggests that the pheromone has mildly harmful effects on the female.

Childe / Ajax / Tartaglia - Vulpes vulpes (red fox)

Am I pushing an agenda here? Absolutely. Childe gets excited when he notices that you're beginning to pay attention to him - however sparse it may be - and does everything he can to interact with you, making sure to keep it fun and engaging (both for himself and you). Bright and cheerful while courting you. Gets territorial and doesn't take kindly to others being too familiar with you. Has a habit of disappearing for long periods of time on missions, but when he's there, he's very devoted. Male foxes get aggressive towards other males around breeding season. Courting includes loud calls and frolicking around with a chosen mate, typically play fighting and nipping at each other. Male foxes stay to help raise the pups, letting the female stay with the pups for the first weeks while he fetches food daily.

Xianyun / Cloud retainer - Grus japonensis (Manchurian crane)

As we've seen, Xianyun has quite the knack for designing pretty clothes, and once she's set her sights on courting someone, it doesn't take long for her 'daughters' to encourage her to make something that shows her off. Reluctant at first, wanting to make something nice for you instead (she ends up doing both) she eventually invites you for a stroll through the harbor. She's dazzling of course, leading you around while practically chatting your ear off. Next time you're invited to Mt. Aozang, she shows off the equally stunning garment prepared for you and makes you try it on before pulling out one of her musical contraptions and inviting you for a dance "to test the range of motion". Cranes in general exhibit 'elegant' courtship dances that are not only performed before initiating a partnership, but done regularly to strengthen the bond between two individuals. The courtship dance also shows off their plumeage, the health of which is important for selecting a partner.

Arataki Itto - Hypsignathus monstrosus (hammer-headed bat)

Oh boy. There's a reason I'm not an Itto fucker and this is part of it. Would absolutely take any chance he could (and probably try to set up even more chances...) to show you how cool he is. Always front and center, the adorable oni might very well get the brilliant idea to write you a song and perform in front of everyone at the next Iridescence Tour. Enters every single competition he can in an attempt to win you the prices and impress you. Hammer-headed bats engage in a courting behaviour known as 'lek mating', in which groups of males form a lek and establish performance areas. The males then hang from a branch, flapping their wings, and producing loud calls while females fly around and peruse the males available.

Il Dottore - Saccharomyces cerevisiae (baker's yeast)

CTRL+C -> CTRL+V A multitude of microorganisms reproduce by a process called 'budding'. Only including Dottore as a joke because I'm actually making an entire post like this but for his different segments. And to the smartass about to say 'oh yeast isn't an animal' shhhh we have no idea what the fuck fungi are.

Venti - Sepia apama (Giant cuttlefish)

This little charmeur knows exactly how to play the mating game despite competition being fierce. Not exactly imposing, people merely scoff when he cozies up to you. Sure, he has his hands all over you and his head making a bee-line towards your lap. But he's drunk. And oddly endearing in how gently he touches you, like you're something precious, his eyes almost shining when he looks at you. Gotta remember he's a poet as well, a few of his sweet words and it's impossible to resist going home with him. Giant cuttlefish males are very competitive and aggressive, with the largest ones being able to secure females. BUT smaller males, sometimes referred to as 'sneaker males', will wait for the larger male to be distracted and sneak past to mate. They've also been observed to change their colouring and hide their hectocotylus (think of it as a specialised penis-arm) to resemble a female and better hide.

Albedo - Siphopteron quadrispinosum (sea slug)

This is dedicated entirely to you Petal <3 And to everyone else, this is a bad joke. While Rhinedottir did everything she could to make Albedo, he's lacking in certain places. Which was fine. Until he met you. But that's fine, he has a solution to that. He's spent weeks fussing over creating everything that would be needed, a bottle of pheromones to get you properly prepared and a perfectly shaped rod for insertion, the tip sharpened for piercing your skin of course. A lot of sea slugs are hermaphrodites and will, after feeling each other up, stab the other with a penile stylet and inject their fluids. Some of them do it directly into the other's head. The penile stylet regrows.

[mimiccry]

👏WHY👏ARE👏THERE👏NO👏STRAIGHT👏UP👏VENTI👏X👏READER👏FANFICS👏

My obsessions with venti resurfaced again recently (I mean I’m always obsessed with him, but now I’m SIMPING…again) and I’ve been looking for some Venti X Reader fics. Oneshots, Drabbles, ect.

NOTHING. I mean, there are Venti fics, BUT THEYRE ALL VAROUS CHARACTERS X READER. Like I love scara. I’d get on my knees for Wriothesley. All these men I simp for, sure. BUT IM HERE FOR VENTIIII.

Idk man, lemme know if yall know anyone who writes good Venti x reader that isn’t various x reader, or even just some posts. K thankssss

Update: SAME WITH HEIZOU BRO. WTF

Update 2.0: I currently take requests if anyone’s having a similar problem, just sayin…no NSFW tho

[mimiccry]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎: 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

[Chapter One releases on Monday, 16th September!]

In the land of Xianzhou, where such things as flying swords and divining futures really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of four. In any other case, the role of the eldest is a very respectable one, but in this particular instance it is not so: for it means shouldering all the same responsibilities, but with the added knowledge that you will be plagued by misfortune with every step, and that all your efforts will ultimately come to nothing until your inevitable death.

You were born the eldest of four children to a relatively well-off craftsman who ran a kite shop in Aurum Alley, located in the eastern province of Luofu. Your mother was a sailor, but both your parents died at sea when you were four years old. Your second sister Qingni was two years old when it happened, and your youngest twin sisters, Qingque and Sushang, only one. 

Had the one who subsequently took you in been of a cruel sort, perhaps you might have stumbled upon your mother’s reincarnation as a fish who would guide you to a more hopeful future. Alas, your mother Caiyi’s good friend Madame Yukong—the woman you all secretly suspected was her true lover—became a perfectly loving parent to all the children Caiyi left behind, which ended the possibility for any such inspiring tales. Thus, you were fated to live out and die the sorry life set out for you. 

…

A few months back, rumours started spreading that the Corrupted Cultivator of Scalegorge Wastescape, Phantylia, had returned. Long before you were born, she single-handedly brought down the dynasty before Emperor Lan from the inside out, and had attempted to do the same to Emperor Lan themself during the later Abundance War. Now the mere mention of Phantylia’s name was enough to get people plastering yellow talismans across the white walls of their homes. Whispers of all sorts went around. “Phantylia wants to dethrone the Emperor,” some people said. “She’s working with the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” claimed others. And the worst of all were the ones which went, “Perhaps there was no Phantylia all along. Perhaps… we are Phantylia!”

Shortly after these rumours began to circulate, a huge ship appeared on the horizon of town. From one glance alone anyone could tell that this was no ordinary ship: unlike the waterborne sampans sailing down the adjacent river, this ship hovered in the sky, with wreaths of steam billowing from its smooth sides. On its hull were painted the characters Seat of Divine Foresight. 

This was not the only deterring factor. If an ominous green silhouette lingering on the horizon was not enough to get Aurum Alley’s residents shaking in their boots, an ominous green silhouette which moved certainly was. The ship floated near and far, creeping across the sky like a cloud of poisonous gas. Sometimes it was a smudge on the horizon. Other days, it blotted out the sun and cast the town in shadow: if you squinted closely enough, you could make out the metal panels of its black hull. Everyone was certain that this ship must belong to Phantylia: for if not hers, who else’s could it be?

But as it is with the nature of hearsay, after a few weeks, the rumours shifted again. People suspected that the ship did not belong to Phantylia, but to somebody almost as terrible: the so-called ‘General Jing Yuan’, named only so because the title had stuck since he led Emperor Lan’s army to victory during the Abundance War. In truth, he was no ‘General’ any more than a two-headed snake was a dragon. Everybody knew he was a cultivator like Phantylia, who had turned to wickedness. So wicked indeed was he that people said he had claws instead of fingers, that bat wings sprouted from his back, and his fearsome blue face bore a bird’s beak in place of a nose.

…

It was no use wondering, however, because by this point most citizens had had enough. People started moving out of Aurum Alley, and you could not blame them: it was hardly possible to feel safe here with the huge Seat of Divine Foresight blocking the sky. Yukong must have had similar doubts, because it was not long before you and your siblings were pulled into the back of the kite shop for a conversation.

[𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬]

[mimiccry]

Raincoat

Summary: you and Venti hang out a lot. Will you finally admit your feelings after years of playing it safe?

notes: — ehem: this is a venti x reader! reader isn’t described, gender - neutral reader, modern au, fluff, uhhh yea i don’t wanna spoil it through any pre - story notes here. enjoy! :}

word count: 2027

warnings: none!

———————————————————————————

“That was tiring…” you sigh, stepping down from the last step of the grand building behind you. Your friend huffs a laugh.

“Sorry,” Venti says. “I didn’t think the museum would take this long to get through.” The pedestrian light turns red. You wiggle your toes in your shoes to pass the time. Or maybe it was to ease the damp cold in your feet.

“Next time, we could go somewhere more peaceful.” He suggests.

White.

The amount of people you had to dodge to cross the road was not dissimilar to the crowds of people you had to weave through in the museum. Was it a new exhibit or just a busy day? The rain makes a lovely noise when you walk through it on the pavement, over the chipped white zebra stripes. You lean to your left towards Venti to whisper,

“Maybe the aquarium? I heard it’s not very popular on Mondays.” You glance at him. He nods lightly.

“Hmm, that could be nice!”

You notice your face is soaked and your hair is sticking to your face.

“On second thought, that might be too much water.” You say, shaking your head.

Both of your steps reach the other sidewalk in unison just in time for the crossing light to start flashing red, a warning to hurry up. But you were safe. When you turn left to the rural area you live in, your finger grazes a wet plant sticking out disorderly from the beside the walkway. It’s cold, so you shake it off in slight shock. Venti giggles at you.

“Hey! Weren’t you the one who thought he was allergic to the statue of a cat? You have no right to laugh at me.” You sniff. This only spurs on his laughter, which only escalates when the rain starts pouring heavily, soaking you.

“Ugh…” you try wipe away your hair from your face and neck. Something drapes itself around your shoulders. Looking up, Venti is adjusting the hood to cover your head. His raincoat. He smoothens it out for you, his face focused, then looks up at your face and smiles.

“There you are. Now you won’t get any more soaked until you get home!” He grabs your hand to start skipping on towards your block. You’re stumbling along with him, unlike he, who is pretty much gracefully dancing through the puddles.

“W-wait! Venti, what about you? You’ll catch a cold!”

“Worry not! I’ll be fine. I don’t get sick easily after all.” He stops and turns to you.

“But, I know you do!” He taps your nose with the pointer finger of his free hand. You sigh, knowing he’s right. Oh well.

Venti readjusts his grip on your hand, then continues leading you forward. Something stirs in your lungs.

“So, let’s hurry up, so you can dry yourself off sooner!”

When you reach your house, you search for your keys in your pocket. Ah, Found it! While turning it in the lock, you remember something.

“Your coat! How could I forget?” You bring a palm to your face in disbelief with yourself. You quickly take off the coat and hand it to him.

“Thank you kindly!” He takes it from you and puts it back on. You realize that he doesn’t seem to be very wet from the rain. Weird. But your thoughts are interrupted by Venti clasping your hands with his own.

“Thank you for today, I had a lot of fun.”

You reciprocate his grip and smile. He looks around, then at his watch, and folds the coat under his arm. You interrupt him.

“So where are we going tomorrow, then?” He looks up at the underside of the roof that hung over the porch in thought.

“You decide!” He nods at you. He turns to leave before looking back at you again.

“Maybe it’ll rain less next time.”

•••

You grumble at the rain flooding along your window like a racing river.

‘So much for the aquarium.’ You think,

‘What a shitty Monday.’

It won’t stop you from hanging out with Venti again, though. You open up his messages. He doesn’t have a cell phone - only a landline - despite you recommending it to him many times. He claims it “scrambles the brain”. So he opts for using a home phone and an analogue camera instead. He even sends you postcards and photos when he goes on vacation. You look over at the picture sitting on the shelf. Golden ginkgo trees frame the edges, and a big mountain towers over from the distance. If you look closely, you’ll see some small buildings with dark grey shingles in the meadow. Maybe one day, you could see it too. You sigh.

You pull up your list of hangout ideas in a little teal notepad. On it were various ideas, such as ‘forest hike’, or ‘drive around idk’. You deliberately ignored the scribbled out ‘aquarium’ on the top of the small page, with mini hearts dotted around the page. You slammed your notebook shut in frustration. How could finding a place to hang out be so hard? Especially for a guy like Venti. He just goes with the flow, you admire that about him. He’d probably by okay with anything. As you stare at the notebook in your hand, the bright blue colour reminds you of something…

You grab your phone and dial his number. The phone rings for a few seconds before you hear a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, [Name]!” He sounds very cheerful. His joy is contagious, and you find yourself smiling to the sound of him speaking.

“Hi Venti!” You stop, not really knowing what to say afterwards. That’s okay though, when he’s around, there’s no shortage of witty jokes in your conversations.

“Nice weather today, huh?” He teases, to which you roll your eyes. You almost want to blame the rain on him. So you move ahead to your own point instead.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday, and…” you pause, for you realize you’re admitting to thinking of him a lot, even for one day.

“…I wanted to let you choose what we’re doing today. I think it’s only fair since even my mind is clouded today. I… could use something to cheer me up.”

You done hear anything from the other end for a few long seconds before he responds.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

•••

The two of you end up at an art gallery. It’s much less crowded than the museum, aside from some art class student groups quietly flowing through the rooms. Every footstep softly echoed in the wide spaces, and no one spoke, unless it was by hushed whispers. You find the setting to be quite comforting, even though you felt way too compelled to say at least something to Venti, or even just to think out loud a bit. Maybe the amount of people here is a curse after all…There you go again being pessimistic. You look at Venti in an attempt to cheer yourself up. He’s smiling. It isn’t the usual cheeky mischievous grin he wears, but a soft and genuine looking one. One you rarely get to see. It feels warm and fuzzy, like sitting on a cloud in a late summer sunset, with the stars twinkling above. If you entertain that thought a bit longer, you’ll see him sitting next to you, the same gentle smile on his face.

Suddenly you are reminded of the painting you saw an hour ago. Maybe the artist felt the same thing, and presented their feelings through those calculated blotches and hues on a canvas. Maybe they, too, were in -

Venti taps your shoulder, and discreetly points towards a room in the distance. His face suggests, ‘That way?’ You can barely make out a wall and protective glass case, inside a giant city scene. He waits for your approval. You smile and nod, as a ‘Let’s go see!’

•••

The walk home is a lot quieter than the last time you went out together. It’s as if the quiet and calm energy from the art gallery bled on into the rest of your day. You are again, wearing Venti’s raincoat. He couldn’t resist offering it to you once again after yours got lost at the gallery’s coat check. Truly unbelievable how you always end up using his coat instead of your own, it’s like a curse.

Once again at your doorstep, this time you insist on giving his coat back. He reluctantly agrees, taking it from you and slinging it over his left shoulder. He opens his mouth to bid you farewell, when-

“Wait. No no, you’re not leaving like that.” You frown at him.

“Hm, what?” He laughs. You huff in frustration, and snatch the coat back, unfolding it and putting it over both his shoulders.

“Well? Arms in sleeves, Venti.” You order, and he obliges.

“Why so strict, [Name]?”

“I’m not letting you leave without you wearing it properly!” You sternly say adjusting the torso of the plastic-like material. He laughs softly, waiting with patience while you fumble with the zipper. The concentrated look on your face makes his heart feel warm, knowing you care this much. He wants to be more close to you. To be near you forever. But what if…

His coat tightens shut around his body as the zipper closes, snugly held by your firm hands. Your eyes meet his and a tense silence hung in the air enveloping you like a cozy winter blanket. Your hand is still gripping his coat zipper, just under his chin. He’s looking curiously at you.

Meanwhile, you’re reliving all the time you’d spend with him through his hypnotizing, kind blue eyes. The good and the bad. There was a time when you both got hurt on a hike, and Venti remained with a positive attitude the whole way down the hill back home.

“What’s life without a little rain?” He had said, wrapping gauze around your knee while humming a lovely tune. You pointed towards the door,

“There’s a second first aid kit in the kitchen.” He stopped you from standing up to lead him.

“I know.” He said.

There was the time you spent the whole day together(as per usual), watching cheap movies all day and laughing at their bad writing and dialogue.

“What was that?!” You exclaimed at the screen, where the words ‘The End’ proudly stood centre stage. Venti sat on the floor in front of your couch, trying to contain his laughter and not spill the can of fizzy water in his hand. You sighed and climbed down to join him, leaning your head on his shoulder. You then heard the sound of a can being placed on the floor before an arm wrapped itself around your right side and held you closer to him.

You feel like he’s slipping away now, and you don’t want him to. You want it to be you and him, together forever. You and him, now standing and waiting for each other to speak while you hold him still. This feels like it could be your final moment. And Venti wanted to seize that moment.

He leaned forward to give you a tender kiss on the cheek. It tickles, his hair drifting close to your face. Some raindrops roll from the top of his hood and drip on your already - damp head, but you don’t notice. When he moves away from you, you bring your hands loosely back to your chest. He finally looks away and adjusts his coat and steps backwards.

“I’ll see you later, then!” He says waving goodbye at you.

‘No!’ You grab the hand that’s waving at you and held it back. When you see his face, well, that’s new: You managed to surprise Venti, his eyes wide. You held his hand gently with your own, feeling embarrassed by your impulsive action. So you look down to ease your thoughts. All these bottled up thoughts and feelings shuffling around in your head, quick like a magician’s card trick, so fast that all that comes out of your mouth is,

“Don’t go.”

•••

a/n: i was gonna have him smooch reader on the lips but i can’t help but feel uncomfy around fics that have kisses without any clear consent in unexpected moments, so here’s a cheek kiss for ya

[mimiccry]

This year, on the 24th of July, you are not woken up at midnight, nor one minute past. The time on your digital alarm clock when you wake up reads 9:08: a perfectly reasonable time to wake up, if not even a touch earlier than you’d hoped.

It appears that, for once, Heizou has been merciful enough to let you sleep in peace. 

Speaking of whom, there is a humanoid shape currently clinging to your torso and burying his head in your shoulder. You tease fingers through his unruly bedhead, his hair tickling your skin as you do, and greet in a soft voice, “Morning.”

“Mmmm.” Heizou’s arms tighten around your waist, squeezing slightly. He noses his way further into the crook of your neck. “Just a few more minutes.”

“You’ve got to check in at the Police Station today, remember?” you say, working your way through a wine-coloured knot in his hair. 

“I always skip out on that,” he grumbles in return. His voice is slightly muffled. “The Police Station doesn’t care anymore.”

“Well… surely it couldn’t hurt just to go once, right? Grace them all with your wonderful presence on your special day.”

You do feel guilty pressing him to leave, but you have plans for while he’s gone. Observant as ever, it seems Heizou has already caught on. “You know,” he begins, extricating himself from you just enough to meet your eye, “I’d almost think you’re trying to get me to leave the house. One might even ask if you have an ulterior motive.”

“My motives are my own,” you reply mysteriously. So much for that—but at least he doesn’t know what you’re actually planning to do yet.

“Following that suspicious response, I’m almost certain I shouldn’t leave you alone.” He taps your nose. “What if you commit some horrible crime in my absence, hm?”

“I hereby pledge that there will be no horrible crimes committed in your absence.” You place a hand over your heart for good measure. 

“Oh, alright then,” he sighs. “I can’t argue with that.” Yet despite what he says, he makes no attempt to move from the bed. Quite the contrary, he koala-hugs you tighter than before and looks up at you with pretty, pleading olive eyes. “But first… five more minutes?”

You couldn’t say no to that even if you wanted to.

At least a good ten minutes of snuggling later, Heizou reluctantly shuffles out of bed leaves for the Police Station. You see him off and wish him a happy birthday. The moment he’s out of sight, you set out on your mission. Purely out of coincidence, you’re unoccupied today, and you intend to make the most of that fact. You take out your phone and check the shopping list you made the night before. You already have some of the base ingredients—mirin, cooking sake, dashi stock, soy sauce and the such—but there are a couple of things you still have to stock up on. 

You scroll through the list on your phone, mumbling aloud as you read, “Eggs, pork, onion, bread crumbs, mayonnaise, coriander… buy more rice to be safe. Alright. Got it.”

Your first stop is Tsukumomono Groceries. You stock up on onion, rice, eggs, coriander, and breadcrumbs, before taking a short detour to the nearby supermarket, where you purchase the pork cutlet and mayonnaise. 

Heizou shouldn’t be back until after a typical time for lunch, but considering how much he despises the food at the Police Station, it’s safe to bet he’ll return without having eaten anything there. Your plan is to surprise him with katsudon at around three o’clock when he gets back. There’s a decent amount of spare time to kill before you need to start cooking, so you wander around the city, buying little birthday decorations to decorate the house with and having a quick lunch of your own (plus some boba—buying one for Heizou as well, of course), before returning to the house. Once back, you tidy up the rooms a little, nicely set out the trinkets you bought, and head to the kitchen.

You assemble the ingredients on the counter in front of you. The recipe shouldn’t be too hard. True, you haven’t made this specific dish yet, but you cook enough to have sufficient experience to feed your confidence. The only thing you’re apprehensive about is the fact that Heizou is going to eat it, and on his birthday, no less; it’s got to be excellent, if not the impossible standard of perfect. 

You begin by rinsing and soaking the rice before anything else, and pour it into a pot. The recipe is quite quick, so you figure you can get the rest done while the rice boils. You do have a rice cooker, but it’s fun to make it like this sometimes, too. Once the water is bubbling, you turn down the heat and cover up the pot, putting on a timer for ten minutes. A curling tendril of steam rises from the lid. On the hob beside the rice, you start heating a pan of vegetable oil for the deep-frying. 

You turn your attention to the pork next. You cut off the excess pieces of fat and lightly score its skin with a knife, then rub in a sprinkle of salt and pepper on each side and leave it to the side while you prepare the various layers of coating for the meat. Into three separate bowls you pour flour, whisked eggs, and bread crumbs, before picking up the pork cutlet once more and dunking it thoroughly in each. You feel a touch hesitant at the stage of the bread crumbs, because the cutlet’s not as densely coated as you imagined it would be, but a quick search online of other people’s experiences puts your mind at ease. 

The oil’s had sufficient time to heat up. Little rising patterns swirl upwards in its golden volume. Unfortunately, you don’t have a cooking thermometer, so it’s difficult to tell whether it’s the right temperature or not. To test the waters—or rather, the oils—you toss in one of the off-cuts of pork from earlier. The oil hisses violently and explodes upwards like a spitting cat. You cringe away from the blast as boiling droplets of oil rain down upon you like the cruel vengeance of some deity.

It’s been mere seconds, and the off-cut you tossed in is already blackening. Hurriedly you scoop it out with a pair of cooking chopsticks and throw it away. It’s good you tried testing the heat first before putting in the actual cutlet you mean to use. 

“Point taken,” you tell the pan, approaching it cautiously as you would a wild animal. “Too hot.” 

Not wanting to risk another oil explosion—the splatters on the counter are something you’ll clean up later—you take the pan off the heat to let it cool. A few minutes later, you wet the ends of your chopsticks with cold water and stick them into the oil. It spits at you again, albeit with less resentment than last time. You give it a few more minutes off the hob to be safe before placing the pan back on, on a lower heat setting.

The timer for the rice beeps. You turn off the heat but leave the lid on for the steam to stay inside, setting up another ten minutes on the timer, and turn your attention back to the dreaded oil pan. Once you’re satisfied with the amount of sizzle which emerges from the tips of your chopsticks, you place the cutlet inside with care. 

“What’re you cooking?”

The sudden voice in your ear makes you jump. You swivel around with chopsticks brandished. As your hands fly into the air, the pan rattles dangerously on the hob and sends oil popping like fireworks. 

Heizou backs away swiftly, raising both his palms in a signal of peacemaking. Despite the gesture, however, it’s only amused mischief which you find on his face. “Woah. Don’t sneak up on the chopstick-wielding chef. Got it.”

You heave a sigh as your heartbeat returns to its normal pace. The first thought which comes to mind is that he’s back earlier than expected. You should have anticipated that he wouldn’t stay at the Police Station for as long as he should. “Heizou, you…” you begin, shaking your head in exasperation. He grins in response. “I could have just poked your eye out, you know. That would have been a hell of a birthday present.”

He shrugs, apparently unfettered by the potential blinding he may have undergone. “My intuition told me I would be safe.”

You roll your eyes at him, but there’s no malice in the gesture. “How was the Police Station?” you ask. 

“Boring,” he sighs. “But I did receive a couple of gifts from some colleagues.”

“That’s nice. Who from?” You’re painfully aware of the pork sizzling behind you. You’ll need to take it out soon or else it’ll overcook, and yet somehow, even despite the current situation, you still want to try and surprise him.

“Uesegi, Owada… you know, those guys…” 

As he speaks, you subtly try to block his view of the pan with your body. Heizou notices. He cranes his neck to the left. You lean to your right. He moves to his right; you mirror him, the conspicuousness of your expression only growing each time. 

“I see,” he muses thoughtfully. An up-to-no-good smirk rises on his face. His fingers pounce on you suddenly, tickling up and down your sides. You wriggle away from him through a bout of uncontrollable giggles, revealing the deep-frying cutlet which is Heizou’s favourite dish. 

“You cheater!” you chide. He smiles innocently. You prod his side with the clean end of the chopsticks before turning back to the cutlet. Heizou peeks over you at the sizzling pan, hooking his chin on your shoulder as he leans closer. Personal space is something you have long since had to sacrifice around Heizou. 

“Hmm. Does my intuition tell me you’re making katsudon?” he queries with a grin. He spares you the embarrassment of inquiring about the oil splatters, which he most definitely has noticed.

“No, that would be your eyes.”

“My mind works faster than my eyes. In fact, I could tell the moment I stepped into the room.”

“That would be your nose, then,” you reply. 

“You have no respect for a detective’s intuition,” Heizou sighs forlornly, but he nonetheless watches with a smile as you remove the cutlet—now a warm golden-brown colour—from the oil, cut it into five vertical pieces, turn off the hob, and finely slice a small onion, which you toss into the mixture of dashi, soy sauce, cooking sake, mirin and a pinch of sugar being heated in a small saucepan. On top of this mixture you place the pieces of deep-fried cutlet. 

“You know the saying, ‘every great detective has an assistant, just like every katsudon has a pork cutlet’?” Heizou says idly, his eyes following the movements of your hands as you crack a couple of eggs into a bowl and swirl them around with your chopsticks until the yolks spill into golden puddles combined with the translucent whites. 

“No, I have not,” you reply. Strange saying, you think. You pour most of the egg mixture in two arcs around the cutlet. The slippery mixture begins to solidify into spongy yellow shapes. 

“That’s probably because it’s not a saying,” he shrugs. His arms snake around your waist and he presses his chest to your back, now fully leaning his head on your shoulder. His hair is ticklish on your neck. “It’s just something Uesugi said a while back.”

“Okay…” You reply, unsure where he’s going with this. The egg has mostly cooked through, now, and you add the remaining mixture. For a few seconds longer, you leave the concoction on the heat until the newly-added egg begins to settle by a fraction, before taking the saucepan off. 

He grins and stares up at you with stupidly lovestruck eyes. He pokes your cheek. “You’re my pork cutlet.”

It’s an interesting compliment, that’s for certain. “Erm. Thanks, I think,” you reply. “Can you get me a bowl, please?” You are dutifully handed a porcelain bowl. You thank him before spooning into it a portion of steaming rice. As you arrange the egg-and-onion mixture over it, and the sliced cutlet on top, you point out, “But if I’m your ‘pork cutlet’, that also means you’re about to eat me.” 

You find yourself on the receiving end of a quizzically raised eyebrow and a smirk. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing, my dear partner.”

You bury your forehead in your hands, partly out of genuine exasperation, and partly to cover the stupid grin you can’t hold back which you feel spreading across your cheeks. “Heizou… your sense of humour is appalling sometimes.”

“Still made you smile, though,” he says. You can’t argue against that. 

You walk over to the small table by the kitchen and place the katsudon down, inviting for Heizou to sit. As a finishing touch, you squeeze, to a debatable degree of success, a mayonnaise pattern, and garnish the top with a few leaves of coriander. You take a place opposite him at the table. 

Everything went relatively smoothly, ignoring the interesting first encounter with the oil whose consequences have yet to be wiped from the kitchen counter, but you still can’t help feeling apprehensive as Heizou raises the first bite to his mouth. He must notice, because he shoots you a playful wink before tucking in. 

You watch his reaction closely. His eyes close as he bites down on the cutlet, and he chews thoughtfully, taking his time. You suspect he’s drawing this out just to play on your nerves. Still, you can’t help but ask tentatively, “Is it alright?”

With a smile, he opens his eyes. “Mmm, I love it!” You sigh out the tension you didn’t realise has built up in your shoulders and let it unravel. Heizou takes another bite. “You really outdid yourself this time,” he says after swallowing. “It’s delicious.”

“Thank the Shōgun,” you breathe out, only half-joking in the intensity of your relief.

“Do you want any?” Heizou asks, offering you a slice of the pork katsu.

“No, thank you. I had lunch while you were out at the police station. I thought you’d get back later than you did.”

“You sure?” He waves the slice around in the air in the imitation of an airplane. “Last chance for a taste of your yummy self.”

You shake your head, chuckling quietly. For being such an incredibly intelligent person, Heizou really is just a silly little guy sometimes. That’s one of the things you love most about him. “I’m sure. But thanks.”

Heizou shrugs and accepts your decision. As he eagerly finishes off the rest of the bowl, you talk in more detail about his day and what he did with his colleagues at the Police Station. You’re overjoyed that he’s pleased with the meal, but you can’t help the niggling regret that you didn’t manage to surprise him with it as you wished. Even if it’s something as simple as making his favourite dish, it would have been nice to catch him off-guard once. He probably would have liked it, too, considering how the world is practically an open book to him day to day. It must get boring having all the answers in front of you all the time. 

Resting his cheek in his palm, Heizou points his chopsticks at you. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Yeah,” you admit. There’s no point hiding it. Open book, you think again.

“What is it?” he asks. You appreciate him asking, despite almost certainly already knowing the answer himself.

“I was going to try and surprise you with the katsudon when you got back,” you sigh, “but that obviously didn’t work. And you would have figured it out anyway, though, wouldn’t you?”

Heizou reaches over and squeezes your side gently. “I’d enjoy the meal no less either way. Thank you for making it. Surprise or not, it’s wonderful to return to a home-cooked meal. And to you, of course.”

You click your tongue lightly. “Don’t get all soppy on me now, detective,” you chide in jest, poking his nose. He pouts. You relent. “But really, you don’t have to thank me. It’s your special day, after all. It’s the least I could do for you. I honestly feel like I could have done a little more,” you admit sheepishly, “because it took much less work than I thought it would.”

Heizou taps his chin. “Then… how about we go out for dinner later, hm? And we could take a walk around the city together afterwards. You can make it up to me then. Does that satisfy your guilt?”

You tut light-heartedly. “It’s meant to be about what satisfies you, Heizou.”

“As long as it’s with you, I’m happy with anything,” he smiles. He may sound mischievous as he says it, but his expression is genuine.

“Alright, then. How does dinner at Uyuu Restaurant sound?”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Good,” you say. “And don’t you dare even think about paying.”