bubble-tea-bunny

[bubble-tea-bunny]

[bubble-tea-bunny]

to be seen//to be loved

[mark s. x reader]

author's note: she liiiives! i love mark s and just wanna squish his lil cheekies. would consider this a warm up fic, as it's been literal yrs since i've written anything lol. hope i haven't lost too much of my touch. inspired by "vanish into you" by lady gaga. enjoy <3

word count: 2,668

The plain white walls of the severed floor are all you’ve ever known, and honestly, you never gave much thought about what was beyond them. 

It isn’t quite zero thought, because Irving had you beat in that regard. Anytime Dylan brought it up (Do you ever think about what’s out there?), and he was guaranteed to do so at least once a quarter, Irving was always the first to respond–no hesitation, eyes never leaving the screen, and it left little room for doubt that he could be lying (Not at all. Pointless speculation). You always take him at his word, but Dylan, always inquisitive and skeptical, isn’t so easily convinced. 

The brief back and forth that inevitably followed about if he really means that and how yes, he really does mean that serves as background noise as you refine, a small smile on your face at their banter which drops when a feeling of dread settles in your chest at a particular set of numbers. But then you move them into a bucket and the dread dissipates and the percentage of completion in the top left moves from 54 to 55 and Dylan has changed the subject to which of the four of you might get the waffle party this quarter. The routine is comfortable in its familiarity. Why, therefore, would you possibly want to disrupt it? People like patterns, and you like this one well enough.

But it is true, you’d given it a little thought. You suppose it would’ve also remained at zero if not for the congratulatory animation that played when you completed a file. Your first one, from two quarters ago, had a pixel version of Kier Eagan in a forest, emerging from the thicket onto a cliff overlooking a waterfall and against the backdrop of a beautifully blue sky. Colorful flowers bloomed at his feet and he commended your hard work and dedication and your fellow refiners were all around you because the accompanying tune had grabbed their attention, and they were proud.

“Great job!” 

A gentle hand set itself on your shoulder and you looked up to see Mark with a bright smile on his face as he watched the screen. He was so close you could smell his aftershave–musky, invigorating, what you think you’d smell if that was you in the forest among those towering trees.

“Thanks.”

At your simple response, Mark’s gaze slid down to you and he squeezed your shoulder. It’s the first time you had ever wondered what could be up there–on the ground floor, and farther still, past the edges of the Lumon office.

But you didn't linger on it long. There was work to be done, data that needed to be refined, and as the cartoon Kier Eagan had said, you were nothing if not a dedicated employee. And close on the heels of this recollection was another, of your boss this time, sitting back in his chair and wagging his pen at you when you questioned what exactly MDR was working on. Remember: the work is mysterious and important!

That had been when you were new, and he was so eager to show you the ropes. The memory makes you smile again as you grab your mug of coffee and take your first sip of the morning. It’s stronger than normal, and you grimace. Because the screens between the desks are lowered, Mark notices, and he leans over to speak to you quietly, an undercurrent to the conversation Dylan and Irving are still having (you hear mention of finger traps).

“I accidentally brewed it a little stronger today, sorry,” Mark says sheepishly.

Your smile returns. “Don’t worry about it.” A bitter aftertaste sits on your tongue, difficult to ignore, and maybe you should get a cup of water to keep next to your coffee. But then Mark smiles back, and suddenly the acidity is less intense. All you sense now is the heat in your stomach–the coffee settling, perhaps, or something else.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You don’t know for certain what’s “out there,” but it must be somewhere warmer, surely. 

You’re wearing a long sleeve button-up but it’s still not enough. You wonder if the weather outside has been more agreeable, because you arrived without a blazer. You wish your outie had considered bringing one along anyway. The air conditioning always seemed to be running on high, and Mr. Milchick made sure to keep the temperature at 70 degrees, no higher, no lower. You surmise the thermostat is broken, because you’re practically turning into an icicle. 

With eyes focused on the computer screen and the numbers you’d selected moving into their assigned bucket, you rub your hand along the opposite arm, trying to generate some warmth. Once the bucket closes, you lay your hand back down on the trackball to continue searching for the next set, but as you do, a heavy weight comes to rest around your shoulders. 

You freeze (no pun intended), and when the surprise fades, you reach up. The fabric of the suit jacket is heavy, thick, quick to assuage the shivering you could do precious little to hide (to your embarrassment, for your coworkers never seemed to feel as cold as you did, if ever). But there’s extra heat emanating from the satin lining, a sign that someone had just been wearing it.

“Hope that helps.”

You turn to see Mark, suit jacket-less, with his hands on his hips and a sympathetic grin on his face. There had been a slight upturn at the end of the statement, like he was asking a question. 

It’s so easy for you to smile back, and it’s no wonder he’s the boss, you think. Instinctively, your grip tightens on the jacket to bring it more snugly around yourself, and you nod. “It helps a lot. Thank you.”

Mark nods once, a silent You’re welcome, and walks the last few steps to his desk; he’d been walking back from the kitchenette before he paused at your station. The screens are up today, so when he sits, he disappears from sight.

You can smell the detergent he (well, his outie) uses for the laundry, and the numbers you’re making a box around don’t feel very scary anymore as two passing thoughts occur to you–what it might be like to do laundry, and what it might be like to do laundry with Mark.

The next day, you step out of the elevator and deflate slightly when you realize you’re in a short sleeve button-up. Your purposeful steps through the expansive hallways kick up a slight breeze that raises goosebumps along your arms and you consider asking Mr. Milchick if you could have a blanket, but you already get the sense the answer will be a decisive no. That, or it will be yes, on the condition you meet a certain percentage of completion on your file. It wouldn’t be Lumon without management incentivizing its employees in some way or another.

The staggered schedules of those on the severed floor mean you’re the last to arrive at the MDR department, and you mutter a quiet good morning to the others as you take your seat and boot up your computer. Dylan and Irving respond in kind rather absentmindedly, clearly absorbed in their work. Last you checked, they’d both been pretty close to 75 percent completion. They had incredibly good pacing this quarter, and you know an MDE is coming soon, though who would get it first, you couldn’t say.

It’s Mark who responds with a bright Good morning! in typical department head fashion: enthusiastic, and somehow always able to meet the day with a burst of energy. You guess it’s because there’s only four of you, so he takes it upon himself to make it a little livelier–or at the very least, to bridge the gap when the rest of you are quieter than usual.

In any case, the effort never goes unnoticed by you. You smile even though he can’t see it because of the divider, and it remains as you type in the name of your file, keyboard clacking quietly.

It takes nearly an hour for you to realize you hadn’t shivered once. You stop scrolling, brows furrowing. You twist around to look at the thermostat on the back wall, but you don’t know why because it’s not as if you can see the temperature readout from this distance (your vision isn’t great, and if you were allowed to communicate with your outie, you would tell her just a couple of things: bring a jacket, and get your eyes checked). 

“Is it a bit… warmer than usual?” you ask your coworkers, wanting to see if it was just your imagination.

The sound of a screen sliding down prompts you to turn back around. Mark confirms that yes, it is warmer. I went to see Mr. Milchick yesterday before leaving for the day, he explains. It took a bit of convincing, but once I let him know it was hindering productivity, he agreed to let us increase the temperature a maximum of five degrees!

You’re at a loss for words at the thoughtfulness, and Mark smiles, albeit awkwardly, due to the blank look on your face. “So hopefully you can work comfortably now.”

You blink and feel your cheeks heat up and you’re embarrassed to have been staring like a deer in headlights. “U-Um…” you stammer, momentarily averting your gaze. But then you meet his again as you give as earnest of a Thank you as you can manage, the corner of your lips turned up in a shy smile of your own.

The awkwardness vanishes, and Mark relaxes. “You’re very welcome.” When he returns to his work, he leaves the screen where it is, and you make no move to raise it either.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Guys, I’m at 70%! That MDE is upon us.”

At Dylan’s announcement, you chuckle and remark Can’t wait! Irving says he’s nearly there too, and muses that they might reach 75 percent at the same time.

“How would that work?” Dylan wonders aloud. “A double MDE…”

You push yourself slightly away from the desk so you can stand and stretch: arms high overhead, as far as you can go, and you sigh at the relief in your spine. You bend to the left, then to the right, then come back to center and drop your arms. It’s the middle of the day and you’ve yet to have your coffee; you’d been so absorbed in your file today, getting to work the instant you sat down, and it simply didn’t cross your mind to step away briefly to pour yourself a cup.

As you walk to the kitchenette, you roll your shoulders a couple of times. When you’re really busy, you fail to maintain proper posture, and you mentally scold yourself for not being more mindful. It’s good you decided to take a break when you did.

You see Mark at the vending machine, observing his snack fall from its tray and down into the delivery bin. 

“What’d you pick?” you ask.

Mark bends down to grab the cardboard package and then turns to you. “Blueberries!”

You grin. “Good choice.”

Rather than leave right away, Mark lingers, opting to lean against the counter near where you’re preparing your cup of coffee. In your peripheral, you can see him watching as you grab what you need: three tubs of creamer, two packets of sugar. Slightly flustered to be scrutinized so closely, you speculate if he might be memorizing it.

He asks how you’re doing with your file and you shrug and share that it’s going okay. This one is a little trickier than usual. Sometimes I think I’m moving too slow, but I think it’s Dylan and Irving that move too fast! The comment makes him laugh and you like the way it sounds. 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he encourages. “You’re a great refiner too.”

You detect he’s completely genuine and give a bashful thank you. But you don’t look up at him when you do, opting to keep your attention on your coffee as you stir it because you think if you did, you’d only grow more nervous. And at this distance, he would definitely be able to hear the way your breath catches.

You take a sip and your eyes light up. It tastes great today, not too weak nor too strong, and you tell Mark as much. He beams.

“Tried my best to make sure you had the perfect cup.” His smile is fonder than usual when he says this and his voice soft, and you’re thinking about it again–the world beyond these walls.

You’re still holding your mug up to your mouth and you take another small sip, mostly to hide the blush quickly spreading across your cheeks. The small tendrils of steam are hot against the sensitive skin, and you don’t notice Mark’s moved a little closer until you turn to him. You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes and at this distance his scent is strong–a light spice, sweet and pleasant to draw in, and somehow intimate. 

Your breath catches. The corner of his mouth twitches because he hears it. But you don’t want him to step back. Almost imperceptibly you take a half step forward instead, and you wonder if you moved even closer to each other if you might meld into one.

Maybe in another life you’re both at home and he’s brewed the perfect pot of coffee. Maybe the sun is shining, a tranquil morning light coming in through the kitchen window that makes his brown eyes glow like pools of honey. If you try hard enough, you think you can sense the office melting away–these harsh fluorescent lights, these plain white walls, the coldness of it all. Until it’s just you and him, and you imagine him to be someone else to you besides a manager, to be someone more.

He brings his hand up to gently cradle your cheek and you startle slightly, having been so enamored with watching his face. He murmurs an apology and asks if this is okay and all you can muster is a nod. If you could dream, you believe you’d dream of this. 

His lips connect with yours in an innocent kiss; it causes a lovely warmth to bloom in your chest. And you’ll never know for sure what’s beyond the severed floor, but you’d like to cling onto the slightest chance that it could be a life with Mark.

You’re the second to last refiner scheduled to leave for the day, with the last, of course, being the department head. It’s Friday and you know for non-severed employees it’s a pretty big deal–the end of the work week, with two wonderful days off ahead. You won’t get to experience that, so instead you look forward to coming back to the office feeling a lot more energized, since your outie will have had more time to rest.

It’s 4:55pm when you shut off the terminal. You stand and push your chair in. Mark is staring at his computer and biting the tip of his pen.

“Good night, Mark.”

He almost seems surprised when you say this, like he hadn’t realized the time. But then he smiles easily, setting his pen down and leaning back, wholly relaxed, comfortable to be in your presence.

“Good night.” He says your name so tenderly your heart clenches, and it overflows with affection.

As morbid as it is, you know your days aren’t guaranteed. You are at the mercy of your outie, and there may be a day you don’t come back because she’s decided to leave Lumon. But you think that if this was the last thing you ever saw–Mark lounging in his chair as he bids you good night, gracing you with a smile that makes you wish the two of you were anywhere but here–you could be happy even as you faded away.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

hi friends!

it's been a while, how are you?

i've been doing well, haven't had time to write (or the inspo), hence why it's been quiet, but the thought of doing so was always in the back of my mind! i still like writing, it just doesn't come to me as easily as it used to. tho I am in the middle of writing something atm, and i hope to be done w it soon

just wanted to drop a quick update and say hello. and share some photos of my campsite on pocket camp! i redid it last week ^^

[bubble-tea-bunny]

Hi sorry this is super random but I read most, if not all of your pacific rim fics back when they were posted on lunaescence and I really loved them! unfortunately lunaescence is down and I dont know when it'll ever be up again, so I was wondering if you would ever consider cross-posting them on ao3 someday? Sorry if that's a lot to ask, I just miss reading them (esp the one with raleigh/reader, i think it was called half of a whole?) I hope you have a good rest of your day!

oh wow, i haven't read the name lunaescence in so long! yeah i remember seeing it went down but that was ages ago, sucks that it isn't back up yet ://

sure, i could cross-post them! it will probably be a compilation to keep it neat and tidy. just need to go through them on my laptop and figure out which ones can be posted. i wrote many drafts and i wasn't very organized at that time ^^' but i'll work on it when i get the chance!

it's made me so happy to read your msg! i'm glad you liked those fics so much you've been thinking of them over the years. what was that even.. 2013? 2014? wow!

[bubble-tea-bunny]

Me trying to leave a comment on a fic I love but not knowing what to say

[bubble-tea-bunny]

[bubble-tea-bunny]

back to you

[gorou x reader]

author’s note: okay not quite the thoma fic i mentioned i was working on lol, that one is still a wip. inspired by the description of gorou’s specialty dish bc it was so cute. also @ the names of the misc chars in this.. can you tell i’m rewatching knb :’) hope you enjoy ^^

word count: 3,810

It always seemed to Gorou that if the soldiers were up early, you were up even earlier.

Well, the soldiers are always up early. To best optimize their training, they need to take advantage of all the sunlight they can get. As dawn breaks, they hoist themselves out of bed (on some mornings this is done more reluctantly than on others, when sparring or discussions of strategy or storytelling around the fire had gone late the night before), preparing to start the day. Everyone is a little slow to emerge from their quarters, still half-asleep and hung up on a dream, but the growling of their stomachs does well enough to pull them fully into the waking world and towards the wonderful smell of the dishes you have cooked for breakfast.

You’re in the mess hall and greet them quietly, not wanting to startle them even if you’d be hard-pressed to catch them unawares—they’re soldiers after all, ready for anything. But, you reason, there are kinder ways to begin the day than being at the receiving end of a loud voice, and you hope your food is the kindest of them.

They certainly appear to agree, judging by their thanks as they finish up their meals and head out, now fully alert… and partly wishing they could return to bed with a now full belly, comfortably satiated. You respond with a bright grin and a Yes, of course! It’s what you’re here for. You wanted to help contribute to the resistance however you could, and since you didn’t believe you would make a good fighter, you had instead found your place off the battlefield.

And because this is what you’re here for, you also want to be awake before the soldiers are so breakfast would be ready in time. It’s what you say to Gorou every time he expresses concern that you aren’t resting enough, to maintain that kind of schedule. He mentions it again this morning as he hands you his empty plate so you can set it with the rest to be washed.

“You should at least take a break on some days,” he remarks. The ceramic plates clank quietly in the bucket you’ve picked up, about to take it outside. “The men can survive the occasional meal without your culinary prowess."

Upon his comment, you then set the bucket down on the table, not intent to carry on a conversation while holding it, because it would feel heavy fast. Gorou’s suggestion is really a command, evidence of his position as general, accustomed to leading and to watch out for everyone, but his tone is gentle. He would never use anything so harsh with you, not that he had to; to speak with you like this is very different from shouting commands in the midst of a fight.

You smile softly at the praise which has left his mouth so easily. “I do this because I want to, Gorou. Besides, I have taken breaks and let other people handle it before.”

“All those times you didn’t have a choice—you were sick!” Gorou, sharp as ever, replies.

He does have a point, and you chuckle in your acquiescence. “It’s fine, really. I like to keep busy, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” You set your hands on your hips and nod once resolutely.

Your stance is cute, Gorou thinks, and his cheeks warm at the sight. He’d been wanting to continue convincing you to take actual breaks that weren’t just mandated bedrest (these multiple fruitless talks on the topic proves he isn't quite the negotiator Kokomi is) but now he’s rushing to end it despite being the instigator. He can't let you notice how flustered he's becoming!

"Well, if you feel tired, please don’t force yourself.” He says it all the time, but he wants to drive the point home.

You’re never bothered by the repeated reminders, and instead appreciate how much he wants to look after others, not just you but after everyone on Watatsumi. “I won’t,” you promise.

Then you shoo him off with a wave of your hand. Go on, you have men to train and I have dishes to wash! 

The warmth in his cheeks is rivaled by the warmth in the pit of his stomach at the playful smile you grace him with as you tell him to get a move on. The food he’d eaten was good, certainly, but he knows it’s not the cause. 

He isn’t the only one to be thankful you’ve found your place here in Watatsumi, contributing in the way you do, but he’s sure he’s a little more thankful than the rest, for reasons unspoken and that would perhaps remain as such. He’s unable to put into words the way he feels to be around you, not much of a wordsmith in matters like these. He only knows it by the way his ears perk up when he hears your voice; by the tightening in his chest when you look at him; by the itch in his fingers to reach out and curl the ends of your hair around them whenever you stand close to each other.

And in those instances when you stand close to each other, so close he could bend down and kiss you if he wanted to (and he does, but the real question is, did you?), the light in your eyes is clearer than ever, the sparkle in them the glimmer of another world and how can one person care so much? When you’d arrived in Watatsumi, you considered (albeit very briefly) joining in the fighting, but he’s forever grateful you’re helping from the sidelines, where you’re safe. A heart so big would be wasted out there.

On the days you were absent from your duties because you were sick, he had, truthfully, been disappointed. Because while the soldiers are half-asleep leaving the bunkers and still hung up on a dream, he’s half-awake and hung up on you. Don’t get him wrong, he knows your health matters most, imploring you constantly to get adequate rest, but the tinge of dismay is difficult—nay, impossible—to ignore whenever he walks in and sees someone else preparing food. 

Sometimes he’d spot you around the island, wanting to get fresh air to aid in your recovery, and a brief glance would be satisfactory to get through his day. But during one instance when your friend Satsuki had mentioned dropping off some tea leaves at your home, a rather expensive blend she saved for whenever she was feeling under the weather, Gorou had pounced on the opportunity and offered to drop if off himself.

Maybe it was a little odd because Satsuki’s own work took her closer to your house than Gorou’s did (it was actually completely out of his way), but if this thought occurred to her, she (thankfully) didn’t address it. She simply handed him the small burlap sack tied closed with twine.

The fact your house is out of Gorou’s way isn’t lost on you, as it’s the first thing you commented on when he knocked at your front door that evening. That’s a long walk!

But he’d only shrugged and smiled. The path to your house never feels long. And really, even if it did, it would always be worth it. 

Yet he wants to do more to show you his appreciation. You’ve mentioned that the thanks you get from him and the others in the village is plenty enough appreciation for you, but at least once he would like to go beyond that. He knows you’re too humble to accept anything more, but you deserve it for working hard. He ruminates on this throughout the day, at some points during breaks staring ahead at a wall or a tree so intently that others take notice and, unlike Satsuki, draw attention to his unusual behavior.

“Is there something particularly interesting about that wall, general?”

“Huh?” Gorou blinks, snapped out of his train of thought, and turns to the one who’d said that.

One of the newest additions to the resistance, Takao, grins playfully, betraying that it had been him who had voiced the question. He says nothing more, opting instead to take another bite of his lavender melon. Next to him, the more seasoned Hyuga chuckles.  

“You’ve been pretty distracted today.”

“Oh, u-uh… have I?” It’s Gorou’s turn to chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He’s normally composed in front of his soldiers, as is befitting his position, but normally thoughts of you don’t follow him onto the training grounds. 

For all his talents at strategizing, he’d failed to strategize how to navigate around this, having not anticipated, perhaps foolishly, that he’d be caught thinking about you by his men. In his defense, it had been subtle up until this point: a brief thought about where you might be and if you’ve been able to receive the newest shipment of supplies okay—serious matters relating to operations. They were things that hardly merit acting embarrassed, things no one would find strange if they were to ask what is on his mind. He could share the thought freely. 

Today’s daydreams, however, he is not as intent to share. It had shifted from merely wondering what he should do to show his appreciation to wondering how you’d react after the fact. He could see it clearly, your bright eyes and wide smile like the crescent moon, directed at him, for him, and he is so happy to be the cause. He’ll memorize the way they look and how it feels to receive them, and he will watch you, standing there in front of him, wishing he could have the rest of you too.

“It’s nothing.” Gorou tries to be dismissive but it’s a lame attempt, even he’ll admit that. To shut it down entirely before they can grow more suspicious, he changes the subject. “We should get ready for the next round of sparring. I took some notes on what I observed earlier that I wanted to go over with everyone…” Great. It seemed in his distraction he had misplaced them; they’re not on the table or on any of the empty chairs.

Hyuga nods and goes to round up the others. Gorou thinks he’s in the clear and huffs quietly while he continues to search for his missing notes, but Takao, spry as ever, which Gorou had quickly come to learn, can’t help but make one final comment.

“If you’re needing some victorious luck for whatever’s on your mind, do you think rubbing your own ears would count?”

Gorou looks over at Takao, cheeks hot, and he's feeling embarrassed but for another reason—he isn’t keen to be reminded about that rumor that went around. It has mostly fizzled out, but some (read: Takao) still like to tease. But then he considers what his subordinate has just said. Why would Takao assume he needed luck? Even if he did choose to share what had him distracted, it’s not as if he needed any assurances of victory in trying to decide what to do for you. 

Perhaps it runs deeper, touching on a point Gorou hadn’t really put into words until now. Now, he realizes, it isn’t merely about doing something nice for you to return the favor. He’s always been one to show, not tell, and a part of him had begun to hope that by being the one to extend an extra measure of gratitude, you might understand just how much he cares about you.

Is this the issue which Takao implied he would need that victorious luck for? Gorou, even for basically being found out despite sharing nothing out loud, is impressed. He’s more perceptive than he seemed.

“Here.” Takao holds his hand out and Gorou glances down: the missing notes. “You left them on the bench back there.” 

Gorou takes them with a quiet Oh… Thanks. Takao smiles and wordlessly joins the rest of the soldiers.

It’s during dinner when Gorou finally comes up with an idea, and he's annoyed he hadn’t come up with it sooner. It seems so obvious now! He initiates the conversation just as he had this morning when he walks up to hand you his plate. As he’s the last in line, he’s able to linger. You ask if he enjoyed the food and he nods, telling you he always does. The corner of your mouth lifts in a little grin, subtle but full of pride. I’m glad.

You always cook for us, he then remarks, but please, at least once, allow me to cook for you. Your head tilts as you admit you didn’t know he liked to cook too. He says it’s only sometimes—he can't do anything complex due to lack of time, and besides, he prefers to eat the food you prepare anyway, which is leagues above his own. 

“But there’s a dish I think I’m pretty good at, and… I’d like you to try it. Well, that is, if you want to…” Gorou trails off, suddenly unsure of himself. Asking you hadn’t seemed like it would be a big deal when it first occurred to him to offer this, but now he’s worried he might make a fool of himself. Of course his cooking would never be as amazing as yours, and what if that’s all you’re  thinking about? Are you contemplating a polite way to turn him down? What if you say yes but while he’s cooking his hands get shaky and he messes up? You’re a sweet person and he knows you’ll just try to assure that it’s the thought that counts but that’s not enough for him! He wants to do his best for you because you do your best for the resistance.

It seems his worry at potentially being rejected is unwarranted, as you interrupt his internal speculations and accept. I’d really like that. The rainclouds which had slowly been creeping over him the more he thought about what could go wrong recede until all he sees is beautiful sunshine, sees that grin still on your face. You’re the fresh air and the rainbow after a storm, and he can hardly recall how dark the clouds just were. Did they even matter?

He invites you to his home the following evening. You typically don’t eat dinner until after everyone else has been served, and it works out well for tonight. While you’re cleaning up in the mess hall, Gorou prepares the food. Though he doesn’t make this dish often, he still has it down to a science—the ingredients are fresh, the measurements are accurate, and his timing is perfect. After he’s arranged everything in a bowl and set it aside on the counter, he’s only left waiting for another ten minutes. 

Your knocks on the door are light, but he hears it clearly enough in the silence. At this time, the commotion outdoors has died down. The moment the thought crosses his mind—It’s you, you’re here—his heart starts to race, and the deep breaths he takes on the brief walk to answer the door do nothing to calm it down. Why was he feeling like this? Mentally he’d been perfectly fine, because you’re nice and easygoing and he’s never had reason to be anxious around you. Your earlier acceptance of trying his cooking had helped ease that anxiety then—he had nothing to fret over.  But his body evidently hadn’t gotten the memo as his nerves run away now, having taken his confidence hostage.

Now is not the time! The last deep breath he takes, now standing in front of the door, comes out a frustrated huff. Yes, you’re just on the other side, waiting to greet him with your pretty smile, and yes, you are here to try his cooking upon his invitation, but Gorou is hesitating to just move, open the door and welcome you in and play the part of a hospitable host, because of nerves. The surety he exudes as general is nowhere to be found now. He’s left in the open, exposed and helpless. 

He’s addressed that before to his soldiers, what’s to be done when a battle looks like a lost cause. What was it he had said? 

An invitation for dinner is far and away from a battle, but the advice is still the same, and it spurs Gorou into action: continue to power through, because the tides might yet turn.

Your face lights up when the door slides to the side and reveals him there. He meets it a smile of his own and his heart continues to race but while previously it had been the nerves, now it feels like that of relief, of being pulled from open water into safety, of watching the cavalry arrive to turn those tumultuous tides. To be in your presence right now is to be at ease, drifting to sleep atop the clouds, and he wants you to be next to him forever, if it meant he could always feel like this. 

The panic he’d worked himself into during all this had been the result of thinking too much, and to be graced by your charming features was to be reminded that when it comes to feelings for the one you care about, overthinking hindered more than helped. He need only to sigh and let go, heart drifting like the falling cherry blossoms in spring, down, down, down into your waiting hands. Maybe that’s why it beats so hard, eager as it is to reach you.

“Hey, you made it!” he greets. “Hope it wasn’t too bad a walk, especially after a long day and all.” His house is on a higher hill than yours, which is closer to the entrance of the village.

He steps to the side to allow you in and you step across the threshold, glancing over your shoulder to reply. “The path to your house never feels long.”

At hearing his words from long ago repeated back to him, he chuckles. “I’m glad.”

You stop and turn to face him, hands clutched behind your back. “So what has Chef Gorou prepared tonight?” Your eyes sparkle and it can’t be blamed on the moonlight.

This time, it’s a full laugh that leaves Gorou’s mouth. “‘Chef’? You’re getting a little ahead of yourself there.”

“I can’t help it; I’m excited!” You clasp your hands together in front of you now, palms meeting in a firm clap.

While you take a seat at the dining table, he gets the food. It’s nothing too special, he says, wanting to temper your expectations because it’s true, he doesn’t find it to be anything remarkable. It’s something I make if I have the extra time. Hardly fancy. Your eyes brighten in wonder when he sets the bowl before you, and you tell him he’s underselling himself. It looks amazing! The bowl of ramen is piled high with toppings, sheets of dried seaweed and fresh cuts of chashu pork resting against the far side. It’s still slightly steaming, and the aroma makes your mouth water.

Gorou's typically fine when receiving praise, taking it in stride, but it’s different when it’s you. He blushes, thankful that you’re preoccupied with studying the dish and aren’t looking at him. He only hopes you think it tastes amazing as well.

And you do think that. You hum contentedly around the first mouthful of noodles, the spices washing over your tongue. It had been a little chilly at night this time of year and the heat is pleasant, warming you from the inside out. You eat it rather quickly; you worked up an appetite due to eating lunch a little earlier than usual today.

Satisfaction settles within Gorou to see you enjoying what he has made, and he remarks to you that it might be a small gesture, as one meal is nothing to the countless number you have prepared for him and the others, in addition to all the others ways you help around Watatsumi, but he wanted to switch places for once. He could surmise by each dish how much love you have to share, ensuring everyone is cared for, and he wanted to return the favor, to show you how much he cares about you too. 

We’re grateful to have you here, he declares. Brilliant blue eyes are suddenly shy to hold your gaze, interested in the notches in the wooden table. Then more quietly, he confesses But I think I’m the most grateful of all.

The words have left him, can no longer be taken back, and slowly he musters he courage to look at you then, hopeful of what you might say. 

You’d paused in your eating halfway through his speech to focus fully on what he was saying. Silence hangs in the air but it isn’t awkward, and your gaze is soft. You tell him thank you—truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul. You’re also grateful to be here; a place where you feel you belong. And you'd like to stay, you timidly admit, for as long as he’d let you stay by his side.

How lucky am I to be cared for so much by someone so kind. Your heartfelt proclamation is the sound of wind chimes blown by a gentle breeze on humid summer days, and he would have you stay with him until the sands of time drain and you return to stardust to travel through space together, into eternity.

And he says, with a sighing heart at rest in your hands: “I ask myself the same thing.”

Once you finish eating, you pat your now full stomach. Thank you for the meal! You stand to bring the bowl over to the counter, but Gorou rushes to do it instead. After, he returns to you where you’re standing by the table, and he grins proudly when you exclaim once more how delicious it was.

“I really wanted to make a good impression,” he states. “Somehow the stakes making that dish felt higher than the stakes on the battlefield.”

You giggle. “Well, it’s safe to say you were successful.”

“I’m happy you enjoyed it.” 

You smile, and Gorou doesn’t miss the twinkle of amusement in your eyes. “I know; your tail is giving it away.”

That’s when he realizes his tail is wagging, a gentle swish from side to side; pure instinct. Was it really—the whole time?! Embarrassed to be caught, he stops, tail drooping down. He averts his gaze with a blush across his cheeks, but when you laugh, he turns his attention back to you. 

He smiles because you sound so wonderful, and upon this thought his tail starts wagging again. This time though, he doesn’t stop it.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

people are always like “are you a morning person or a night person” and I’m just like buddy I’m barely even a person

[bubble-tea-bunny]

What Fanfic Writers Are Like

Readers: We'd really like an update.

Writers: Yeah me too.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

under an umbrella meant for one

[josuke higashikata x reader]

author’s note: i rewatched diu in spring and had a few ideas drafted at that time but i didn’t actually write anything until this one, which i came up w last weekend lmao. enjoy <3

word count: 3,408

Josuke’s still half asleep as he saunters into the kitchen at 7AM on Friday, and he’s only half listening when his mom tells him to bring an umbrella today.

“It isn’t raining yet, but with how dark the clouds are, it definitely will be soon,” she remarks as she opens the refrigerator door and reaches in to grab her food. “I left the umbrella for you right by the front door so you don’t forget it.” Like I always do. But she keeps that last part to herself.

Josuke hums, taking one of the glasses sitting on the dryer rack from when he’d done the dishes last night and filling it with water from the tap. As he drinks, gulping audible and head tilted back, Tomoko glances over at him. The vague response is meant to be a confirmation that he heard her, but she doubts he actually processed it. He isn’t truly awake until at least 11:30AM. She follows his movements: sluggishly setting the glass in the sink; eyes sliding shut; swaying a little as he stands in the one spot. In such a state, he’d be hard pressed to repeat back what she said successfully had she asked him to, but at this point, he might have already fallen asleep again.

With a quiet sigh, Tomoko closes the short distance between them and rubs his back to bring him back to consciousness. Dozing off and potentially falling over on the cold kitchen floor is hardly an ideal wakeup call. (Though she won’t deny that maybe something so shocking to the system might be what he needs every now and then, with his tendency to stay up too late playing video games and paying for it in the morning.)

“Don’t forget.” She punctuates her parting words with a couple pats to his shoulder, and then she takes a seat at the dining table to eat.

“Yeah. Umbrella. Rain. Got it,” Josuke mutters and waves a hand dismissively.

The corner of Tomoko’s mouth lifts in a small grin, and she watches him amble back out of the kitchen, very much resembling a zombie. Ah. So he had heard.

Unfortunately for Josuke, that doesn’t mean much. He’d taken too long to get ready, the fact it was still dark outside due to the clouds blanketing the sky making it even more difficult wake up. Upon finally getting his pompadour just right and throwing on his uniform, he’d glanced at the clock to learn he should’ve left almost ten minutes ago. And with how close he normally cuts it with getting to school, sliding into his seat in homeroom just as the bell goes off, it’s ten minutes he doesn’t have.

Shit. He grabs his books and dashes out of the house. Why hadn’t Okuyasu come by the house today? They always walked together. He thought he had more time than he did because it was his friend’s knock on the door every morning that signaled when he had to leave. Then he remembers: Okuyasu had a quiz to make up and he’d opted to do it in the morning rather than after school.  

Josuke remembers another thing too, but he remembers it too late: he left the umbrella by the front door. He groans and slaps his palm on his forehead. Not again. He can hear his mom now, brow raised with hands on her hips once he gets home later, soaked through and miserable—You can’t say I didn’t remind you! Cue the disappointed head shake. And be careful, don’t track water on the hardwood! He really is just a mess in the mornings, isn’t he?

Get it together, Josuke. The front gates of the school are in sight now, and he ends his mini pep talk to himself with two more slaps, this time to the cheek, to try to wake himself up a little more.

The hallways are mostly empty once he’s finally inside, and his classroom is right at the end, the door slid back. He spares a glance to the clock on the opposite wall, where the hour hand is at 8 and the minute hand is pointed at the notch just before 12. The third hand ticking away the seconds is incredibly close to completing its full revolution, and it does so in 3… 2… 1.

A shrill ringing fills the air that’s otherwise dead considering most students are now in class, and Josuke starts running, shoes clacking on the linoleum. He’ll be fine if he gets there before the bell stops!

He curls his hand around the edge of the door as if to stop himself from overshooting his target, and comes to stand in the frame, panting quietly. Yes, made it! The teacher stands close by, clearly on her way to shut the door, signaling the beginning of lecture and that anyone who were to come after was to be marked tardy. But Josuke wouldn’t be one of them today!

“Perfect timing, Higashikata,” the teacher remarks.

Josuke chuckles quietly, closing the door behind him. “Heh, yeah…” By now she is accustomed to his very last second arrivals, and he’s certain he’s closed the door for her more often than not this trimester. Maybe one day he’d actually be late, but he’s not keen to let that happen anytime soon.

While the teacher returns to her spot at the head of the classroom, he walks over to his desk, the second column from the far side and three rows back. He sets his books down before plopping into his seat, and as he does, he catches your gaze from where you’re sat to his right.

When your eyes meet, you smile brightly and the corners of your own crinkle slightly. He smiles back but it’s not nearly as energetic. Even after you’ve turned your attention back to the teacher, he lingers on you, your hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, white ribbon holding it in place; your knee high socks and pristine Mary-Jane’s with a small heel; your cheeks dusted in soft pink to complement the translucent sheen of gloss on your lips. He already feels frazzled in the mornings and is sure he looks the part too (the one exception being his hair, of course; he’d cut no corners with that) but the sentiment is magnified as he studies you.

You’re always so put together, so neat. You have good grades and everyone likes you, students and faculty alike. If someone needs help you’re happy to offer assistance, and it’s almost shocking how well you can remember everyone’s names. It makes you personable and inviting, and not to mention your smile: warm and amiable, you’d always have one to share with whoever looked your way. Josuke won’t lie that he’s a bit more awake now that you’ve graced him with one. And truly, considering all these things, is it really a such a surprise that his crush is as big as it is?

He’s inclined to think no. Though he’s also inclined to think he is far from the only person to feel this way about you. Hell, he knows he’s not because Okuyasu had mentioned the other day how cute you’d looked when he passed you in the hallway and Josuke had asked what you were doing and Okuyasu shrugged and said Nothing, she was just talking with a friend. Then he went on to say well, you look cute every day but there was just something about that moment you looked cuter than normal and to anyone else this wouldn’t make any sense but Josuke, a boy with butterflies in his stomach that seem to rouse to wakefulness at the sight of you and at the sound of your voice, even when you aren’t doing anything special, understood perfectly.

Beneath your seat he spots an umbrella, folded up and covered with a slip: a pink one with strawberries dotted on it. Well, at least you’d prepared for the rain today, but that’s to be expected. He wonders what that’d be like, to not be forgetful and to be even half as composed as you are. He bets it’d be nice.

It’s your turn to catch him as you glance at him and his eyes slide from your umbrella up to your face. Briefly you look down at his desk where his books are still sitting the way he left them, and you mouth the words Page 217. That’s when Josuke notices your textbook is open, and he observes the students around you who also have theirs out. Quickly he moves to catch up, grabbing his copy and flipping through.

He does it just in time, too, as the teacher calls his name to ask him a question.

“What page are we on?”

Though he’s been taken by surprise in the past, you’ve spared him of that today and he answers correctly. Satisfied (though slightly suspicious of whether he really had been paying attention), the teacher returns to writing on the board. Once her back is turned, Josuke mouths Thanks and you flash that perfect smile at him again and his stomach feels a bit funny.

The rain begins to fall halfway through the day. It starts as a drizzle, silent and feeling more like a mist than anything, until it comes down a little harder, with enough force that the raindrops darken the cement. Students are quick to flee to the safety of the indoors during lunch, hiding beneath their umbrellas (or in the case of the less prepared, beneath their textbooks).

When classes resume, the rain is descending in a steady downpour, beating against the windows with muffled patters. It’s nice background noise for lazing around at home, but while at school, not so much. The dark sky makes Josuke sleepy (though he hadn’t been fully awake to begin with) and he rests his head on his propped up hand as he looks outside. He’s sitting right by the window, and he follows the path of a raindrop sliding down the window. It goes straight for a short while, then at a diagonal towards the right; it picks up a few other raindrops along its way, growing in size, and down it goes, until it reaches the windowsill…

Josuke’s eyelids begin to droop. Could this day go by any slower?

The bell to signal the end of the school day is truly a blessed sound indeed. It seems the weather has decided to have some mercy for the students who had failed to bring an umbrella, for the rain ceases and the sky, while still cloudy, isn’t as dreary as it had been earlier. Because of this, Josuke is able to wait for Okuyasu and Koichi at the usual spot, right outside the front gates. All three of them have a different final period and Josuke is the first to arrive this time.

He watches the crowd of students leaving campus, large groups of them taking up most of the space on the sidewalks and the crosswalk. The air is filled with energetic chatter and the whoosh of passing cars. As the minutes wear on, the hustle and bustle gradually diminishes, and only a few students here and there trickle through the gates. However, thus far none of them have been Okuyasu or Koichi, and Josuke’s brows furrow. He peaks around the corner to look past the opened gates but they’re nowhere to be seen. What gives? Where the hell are they?

Normally they don’t take this long to show up. Did they get distracted or something? Josuke huffs and turns back around, looking down the sidewalk. The plan had been to get food at St. Gentleman’s, and while any other day he might try to wait it out or even return inside to search for them, he’s getting hungry and considering going ahead. They wouldn’t be annoyed, and they’d all meet up eventually, just now at the bakery and not outside the school building.

Not that it takes much convincing on his part, Josuke makes up his mind, and with a decisive nod, stuffs his hands into his pants pockets and begins walking. He wonders what to buy once he’s there, and envisioning the different choices makes the rumbling of his stomach only grow louder. But he doesn’t make it more than ten steps before he feels a solitary raindrop land on his head.

At first he thinks it’s his imagination, but then he feels another, and he glares up at the sky. Is it really— A few more hit his face, one narrowly missing his eye, and he groans. There was no more denying it now. It was beginning to rain again.

A light drizzle would’ve been the most ideal, and he wouldn’t have minded walking through it, but he’s not quite so lucky. The most he could hope for is that it doesn’t come down any harder than it is now; the torrents of earlier this afternoon would be difficult to trek in. Possible, but he’d look like a wet dog by the time he arrived at St. Gentleman’s (and halfway to shaking the excess water off his body like one too). He considers what he might do if it did rain that hard, if it would be worth the walk, and he sighs. He’d be soaked whether he chose to go to the bakery or reroute to his house. At least a trip to St. Gentleman’s got him some warm food at the end.

Josuke’s once perfectly done pompadour is being messed up by the rain, and he pushes some of the stray strands back from his forehead. Man, this sucks! Did Okuyasu or Koichi bring an umbrella? If they had, it would’ve been left in their lockers for the day since they ate lunch indoors, so Josuke wouldn’t have seen. Okuyasu he was a bit unsure of, but Koichi stayed prepared, and Josuke doesn’t put it past him to have brought one just in case.

Maybe he should turn around then? He could go back inside, find his friends because really, if he hadn’t seen them while standing by the front gates for fifteen minutes then where the hell were they, and just take the walk to St. Gentleman’s with them, while, fingers crossed, sheltered beneath an umbrella.

As if on cue, Josuke no longer feels the rain falling, and he looks up to see he is now beneath an umbrella: it’s colored pink and has a strawberry pattern.

His eyes trace the length of the handle and find you at the end, smiling at him. Your arm is lifted slightly to be able to keep him covered as well as your much shorter self.

“You’ll catch a cold if you just stand there,” you remark.

Ah. It occurs to him he had stopped walking when it started raining. Deep in thought about how to proceed, he had neglected to actually move out of the way so that he might continue his thinking without getting wetter by the second. Just staying in one spot was even worse than just continuing with his walk! First not bringing an umbrella to begin with, and now this, he truly was screwing himself over at every turn.

But it would seem the world is taking just a little pity on him, for not only has his need for an umbrella been answered, it had been you that answered it. The weather is cold but he hardly notices due to his rapidly warming cheeks. He is suddenly acutely aware of how close the two of you are standing, and you have to, given your umbrella isn’t that big and he has a broad form. He detects the faint smell of your perfume: powdery and floral, a vibrant freshness that matches the bright expression on your face. You’re like a ball of sunshine competing with the cloudy afternoon, but he already knows who he’d declare the winner.

“Uh, yeah…” Josuke finally forces out awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. On the inside, he cringes. “Just… got distracted deciding what to do since I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

You tilt your head. “Where were you going? I could walk you there!”

Your offer catches him off guard, quick as it had been. Clearly it isn’t something you said just to be nice. If he wasn’t mistaken, your suggestion had an eager undertone to it, as if hoping he’d agree and grant you the opportunity to help someone. Once more he’s in awe of your willingness to lend a hand where needed, and maybe this was the intention of the powers that be all along—where Josuke was unprepared, you were, as always, put together, and it was his lucky day that you had set your sights on him.

His brief silence you interpret as hesitation to agree, so you continue: “And don’t feel bad about accepting! I’d hate for you to walk under the rain.”

You wear your heart on your sleeve and Josuke can’t help smiling. It’s a good look on you. “I was going to get food,” he states.

“Oh, me too! Where were you thinking?”

The longer this conversation goes, the more it becomes apparent this may turn into more than a simple walk. The prospect of eating a meal together and spending time with you outside of class makes Josuke’s stomach do a flip—there’s that queasy feeling again. His anticipation was such that it made him feel sick. Was that typical? Was this sensation written about in romance novels? He wouldn’t know since he’s never read stories like those. And yet, ironically, he finds himself to be right in the center of one.

The name St. Gentleman’s is on the tip of his tongue before it dies out and he reconsiders. If both of you went there, you would inevitably run into Okuyasu and Koichi, and as much as Josuke enjoys being around them, right now, he just wants to be with you. They’d be a distraction, and he has no qualms in admitting he wants you to himself because with the way you watch him right now, he wants to remain the center of your attention. You make it simple to forget the cold weather. Besides, the others wouldn’t mind his absence, especially not after he tells them his reason for not meeting them.

“Cafe Rengatei,” he says instead.

You nod once, resolute. “Let’s go there then!”

The optimistic part of him seems to spring to life—this is a date! But Josuke tries to push that down quickly, not wanting to make this out to be more than it is. Because it isn’t much, really. Just two classmates getting a bite to eat after school. That’s it. As friends.

“Here, you’ll need to hold the umbrella though since you’re taller.”

You hand him the umbrella and he takes it, and to ensure you’re also properly covered, you step even closer, shoulder pressed against his. You’re touching him and you’re so warm and smell like flowers and even if on the outside he appears perfectly fine, on the inside he’s freaking out and he might not call it a date but it sure as hell is playing out like one.

He’s still in shock at the events that are transpiring, and doesn’t immediately fall into step with you. You blink and glance up at him, and the gloomy weather and umbrella cast a shadow over his face that, thankfully, hides his blush. It deepens when you take hold of his arm, the one between you holding the umbrella, as though to pull him along.

“Come on, let’s go before it starts raining harder!”

Josuke didn’t think he could like the rain as much as he does now. Talking with you becomes increasingly easier with every step, and it feels like his heart stops when you grin softly. The walk is unhurried, even for the rain falling all around you, and it’s hard to say who is dictating the pace, who has decided to prolong this time spent so close together.

The depths of your eyes are crystal clear at this distance and he knows one thing for sure: if it had, in fact, been you at the start setting this slow pace, it’s him who would keep it that way. He’ll keep his steps slow to extend this moment with you, all the while wishing it would last forever.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

au where i actually write

[bubble-tea-bunny]

dive into you

[bennett x reader]

author’s note: lil fic for bestest boy benny inspired by the song by nct dream and the summer season :’)

word count: 3,600

There’s a bakery opposite of Angel’s Share, just across the cobblestone road, and every morning the smell of freshly baked bread wafts from its open double doors, ready to welcome patrons and the crisp air of the early hours. Bennett has easily fallen into the routine of making this his first stop of the day. When he wakes, eyes slow to open and greeted by little squares of light on the ceiling of his bedroom from the sunlight shining through the window, he swears he can already smell that bread and the pastries and the care put into each one. He doesn’t often find it in him to be lazy, to be sluggish this early, for a new day was a new promise of adventure, and whether he’s swept along by the wind to the wilds or to the bakery, it’s an adventure all the same.

He always picks out food for his dads. He considers carefully what they might like to have (some prefer to have the same each time, others don’t mind the variety and like to be surprised), and carefully, slowly he fills the tray. Usually it isn’t busy during the time he’s there, but he doesn’t want to take risks as he holds it securely with both hands whenever he’s perusing the selection. Even if there were no people to bump into, with his luck, he might bump into one of the displays in the middle of the shop instead, consequence of paying more attention to the shelves against the wall where there are loaves baked into fun shapes like fish or crabs, rather than to what’s in front of him. He’d hate to drop everything on his tray and waste it.

Sometimes the bakery keeps the doors closed, and while uncommon, it’s nothing unusual. On these occasions, the entry of each customer is announced by the small bell jingling just overhead. It’s the only sound in the shop, ringing several times in the past ten minutes but it’s mere background noise, easily ignored, as Bennett absorbs himself in choosing what to buy today.

“Good morning!”

Bennett’s hand freezes just above a loaf of bread that looks like a bear and he glances behind him to the counter because the sound of your bubbly voice, conversely, is much more difficult to ignore. Though to be fair, to him, you’re no mere background noise.

You’re carrying a basket of more loaves just taken from the oven, half of them regularly shaped into circles and the other half like turtles, and grin at the customers who have just walked in. He watches you make your way over to a shelf several feet away from him to arrange the bread, and he stares long enough that you’ve taken notice. Your smile is bright and reaches your eyes, and he’s embarrassed to have been caught. His cheeks grow warm and you can probably see the dusting of red across his face, a speculation which doesn’t help alleviate this embarrassment one bit.

“Good morning, Bennett,” you greet him, more quietly since he’s closer.

He likes when you say his name, and it never fails to make his heart skip a beat and he stutters out an O-Oh, um… as if surprised that you’re talking to him, much less that you know who he is. It shouldn’t take him off guard that you know, considering how often he comes to the bakery, so he supposes it has more to do with the fact that he can’t believe his name should be spoken by a voice as gentle as yours, honeyed tones like the softly plucked notes of the Holy Lyre der Himmel.

Finally he musters an equally quiet Good morning in response, smiling back but he’s certain it looks more like a cringe, owed to his nerves. If it does, you don’t point it out, and simply return to your task. Only when another patron comes up to Bennett’s other side, muttering a pardon as they grab a loaf from the shelf he’s standing in front of, does he break his gaze from you. His hand that had been hovering above the bread that whole time he drops back down to his side, and he scoots to make room with another stutter and a sorry.

You’re back behind the counter when Bennett is ready to pay. The pile of bread, cake slices, sandwiches, and other miscellaneous pastries had in the past led you to ask him if these were snacks for the road, for you’d guessed him to be an adventurer doing commissions for the guild by the sword at his side. He’d chuckled and explained his actual purpose for buying as much as he did, and your grin had widened, and if he wasn’t imagining things, you’d been extra careful when packing every treat.

I’m sure they’ll really appreciate your gesture, you’d said. That’s sweet of you. And it’s not frequently that events in the course of his life run smoothly, but that day they had, and with no falter in his words he remarks it’s thanks to you, for you’re the reason there’s anything to bring back to his dads in the first place. You’d laughed and his chest tightened and he thinks that’s the point where he started to fall (to where, he hesitated to state exactly). But in any case, it was true—without you, there was no bakery filled to the brim with delicious food, and if he had anything to say about that, Mondstadt would be worse off for it.

This morning, Bennett is digging around his wallet for the appropriate amount of Mora while you pack what he’d picked out. Having gone through this process many times prior, he knows approximately how much it should cost.

“Ah—”

A few coins slip from his hand and clatter to the wooden floor, and he bends to pick them up. But on the way down, his head knocks into the tray that he neglected to push all the way onto the countertop, so part of it still stuck out. You blink in surprise at the jostling of the tray and his subsequent Ouch!, muffled because he’s obscured by the counter.

“Are you okay?” You sound genuinely worried, but to Bennett the accident had been no big deal. At least none of the food had fallen.

“Yeah,” he assures you. He’s still trying to gather up the stray Mora, fingers failing to get a proper grip on them and he huffs in slight exasperation. His face once more is burning from the embarrassment of being so clumsy. He’s clumsy around everyone, and it’s something he has long since come to accept, but it matters a lot more when it’s you.

Finally he stands back up, the money clutched in his fist victoriously. “Yeah!” he repeats now that you can hear him clearly. “It’s no big deal.”

For a second you don’t quite believe him, but it’s hard to argue with that smile on his face. There’s no pain he’s trying to hide (embarrassment, on the other hand, is a different issue entirely).

Upon handing him his package you tell him you’ll see him tomorrow and he feels sort of special because you don’t say it to anyone else. To others, you say Thank you, come again! but you know his routine and you know to expect him at the same time each morning. Judging by the look in your eyes and the sound of your voice when you see and greet him, you anticipate his visit every time, and his heart wants to soar out from the confines of his chest upon this realization and he is exhilarated. The wind and the new day have fulfilled their promise of an adventure, and the clock hasn’t even struck noon.

One day you’re a little distracted, focused on a paper in your hand as Bennett approaches the counter with his tray of baked goods. For the most part, your face gives nothing away, but then your brows furrow slightly, a subtle action he doesn’t miss, and he proceeds to ask if anything is wrong. He asks it kindly, keeps his tone neutral, wordlessly conveying that you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. He would hate to pry.

You purse your lips, pausing like you’re caught between saying yes and no. He waits patiently for whichever one it might be.

“I ran out of sugar and had been meaning to make more,” you start, opting to share with him what’s been troubling you.“I bought out Flora’s stock of sweet flowers but it wasn’t enough, so I may have to set aside time to pick more myself later.”

The mention of heading outside of the city makes Bennett perk up, for he never turns down a chance to go exploring. He’s about to offer to do it for you, but it’s the thought of possibly going with you instead that makes him hold back and rephrase his question.

“This afternoon?” he inquires, head tilting. You nod, and up until now he’d felt confident in the offer he was going to present, but then his nerves get the better of him and it doesn’t come out quite the way he was hoping. “I-I could go with you! You know, if you want! To protect you… Just in case…” He trails off and he wants to go hide in a hole. There are few other ways this could have gone worse.

You don’t answer right away, and he regrets having said anything at all, but your beautiful smile soon follows the silence and it sets his mind at ease, and you agree with a concise and cheery Sure! Well, at least the worst way this could have gone had not come to pass. It was the small victories for Bennett—just as important as the big ones. The next challenge would be to avoid making a fool of himself out there, in what should be his natural element; he does want to impress you. But that’s a big ask for someone like him…

Both of you agree to meet at the front gate in the late afternoon. By then, the traffic in the bakery is slow enough that you’re able to step away earlier than the normal closing time. You’ve changed into clothes more appropriate for walking around: in lieu of a dress, your typical work attire, you sport a tunic and trousers you don’t mind dirtying. The trousers are tailored to fit properly but the tunic is a tad big, the sleeves a bit too long, but Bennett thinks you look cute in it. A basket hangs on your forearm and you wave as you walk up to him.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” you say.

Bennett shakes his head. “Not long at all.” Technically the agreed upon meeting time was only five minutes ago, so you aren’t very late. Though he does refrain from sharing that he’d arrived early, in fear that he could end up late somehow and you would be the one who had to wait. Really, it’s been more like fifteen minutes for him, but he just keeps quiet about that.

One of the nice things about summer is that the sun sets later. There’s still a sufficient amount of light to illuminate the fields as you walk around in search of sweet flowers. At first, the extent of your conversation is discussing where you might be able to find a high concentration of them, then silence filled with the sifting of grass beneath your shoes and the occasional exclamation of having spotted a flower to be picked and tucked away in your basket.

Honestly, walking with you around the wilds of Mondstadt hadn’t been anywhere on Bennett’s list to do today, or any day really, not until he could muster the courage to invite you out like this, and who knew when that might be. Your need for sweet flowers had dropped the opportunity right into his lap, and thankfully he hadn’t squandered it. But now he’s at a loss as to what to talk about; he didn’t think he’d ever get this far.

Maybe you sense his struggle to come up with a topic of conversation because you’re the one to speak up, asking about his adventures and the commissions he takes. Done anything exciting recently?

Bennett’s eyes light up, a reaction which you can't help but smile at, and he regales you of the goings-on of his latest missions. He omits the instances where his clumsiness had made things more difficult (of which there were many), but each story is still truthful. Most of his commissions the past month hadn’t been anything too bold—after a mission that involved nearly getting himself trapped in a ruin due to solving a puzzle wrong then getting food poisoning on top of that from the snack he’d prepped that day, he’s been choosing jobs that he knows he’s more capable of.

To him, they aren’t too exciting, and in the larger scope of things, perhaps they aren’t, but you don’t seem to think that as you hang on each word. You’re absorbed in his story about trying to dismantle towers in a hilichurl camp, and gasp at the mention of their reinforcements coming to attack in the midst of it. Wow, you remark after he finishes his recounting of the event. You’re amazing, Bennett!

His heart does a flip again at the sound of his name and he shrugs offhandedly. He’s not inclined to think so, but your awed comment is sincere and has him reconsidering: yeah, that was pretty cool of him, wasn’t it? For all his clumsiness, he doesn’t often see the feats for what they are, accompanied by blunders or not, but you’re the fresh perspective he’d been missing, and he wishes you’d stepped into his life sooner.

The entirety of your outing together has thus far been free of any monsters, but as soon as Bennett makes this observation it’s like the universe has heard: hydro slimes suddenly pop out from the ground, halting you in your tracks. You squeak in surprise and Bennett is quick to shift into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and one arm out in front of you protectively.

“Just stay there!” he instructs before drawing his sword and rushing forward.

Luckily there aren’t many slimes to fight off, and they aren’t very big. His sword cuts through them easily, cleanly. They burst and spray water upon being sliced apart, so at the end, when they’re all dead, the only evidence they had been there to begin with is the slight dampness to his clothes and the squish of dirt turned to mud. With a sigh of triumph, Bennett resumes a relaxed stance, then sheathes his weapon and turns to you.

As instructed, you’ve stayed in place, but it seems to have been more out of being frozen in fear than anything else. You’re clutching your basket close, and once the slimes are gone, you follow Bennett’s lead and relax, shoulders releasing the tension they had been filled with for the duration of that fight. You let out a deep exhale of relief, hand placed over your heart which has yet to slow back down to its normal pace.

“Thank you.”

Bennett flashes a toothy grin and waves his hand as if to say It’s not a problem. “That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?”

You smile back. “I’m glad we went together.”

Together. He likes the sound of that. He thinks to himself that he’d go with you to other places too; you need only to give the word. To the edge of this world, and through a portal to the next? He’d meet you by the front gate at dawn.

He’s surprised that the encounter with those slimes had gone as smoothly as it had. It isn’t uncommon for him to get hit a few times, bruises quick to form on his arms or his legs. And it’s quite the run of luck, of which he’s ordinarily in short supply, that he should get through a fight with nary a scratch on him while with you. His efforts to impress are actually succeeding.

However, this is another case of speaking too soon, because he starts to walk back to you, but then his foot gets caught on a rock concealed by the tall grass, and he tumbles to the ground.

“Oof!”

His chest collides with the earth as he lands with a thud and the breath is stolen from his lungs. You gasp and close the gap between you, and in viewing you in his peripherals, he notes that you are much more graceful at it.

“Are you all right?”

Bracing his hands on the dirt, small bits of rock digging into his palms, Bennett pushes himself up to sit on his knees. “Yeah, I’m okay!” Here he thought he had handled himself perfectly well, but then just like that, his clumsiness returned, and once more before you he is awkward, blundering Bennett.

Unlike the incident at the bakery when he’d bumped his head into the tray, this fall had actually hurt, and he can’t hide it successfully, a slight wince of pain crossing his face in spite of his smile. Even if you hadn’t caught on to that, the injuries elsewhere on his body give it away completely.

“Your arms are all scraped up…” After Bennett stands back up, you gingerly take hold of his forearm and angle it to examine the scrapes there, thin red lines from tiny stones tearing the skin.

Your grip is light, like you’re scared to injure him further, and Bennett is thankful for the darkness that is setting in as the sun disappears and the moon begins its trek across the sky, for it conceals the way his cheeks redden to be this close to you, to be touched by you. The concern in your gaze as you look at his arm makes his chest squeeze but not in the good way, and he bends his knees slightly to duck into your line of view.

“Don’t worry! I’m fine.” And it’s true. He’s sustained worse, though he steers clear of sharing this part. He doesn’t like to see you worried.

He straightens up when you finally meet his eyes and dons his smile again, easy and reassuring. It seems to convince you, as you nod and let go. He drops his arm back down to his side but he’s already missing the feather-light sensation of your fingertips. Successfully reassured, your smile also returns, replacing the thin line of worry that your lips had previously been set in.

It’s dark now but the air is still warm, a consequence of the season. In the daytime the heat is more extreme, made even more so by the fire curling from the edge of his sword. At the conclusion of whatever commission he has taken, he’s left sweating, satisfied but exhausted. Missions in the summer are more difficult to get through, the sun beating down with little mercy and its heat lingering into the night, but he thinks that if he were to have you there with him, he’d hardly notice.

Your delicate gaze is the cool ocean breeze and your soft smile the deluge of waves washing over him, a force he receives gladly because he is falling into you, deeper into the expanse of your heart. He’s diving into the sea, the unbearable heat of summer long forgotten as he makes his way to the bottom. What he hopes to find he isn’t sure, but he’d be content to remain there forever, consumed by you and all the love you have to offer.

“Okay?” he asks, voice soft. You had nodded but he also wants verbal confirmation that you won’t burden yourself with worry anymore.

You catch on to his own need for reassurance, and he wants to sink into the refreshing fondness of your eyes as you watch him. “Okay.”

The moon up above illuminates your face, and he wants to run his fingers along all the parts it touches: the line of your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the cupid’s bow of your lips. He yearns to be closer to you than that moonlight adorning your skin, and maybe it’s strange that he should be envious of it, of that light which has the privilege to hold you so near, but the feelings he has for you are what’s written about in books, and in those stories, people do tend to do strange things.

In the morning, he stops by the bakery as usual but this time is surprised when you set a cake down alongside the other baked goods he buys. You answer his question before he can voice it.

“For yesterday,” you state simply. “For my hero.”

Your—?

“I think ‘hero’ is too strong a word for it,” Bennett replies, chuckling quietly and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. After all, they had just been slimes.

You hum noncommittally, corner of your mouth lifted in a grin. “Maybe, but yesterday you were mine. So please take this as thanks.”

He’d like to be yours every day, and the thought of how nice that would be makes his whole world just a little brighter, like the crystal butterflies fluttering around him in the wild on the warm summer nights; and he hopes that the next adventure the wind guides him on leads straight back to you.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

[bubble-tea-bunny]

Hello there!!

I just wanted to say that I'm in love with that wonderful masterpiece you wrote Apollo x reader. Gosh it's so perfect, so well done, so full of emotion, not to mention the beauty of the settings and the fox, uhg, nice touch, foxes are always a YES... I'm so grateful because that piece made my day, and whole week, better.

Your Apollo is a blessing and your writing is wow, so amazing 💕💕💕💕

awh thank you so much! glad it made your day/week! <3

[bubble-tea-bunny]

I read your tamaki fic from November 2019 and I’m SWOONING 💕💕💕

yaaaay glad you liked it :3

[bubble-tea-bunny]

sweet talk

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: been rewatching ouran and found the time to write smth small. basically a really late valentine’s fic lol. i’m drafting an idea for takashi as well atm. maybe kyoya after? ;)

word count: 1,844

At this time of year, the weather is chilly, the air cold even without the presence of wind and warranting the need for a scarf to avoid a red-tipped nose and numb cheeks. Most days are gloomy, the overcast sky glaringly bright and difficult to look at. But today, it would seem the divine hand in charge of the course of the seasons has granted a reprieve, the clouds parting so the sun might wash over the grass that you and Tamaki sit upon currently, in the garden of the Suoh estate.  

The gardeners had finished their tasks this morning, as instructed by Tamaki the night before. It gave you two the opportunity to be out there alone in the afternoon. The hedges are trimmed and tidy, and the smell of freshly cut grass is strong. You inhale deeply, chest puffed, and sigh in satisfaction as the scent reaches your nose. It had been so long since you sat out in a garden, owed to the fact it had been too cold for that lately.

Tamaki chuckles at your enthusiasm and rifles through the picnic basket he’d brought with him. He pushes aside the array of deserts—cake slices, chocolate bars, fruit tarts, and more—their colorful wrappings crinkling loud enough to grab your attention.

“Where is it…” he mutters.

You tilt your head. "Where is what?”

The tip of Tamaki’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, evidence of his concentration, and when he finally finds what he’s searching for, he holds it up like a first place prize, complemented by an exclamation: “Aha!”

It’s a small plastic pouch, clear with red stripes and tied near the top with a matching, shiny red poly ribbon to keep it closed. There’s what you assume to be candy inside, in various colors, but you don’t recognize it. You’re still just as clueless, but you don’t need to voice your question because Tamaki can see the confusion written across your face.

“It’s commoner candy!” he explains. “Well, commoner Valentine’s candy, more specifically.”

You continue to watch, intrigued by what he’s brought, as he pulls at the ribbon to loosen it and opens the pouch, reaching inside for one of the pieces of candy. He holds up the heart-shaped treat, gripped carefully between index finger and thumb, and angles it so you can see what’s written on it: Sweetheart.

Upon realizing there’s wording on it, and that the same must go for every heart in the bag, your eyes light up. “Cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tamaki agrees, voice quiet as he observes the candy. The nickname is printed red though the lettering isn’t too sharp, which gives away that it was done by a machine. “Haruhi got one for all the host club members, and I wanted to share mine with you.”

When he turns to you, amethyst eyes warm like a summer night, you smile. And when he offers the bag of heart candies to you, you eagerly reach in for one. “How thoughtful!” You turn over the piece you picked out: Only You.

“Well, shall we try them together?” Tamaki inquires, and you nod. The two of you pop the candy into your mouths in unison, then sit silently for a moment in contemplation.

It’s… unique, is the best description you can come up with. The powdery, pressed substance is basically a sugar bomb that melts once it comes in contact with your tongue. But it isn’t the quality of sugar you’re accustomed to—it’s far and away from the refined sweetness of the handmade confections stashed away in the picnic basket Tamaki brought along. Still, this mass-produced goody is delightful in its own way, in taste and novelty, for you have never seen such small candies with words on them, and you say as much to your boyfriend, the last traces of the heart candy lingering on your lips which you lick away.

“They’re charming,” you remark, reaching for another piece. “For when you can’t find the words or get them out yourself.” You read what’s written on the yellow heart you grabbed, then turn it to show Tamaki: Be Mine.

Tamaki’s attention briefly diverts down to read it as well, and the corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided grin as he meets your eyes again. “Sure, they can be useful for some people, but I can get by just fine without candy telling me what to say. How could I call myself the king of the host club if I weren’t able to string together pretty words?” Always conducting himself with some semblance of dramatic flare, he puts a hand to his chest, and the sunlight reflects off his eyes in a way that makes it seem like there’s a tear or two forming in the corners.

As usual, his acting is impeccable, and you can’t contain your smile; he’s such a natural. You have no objections to his claim as king of the school’s host club, and if you’re being honest, you wish you had even half the charisma he does, that some of the skill he possesses at waxing lyrical would rub off onto you via proximity alone.

“They would’ve come in handy for me that day I confessed to you,” you admit shyly, and it’s Tamaki’s turn to tilt his head, confused but waiting for you to expound. “These candies say all the things I wanted to say to you then.”

The day you came to terms with your feelings about Tamaki and the day you actually revealed them to him were different, and the time in between had been spent in a state of conflict over whether it was worth mustering up the courage to approach him about it. There was little doubt in your mind that the president of the host club received declarations of love left and right, a routine part of his week, a clockwork consistency like that of waking in the morning and laying down to sleep in the evening. You’re a drop of water in the ocean; what could possibly make you stand out?

For all that, you figured you should confess anyway. Rejection was still an answer and it was better than nothing. At least after the gentle let down (because truly, Tamaki is, without fail, graceful in matters of love, both the reciprocal and the unrequited) your turmoil over what he may say would finally be put at ease.

Though you rehearsed over and over what you would say and how you would say it, the practice ends up being useless, and you weren’t sure why you even bothered. Once you met his kind gaze—expectant and patient, giving you the opportunity to gather the words in the stretching silence that would be oddly too long in any other context—the resolve you had slowly been building on your walk to the meeting point by the fountain crumbled. You tripped over your words at the sight of his tender smile. Tamaki just had that effect on people, and you wished he’d look at you that way always. To be on the receiving end of his affection was to bask in the warmth of a sun that never sets.

It’s a feeling you’re distinctly reminded of now, sitting in the garden on an uncharacteristically sunny day for winter and the center of Tamaki’s attention, and you think you might be set alight from the sheer intensity (due mostly to Tamaki; the sun is poor competition in contrast). He wears that beautifully soft expression, mind clearly having thought back to your confession as yours just had. But it seems his recollection differs slightly, for he presents a counterpoint.

“I thought you handled it perfectly.” He sets the bag of heart candies on the grass and braces himself with his now freed hand, which allows him to lean closer to you. He enters your bubble but you never mind it, and his touch is feather-light as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

You’re unpersuaded, however, and raise a brow. “Really?”

Tamaki chuckles and nods, blonde hair bouncing with the singular motion. “Your eyes spoke for the words you had trouble finding. I might be the one stringing together pretty poetry like diamonds around your neck”—his fingers slide lower to trace the curve of your collarbone left exposed by the cut of your blouse, and you shiver—“but you have no need for words at all, much less the turns of phrases on pieces of candy.”

“Is that why you liked me too?” you ask, remembering his own confession that had followed closely on the heel of yours. You keep your voice hushed because given how close to each other you are, there’s no need for any higher of a volume.

Tamaki hums in confirmation. His index finger delicately taps once, twice, thrice, on the hollow at the base of your throat, a sort of absentminded movement while absorbed in his thoughts, before he once more brings his hand up, cradling your cheek. “You say you’re a drop in the ocean but you’re the drops of morning dew on the roses just outside my bedroom window. My heart flutters to breathe you in.”  

You smile, bashful, and set your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. Your cheeks have darkened in a blush Tamaki would like to kiss. “Okay, I’m convinced,” you concede with a murmur. He’s so close to you now. “When I admitted how I felt, maybe it didn’t go as badly as I thought.”

This elicits another laugh from Tamaki. Instead of acting on his desire to run his lips along your silken skin (there would be time for that later), he settles for a quick peck on your nose, then reaches into the pouch of heart candies, temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. His fingers curl around two pieces and he pulls them both out rather than dropping one, but he sees the words on them before you do since his hand obscures them from your view.

“The powers governing destiny have destined our souls for each other,” he declares. “Because you and me, it’s love.”

He uncurls his fingers to reveal the candy in his palm, and you look down at them. The green one reads You & Me, and the blue one It’s Love. This prompts you to giggle. It’s music to his ears.

“What happened to not needing candy to tell you what to say?” Your tone is playful.

Tamaki shrugs, unable to hide his amused grin. “I pulled them out at random. If this is the universe speaking to me, who would I be to argue?”

You have no counter to this, not that you think there even is one. Destiny is destiny and as Tamaki feeds you one of the hearts and you bite into it, the sugar once more dissolving on your tongue, you can only thank those powers which make the world turn for conferring their blessing upon the two of you in such a deliciously sweet way.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

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