Hi(gh School) ! I Love You !

smol confused boi wip.

Soulbound

Zhongli x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Zhongli hated the mark on his neck, and he hated whoever the mark bounded him to. But fate plays a cruel joke, matching him with you, as he swore he would love no one else but Guizhong.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Short Story, Rejection, Hurtful Words, Hatred to Love

Soulmark - A mark that binds two individuals as soulmates.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Morax had always been frustrated by the mark on his neck.

A glowing, permanent part of his body that marks him tied to a soulmate. He thinks its stupid, for the love of his life was already in front of him, a gray-haired inventor that no carving in his body could ever stop him from adoring.

He finds it unbelievable that his neck is claimed by a soulmark yet Guizhong's remain blank, and he curses Celestia above for such a foul joke.

How could he be for anyone else but her?

When her dust settled in the field of glaze lilies he thought were incomparable to her beauty, he was utterly devasted, his clawed hands held onto his neck, wanting to rip the soulmark that had been taunting him for centuries.

How could he be marked for someone else while the love of his life laid lifeless?

He loathed his mark, everything about it, and he will till his last breath.

...

Zhongli deeply dislikes you.

You are a messy, silly, babbling buffoon.

An adventurer from Mondstadt that embodies the nation's will of freedom. Bubbly, carefree, and loud, much like a fellow god he didn't particularly like.

Despite of his disdain of you, your affection towards him never wavered. You filled his somber days with excitement as you joyfully tell him stories about your adventures, share some new recipes you've learned, even ushering him to talk about obscure Liyue historical facts that you've always found interesting.

He was much too proper to shoo you away, and his cold looks and short responses didn't discourage you to try to make friends with the man that peeked your curiosity.

Ever so slowly, you had pried open his caged heart, planting a small seed that was so distinctly you.

He would have accepted you, he would have seen you as a friend... and yet...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a faint, familiar mark on your neck, revealed when you put your hair up into a ponytail.

Zhongli knew he truly disliked you.

...

"I don't believe in the marks either, Mr. Zhongli..." You reasoned with him, but his gaze still stung you with daggers.

He caged himself back up, ensuring that you could not care for the little seed you planted, no light would be able to reach it again.

His heart would not open...

No matter how many times he catches himself smiling at your antics.

No matter if he displays every gift and trinket you give him from your travels.

No matter how much he preferred your cooking over anyone else's.

No matter how beautiful you look staring up at him with your doe eyes as you confess your affection.

No matter how frustrated he felt at himself when he made you cry as he rejects your feelings.

Because, for him, how could there be anyone else but her?

...

"Do you see why it could never be you?"

You both stood in front of a monument, surrounded by various plants and objects you assume to be from friends of this ancient goddess.

"I bet she was amazing."

"She was perfect. Perhaps that's why I was not worthy to share a mark with her."

At this point, you were used to his words, how they praise her, how they degrade you.

"You're pretty great too, Zhongli..."

Faith places identical marks on the necks of two soulmates, and the rest is a romantic story of the passion that builds up as people pursue their marks of love.

Fate is cruel to you and him.

"That mark is not for you, Y/N." The Geo Archon says to you, tearing you apart silently, as you stand and take his words.

His heart quivers despite the harsh words coming from his own mouth. Even after millennia of having the mark engraved on his neck, after concluding that maybe he would allow your little seed to prosper even just for a bit, he still chooses to cling onto his hopeless past.

Tears fall down from your eyes, but you remain quiet, only nodding in agreement.

You loathed the mark on your neck.

...

Zhongli opens the cage of his heart a little, allowing him to peak at the small sprout from the seed you planted.

So distinctly you, it was the only thing he has of you.

After letting you leave him at Guizhong's monument with tears still staining your face, he couldn't help but miss you.

He couldn't help but let you finally take your place in his heart, after so long of hating his soulmark, hating whoever the mark tied him to, he fears he has finally accepted faith.

...

"Where is it?" He grips your arm harshly, his hold not faltering as you try to shake him off. His gaze was cold, yet you could still catch the hint of alarm in his eyes. "What have you done?"

After weeks... you return to him... missing something.

You winced at the stress of his words, feeling frightened under his tense hold. "I..." His bruising grip didn't falter, urging you to explain yourself. "S-Surprise...?"

"You..." Zhongli looks at you in disbelief. "How stupid could you be?"

"M-Mr. Zhongli... it's a blessing of the Anemo Archon... I prayed for him set us free from fate."

"Y/N... I..." He was at a loss for words, his heart ached as his eyes searched your neck in vain. "Fate... going against it is painful. It must've been excruciating."

"It was... but this if for you, Zhongli..." You smiled, feeling him loosen his grip. "Because I love... loved you." You fully free yourself from him, rubbing at where he previously held you.

The wind around him picked up, and he hears the faint whispers of an old friend along with it. Whispers of comfort, as he clearly ruined what would have been the light of the rest of his days.

Your soulmark fades, but his remains...

Zhongli loathed his mark, for it bears no meaning, no one but him bears that mark.

As you leave, trying to fade away in the background of his life, you remain under a spotlight in his eyes, for you will always be the one that shares his mark, no matter if it is visible.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

What y'all think of this one? :3

I bet y'all's feelings were hurt hehe

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO YOUR INJURIES

-ˋ ♡ ◞ xiao ･ alhaitham ･ ayato. genshin impact. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ xiao

you imagined this would have gone differently. you imagined xiao would be frantic, furious-- not at you, but at those who dared bring you harm. you imagined he'd be scolding you endlessly for such acts of recklessness, but he does not. instead, he chooses silence, expression stoic, almost unreadable, and it makes the heart sink into uncertainties.

it is silent.

there is a heaviness that lingers in the air as he tends to your wounds, fresh cuts stinging and irritated by the balm he applies in the gentlest of ways. you imagined this would be so much more different, and you almost wish it was, because you can feel his hurt like it is your own, and you know that he believes your pain is his, always and forever.

the salve is cool against your skin ; it tingles, the back of your hand, but a warmth replaces the sensation as his fingers dance across the injuries. he doesn't look at you, but instead, chooses to displace his anxiety and frustration in the way he takes care of you.

you tilt your head the slightest bit, force your gazes to meet as you smile faintly. it is a guilty smile, he notices, and he does not return it, nor can he bring himself to look away.

"i am still here, xiao."

then, he speaks for the first time tonight.

"you should have called me. you know you cannot face dangers greater than yourself alone."

there is something in his words-- a grief, the thought of what could have been, a preemptive readiness for the loss of a loved one-- and your smile turns somber. he is right. you should have asked for help. you are lucky to have survived the night, and you both are well aware of that.

you grab his hand, squeeze it gently despite the pain. you can see that small flicker of surprise in his eyes as you pull him towards you, and in the way your lips meet his, there is the quiet seeking of forgiveness and a known gratitude.

"i'm sorry, xiao." you murmur against his lips. "i will be sure to speak your name when the time arises."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ alhaitham

"be honest. you're pissed."

alhaitham is quick to care for your wounds, but he is not quick to panic. not a surprise, really, and it's also not really a surprise as to how he's acting.

"i'm not angry". he states, a blunt brutality in his words. "i'm just disappointed."

you don't say anything initially, your expression deadpan as it meets his before you throw him a half-hearted glare. there's a slightly teasing tone in his response, though you know he means them. had you been a stranger, you would have thought he was dead serious.

"i'm sorry," you start, "i almost thought i was being grounded for a second."

alhaitham doesn't say anything at first, simply stares at you-- and it's a long while of just looking at each other until the first person breaks. he's almost certain you will be the first to lose in this battle of resilience-- you always are, albeit through his own means. so he scoots a little closer to you, leans forward until all you can see or think about is him. he cups your face with his hand, touch gentle, almost too warm, and how steady it is that he holds your gaze.

"you are." he murmurs, and you almost think you see a hint of a smile when you finally look away, begrudgingly leaning back the slightest bit in silent admit of defeat.

"shut up."

"i won't." he answers. "now come back to me. you have a scratch on your face, you know."

"oh. is that why you were getting so close?"

"yes," alhaitham chuckles, and you are unsure what makes your heart beat faster : the love in it, or the way he closes the distance between you once more, "but i also happen to like you, too."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ ayato

"beloved, you wound me so."

there's a faint curve that settles on ayato's lips, but there's worry in that smile, and you know that no amount of words can ease it. you let out a quiet laugh, your hands in his as he squeezes them gently in comfort to both you and him : to you, in means of letting you know that he is there for you, and to him, in means of reassurance that you are still here, still alive and breathing.

there's bandages all over your body-- no serious injuries, thankfully, but there are still so many, and how they adorn you terribly so.

"and i thought i was the only one who was wounded." you respond, a lighthearted tone in your words. you do not wish to see him sad, nor do you wish to add any additional stress to his already hectic routine. ayato has experienced much loss in his life -- and even now, he must be on guard for those who wish to harm him through means of hurting those he cares for. you squeeze his hand twice : a quiet apology, an i'm sorry, and he hears it loud and clear.

"in spirit, i'm hurt, too."

your laughter grows a little louder. he's always been so cheesy and theatrical when it came to romance. the worry in his smile dissipates, turns into something of genuine relief at your reaction. though you may be littered in wounds, it's clear that you are alright.

"well, we can't have that, can we?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead in yet another means of apology. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to worry you." you whisper, and you press your forehead against his. "i'm alright, love. thank you for taking care of me."

THAT'S OOMF?!

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

while you consider most of your personality to be a die hard scaramouche stan, aka your favorite actor, you’re also a small streamer. you’ve been friends with kuni, a small faceless streamer, for a little over a year now and have developed a little crush for him. when kuni does his face reveal you’re shocked to see your worlds collide, that’s oomf?!

fast paced, aged up characters, actor/streamer au, suggestive texts, venti is ur bsf, childe is also an actor and he knows scara has a secret little streamer account

this is based on the missy cooper situation LMAO also i might make a part two one day but i dunno silly oneshot

masterlist

Made for You

You're a patisserie, and now, also the proud co-owner of your own restaurant, Zhuming Dessert Bar. You're new to this whole CEO thing, and you're hoping to seek some support from those around you – like the head chef next door!

patisserie!f!reader x chef!jiaoqiu, modern!au, sfw

word count: ~9,100

cw: explicit language, use of poisons, a lil slow burn lol

notes: i haven't played through the full story quest, so sorry if jiaoqiu is slightly ooc lol but he is blind and can only eat spicy foods yeet otherwise, wanted to write smth fluffy for this tragic, tragic man. and i also wanted to geek out about delicious east asian food yep.

thank you so much to @lychniis for beta-reading and for helping immensely with the pacing of this piece! @pawpiefawn i hope this story is at least 1/1000th as sweet as you are, and welcome to the hsr hell hole <3

I. TARO Macarons and Winter Melon Cookies

Crush almonds. Toast and grind sesame seeds. Mix egg whites with brown sugar. Skin, cut, mash taro root. Bring water to a boil. Top cookie dough with candied winter melon.

The sun starts filtering in through the window.

Steam soy milk until it foams. Melt gelatin. Frost thinly. Turn off the oven and stove. Slice coconut jelly into thin, small squares. Put everything into the fridge.

The day of a patisserie begins early – 4:30AM for you. Although you’re the head of your restaurant, the Zhuming Dessert Bar, you’re unable to separate yourself from the habitual duties of prepping, cleaning, getting a head start. To be fair, it would also be improper of you to leave such a task to your teammates. After all, these macarons and cookies are a gift for your neighbors, a first impression to the locals of not only the dessert bar, but primarily, the food it serves. The taste and presentation have to be perfect, and there’s no need to burden everyone else with an otherwise tedious and irrelevant task.

The Zhuming Dessert Bar is located in a busy food district, where there are various other diners, cafés, hole-in-the-wall gems, all waiting to be discovered and savored. After a long process of bidding and negotiating, you managed to snag a larger space, a one-story building sandwiched between a complex that housed several small businesses and a well-established hot pot spot. Unsurprisingly, a large majority of the stores in the district aren’t open in the morning, due to the lack of customers, and you only have to make a few runs.

As the time approaches 7AM, you begin to make your way out.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Those are the first words exchanged between you and your team, aside from the occasional “behind” or question, and you giggle as you’re greeted with a chorus of tired moans and lazy waves.

You ask, “I’m gonna head out – no more than two hours. Can someone meet with the vendors while I’m gone?”

Someone next to you nods, and you beam at them as you leave with a few boxes of the treats you made.

You only have three stops this morning – a trendy café co-owned by two college drop-outs, a Japanese, lunch-only spot run by an elderly couple, and a Western brunch place known for its omelettes.

The college drop-outs, acting much like their age, cheer when you hand over their sweets and quite literally gobble them up in front of you. By the time you leave, you’ve been unofficially adopted as their favorite “next-door aunt.”

When you arrive at the Japanese restaurant, only the wife seems to have arrived, and she pauses from her prep work to bring you inside to chat over cups of steaming green tea. Though the conversation is brief, the two of you quickly go down a rabbit hole, discussing the best brand for knives, how to tell when a daikon is ripe, which fruits are in season at the moment. As your exchange wraps up, you promise her you’ll return, at which she slips a napkin into your palm that has “Free Meal Coupon” scribbled on it with haphazard handwriting.

The American brunch restaurant is already bustling with noise, and a sous chef comes to welcome you at the front door. He’s polite, a little younger than you, and has the excitement of someone just starting off their career. You tell him good luck, and he responds likewise, wishing your dessert bar success.

Everyone seems pleasant and friendly, and you feel a rush of eagerness to hurry back to your restaurant. 

When you return, you can’t help but pause in front of the Zhuming Dessert Bar. You admire the spray-painted logo on the windows, the clean and modern architecture of the building, the little signboards out in front with chalk writings of recommendations and prices. Yesterday was your dessert bar’s opening day, and now, you and your team are about to embark on your first full week. Instead of feeling the daunting weight and pressure, you’re restless, hands and wrists itching to pick up a spatula, mouth salivating at all of the syrups and icings you’ll have to taste-test, feet poised to navigate through a crowded kitchen. After a few more seconds of admiring, you can’t hold back any longer and burst in through the back door, absolutely needing to get back to work.

Time passes quickly for all chefs. Even though you’re surrounded by timers that count down to precise milliseconds, the minutes and hours add up, and by the time service has ended, you truly don’t feel the passage of the day until you loosen the apron wrapped around your waist and sit down for a brief break. But you’re not done with all of your work quite yet, and you leave the cleaning and tidying to the others so you can make your last runs of the day.

You had taken a brief intermission after lunch to make the majority of your visits, so the only remaining restaurant on your list is the hot pot place right next door. If you remember correctly, the restaurant’s actually part of a larger chain, Yaoqing Hot Pot, that’s known for offering the spiciest yet most mouth-watering Szechuan flavors.

You jog over to the entrance, and peeking through the glass, you can see a man with peach pink hair sitting at the bar. He’s not wearing a uniform or eating, so he’s neither a cook nor a customer. That must mean he’s either a welcome guest or the manager.

You knock on the door, hoping to grab the attention of the man. His head does perk up, and he faces the door – but makes no effort to get up. You wait for another minute or so, before knocking again. Finally, the man rises from his seat, still facing you, before grabbing a cane and making his way over to you. As he approaches, you can see that his eyes are closed, and you almost fluster with humiliation.

As the man opens the door, you immediately bow, 90 degrees at the waist. “I am so, so sorry for bothering you!”

With a light laugh, the man replies, “No problem, but unfortunately, we’re not taking any more customers for the night.”

You straighten up and hold the box out in front of you. “I’m not a customer, actually. I’m from next door, we just opened.” You quickly introduced yourself and explained the contents of the box to him.

He pauses before slowly extending his palm, face up, out in front of him, on which you place the packaged macarons and cookies.

“Please enjoy! And have a good night!” 

Fearing that you’ve not only inconvenienced the man but also taken up too much of his time when his restaurant’s still crammed with customers, you bow again, despite knowing he won’t see, and scuffle away, only peering behind your shoulder once to see the man still at the door and “looking” down at the box.

II. Anmitsu

“Chef!”

The kitchen’s always loud, from boiling pots of syrup to whirring mixers kneading dough to blenders grinding up crackers, but never because of the people. It’s rare, in the first place, for someone to look for you unless you’re requested to taste a component or item being served that night, but the urgency of the call tells you it’s something different this time.

You rush over to the back door, where one of your pastry chefs, a fresh graduate from culinary school, is frowning beside an equally distraught vendor.

You pat your chef on the shoulder and wave cheerily at the vendor, “Hey, whatever the problem, there’s a way out. What’s going on?”

“We’ve run out of geomeunpat,” the chef responds.

The vendor chips in as well. “There wasn’t an order for the black adzuki beans, and I don’t have any extra. I’m so sorry!”

You nod in understanding. “Don’t apologize. Gimme a second to think.”

Geomeunpat, or black adzuki beans, is crucial to making white adzuki bean paste, which in Korean cuisine, is used to make rice cakes and other confectionery. Adzuki bean paste is also an irreplaceable ingredient for anmitsu, a Japanese dessert that typically consists of sliced fruit, kanten jelly, and rice flour dango. Given that it’s summer, your tasting menu has a few limited specials, and geomeunpat is needed for almost all of them. 

You ask, “Do we have any canned red bean paste?”

Your pastry chef goes to check the pantry and returns to report a number of cans.

“Alright, let’s do this.” You turn to the vendor. “We’re so sorry. Thanks for all of your help, and we’ll see you on Friday at this time, right?” The vendor confirms before leaving. Then, you turn back to your pastry chef. “Let’s substitute with the canned anko for today, but can you call me when you’re making the mitsu? We might need to adjust the sugar content of the syrup, or else it might be too sweet otherwise.”

“Yes, chef!”

“In the meantime, I’ll run to the market to see if there are any raspberries or cherries that can cut through the taste of the anko. Be right back.”

True to your word, you dash the few blocks to the farmer’s market, located at a nearby park with an open field and seating. It’s already mid-morning, so it’s likely that all of the best batches are gone, but there should be enough left over for you to find sufficient ingredients.

As predicted, the market crowd is waning, with many customers having already finished their shopping and gone home or enjoying their purchases at the picnic benches and tables. You look around, skittering around here and there, as if you’re a little child playing hide-and-seek, constantly changing your hiding spot.

This one’s no good either. Just as you take a step back, though, you bump into someone – wait, no, you step on something.

You look down, and you notice you’ve stepped on the ball of a white cane.

“Oh, shoot, sorry!” You jump away and nervously look at the owner of the cane. Your nervousness, though, is quickly replaced with something else, your eyes widening and brows raising.

You blurt, “You’re from Yaoqing Hot Pot!”

Behind the pink-haired man is a younger girl, brown hair tied into long, streaming pigtails and eyes piqued with childish wonder and unbounded curiosity.

The girl asks, “Chef, do you know this person?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

You speak up. “Yes, we have! Only very briefly, though. I dropped by with some treats, on behalf of the Zhuming Dessert Bar.”

Suddenly, the girl lets out a scream, at which you and the man wince. “Wait, did you bake those? They were delicious!” The girl clamors over to you and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “How did you know to pair the taro filling with toasted sesame seeds? And the winter melon cookies were a spin on the traditional lao po bing, right? How did you come up with these ideas? Just hearing about them made my mouth water, but the real deal was –“

“Sushang,” the man interrupts sharply, “you’re being rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The girl, Sushang, releases her hold on you with an awkward chuckle before returning to the man’s side.

You shake your head with a bright smile. “No, not at all! I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sushang gleams at you. “No, but seriously, they were delicious. You said you were from the Zhuming Dessert Bar, right? Are they sold in-store?”

“Yes, I’m the head chef at the dessert bar. Unfortunately, we don’t plan on putting them on the menu for a while because they still need some work.”

“More work?” Sushang’s jaw drops wide open in disbelief, and you shrug.

The man says, “Sushang, you should know that every item on a tasting menu is chosen with utmost patience and care. It can take months to perfect a new item.”

“Yes, chef, but I just can’t imagine how you could do even better.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad, then. If they ever make it on the menu, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

With happy claps, Sushang cheers. As for you, you turn towards the man.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, “I never quite got your name.”

He gives you a small smile in the form of pursed lips. “Jiaoqiu, head chef at Yaoqing Hot Pot, though I don’t do much of the cooking anymore.”

“Well, Jiaoqiu, it’s very nice to meet you. Do you happen to have any thoughts on those treats I gave you?”

Before Jiaoqiu can respond, Sushang answers first on his behalf. “Oh, our chef never eats anything made by other people! He doesn’t even try my cooking, so I don’t even know how to improve!”

The chef nudges an elbow into his employee’s ribs, who winces and whimpers at the pain.

You simply just watch the interaction before saying, “No worries, I get it. Though, I feel like your name is familiar, Jiaoqiu…”

You tilt your head, attempting to recall. His name reminds you of a news headline, something about culinary school and graduation, but nothing else beyond that. Sushang looks like she can barely contain herself, but the set expression on Jiaoqiu’s face prevents her from actually spilling the truth.

Regardless, you move on. “No matter. Anyway, I’m guessing the two of you are grabbing some ingredients, yeah?”

“Yes,” Jiaoqiu affirms. “We always source our fruits locally. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m also looking to buy some fruit!”

“Then come with us!” Sushang suggests. “We know the best vendors in town.”

Before you can even ask if that’s alright with the Yaoqing’s head chef, you’re already pulled along by the arm and tugged towards a tent near the end of the market street.

III. Penghu Salty Biscuits

“Two beers please.”

You sigh, setting down the hardcover menu on the table. Yaoqing Hot Pot is packed with people, even though it’s late at night, 11PM. To be fair, the hot pot chain is a combination of a hot pot buffet and bar, so it makes sense that the store’s open until the unruly hours of the night. But while all of the customers seem to be partying and having the time of their lives, you and your co-owner, Yukong, sit tiredly across from each other.

“How is it only the third week,” you groan as you drop your forehead onto the table.

A waiter comes over to drop your drinks off, and Yukong takes a quick gulp from her chilled mug.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

Yukong co-founded the Zhuming Dessert Bar with you. In fact, the two of you grew up together, and have been inseparable ever since elementary school. When she transferred middle schools, you begged your parents to transfer you as well. When you both were preparing for college entrance exams, you chose the same university as your top pick. When you went to baking school, she got into a neighboring MBA program so that the two of you could continue rooming together. And when you both came up with the idea of starting a restaurant together, the logistics and enthusiasm naturally fell into place.

“That customer just wouldn’t back off,” Yukong grumbles. She takes another drink before picking up her chopsticks, skewering a slice of fatty beef, and dropping it into the boiling tomato broth. “He clearly already got a serving of the ice cream – I saw it with my own eyes! But he just wouldn’t stop lying and making a fuss.”

“I know,” you bemoan. “I’m just glad I have you to handle these kinds of customer problems. I would’ve just cried on the spot.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” She captures the beef with a flick of her wrist and drops it into her sauce bowl. “I just feel bad for Yunli. You know how she is, hot-tempered and impatient, but even she wouldn’t dare speak up against a customer. But you could tell it was taking every inch of her strength to not, just, yell back.”

“Yeah, Yunli was completely out of it for the rest of her shift.” You shake your head as you ladle a knotted bunch of Konjac noodles onto your plate. 

The tomato soup, despite being completely plant-based, is rich, almost too aggressive in its flavor. But when soaked up, the oil and fragrance of the broth fuse seamlessly into the unseasoned nature of hot pot ingredients, so much so that you can arguably eat everything without dipping it in sauce. Still, you drench half of the noodles into your mixture of sesame oil, peanut sauce, green onions, and garlic. When you take your bite, you hum so happily, the chewiness of the Konjac providing great texture while heat permeates throughout your entire body, melting away the knots and strain in your muscles.

“This is so good,” you garble through a mouthful. Yukong’s also entranced with her bite of fish cake, and can only nod in agreement.

Once you finish the Konjac noodles, you slide in a platter of cabbage slices, balls of shrimp paste, and tofu squares.

“Anyway…,” you start. “Next time, I don’t think we should even bother. Most of our customers are reasonable, anyway, and it’s honestly not worth it.”

Yukong frowns at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Because, on the other hand, I don’t think we should tolerate this behavior at all.”

“I know, but I don’t want the other pastry chefs to worry about stuff like this. Besides, we always make enough of everything. Otherwise, the extras would all go to waste, and I can’t keep giving Granny Toka and the college kids our leftovers.”

Yukong huffs and crosses her arms, a pointer finger tapping impatiently at the juncture of her elbow. Yet, Yukong can’t seem to come up with a response, so she acquiesces.

“Yukong…,” you mumble. You look at her, a little expectantly and a lot more nervously.

She slides her arm across the table, a gesture for you to do the same. As you put your hand on top of hers, she says, “I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated. You and the other chefs are our top priority, and I understand you want to avoid causing them as much stress as possible. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Yukong’s always been like this – able to read your mind, say the reassuring things you need to hear at the right time, find the best solution without compromising anyone’s feelings. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand lovingly before someone calls out your name.

“Hey, you managed to come!”

You turn to the side to see Sushang. You exclaim, “Yes, we did! Thanks for having us! The food’s amazing!”

“Of course! If you ever want another discount, just let me know.” Sushang wiggles her eyebrows, and you and Yukong laugh at her antics.

“This is Yukong, my co-founder,” you introduce. 

Sushang steps aside, and only then do you realize someone’s behind her. Which is odd, because the man’s absolutely looming over her, but something about his quiet demeanor must’ve concealed his presence. 

Sushang says, “Nice to meet you, Yukong! This here is Moze, one of our sous chefs. Moze, she made the macarons and cookies we had a few weeks ago.”

Moze stiffly nods, but as soon as Sushang mentions your desserts, a hopeful glint in his eyes appears.

“You know,” Sushang continues, “I’ve only seen Moze talk so much about someone’s cooking, like, literally a handful of times. He rarely compliments other people, but he totally ranted when he ate those sweets of yours.”

Moze scoffs and knocks Sushang on the back of her head. “We’ve told you so many times to not run your mouth.”

You and Yukong exchange warm looks. You say, “Sushang’s just incredibly honest. But I’m glad they were to your liking, Moze.”

Yukong speaks up as well. “We’d like to return the favor, too. Feel free to drop by the Zhuming Dessert Bar, free of charge.”

Sushang yells so loudly that some of the adjacent customers glance at your party. “Are you for real?! Moze, we need to go. Immediately.”

“By the way,” Yukong interrupts, tone more formal now, “is your head chef, Jiaoqiu, around? And is it possible for us speak to him?”

Puzzled, you glance towards Yukong. You came for a simple dinner, and Yukong never informed you of other plans.

Moze answers this time. “The head chef’s in the back. Can I ask what you plan on discussing?”

“Actually, I’m a family friend of Feixiao’s. I’d like to personally meet her right-hand man.”

It seems as if the world has stopped spinning. Yukong knows Feixiao? She knows the owner of Yaoqing Hot Pot? Personally? Huh? It seems Moze and Sushang are both stunned as well, and after a few sluggish seconds, Moze excuses himself, presumably to find his boss.

Jiaoqiu appears in no more than five minutes.

“Miss Yukong, it’s good to meet you in person,” Jiaoqiu greets. Yukong reaches her hand out for a handshake, and only when Moze guides Jiaoqiu’s hand forward does the head chef reciprocate.

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t know you –,“ Yukong begins.

Jiaoqiu cuts her off succinctly. “No worries. It’s only been a few years, after all. I also told Feixiao not to inform others of my condition in the first place.”

“I see.”

Jiaoqiu then redirects the conversation skillfully. “Speaking of Feixiao, I’m sure the two of you have come up with something that requires my assistance? I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

You slide deeper into the booth so that Jiaoqiu can sit beside you. From this proximity, you can make out the sweat lining his forehead, the thick rubber band pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and the creases of his sleeves where they were once rolled up.

Yukong clears her throat, a habit of hers right before negotiations begin. 

“The Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up in a little over a month, and since both of our restaurants are based on East Asian cuisines, Feixiao and I are considering a collaboration. Do you think that’s something your team would be interested in?”

Surprisingly, despite his thoughtful nature, Jiaoqiu doesn’t even take a second to consider. “If Feixiao’s eager about the idea, I don’t see why not.”

“Great. So far, the plan is to add a few of our desserts to your existing menu, while we add some of your appetizers to ours. How does that sound?”

At this suggestion, Jiaoqiu hums with dissatisfaction. “That could ruin the flavor profiles of each of our own stores.”

“Right, of course. We considered that, and that’s why we think it’d be best if both of our restaurants created new items that’d fit both the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival, as well as our respective offerings.”

“I see.”

From your periphery, you can see Moze looking at Yukong, trying to decipher her intentions, while Sushang’s rocking on her feet, cheeks puffed up with anticipation. You, on the other hand, have no problem with this idea either and simply accept the fact that the next two months are going to be very busy.

Jiaoqiu asks, “I think this idea’s not bad. How do we plan on executing it?”

Yukong gestures at you, so you perk up. “Uh, well, I guess we can just meet to hash out the details? I know you’re very busy, though, so that might not work.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jiaoqiu seems to sigh, almost as if he’s giving into defeat. “If both Feixiao and Miss Yukong think this is a worthwhile business project, then it’s my job to see it through. We should begin promptly.”

You nod and begin exchanging contacts with the Yaoqing folks. As you’re typing in Moze’s contact, though, you suddenly get a call from one of your chefs.

You excuse yourself, walking out of the noisy restaurant to answer the call.

“Yunli, what’s up?” you chirp.

You hear very panicked voices until Yunli directly replies. “Chef, the HVAC’s broken. The refrigeration doesn’t work. At all.”

You feel goosebumps snake down your arms and back. Suddenly, your throat feels entirely parched, and you’re not even able to swallow to alleviate the dryness. For once, when it comes to work, your body’s freezing up, rooting you to your spot on the sidewalk, preventing you from running into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

You rush back into Yaoqing Hot Pot, inform Yukong of the situation, and the two of you scramble back to the Zhuming Dessert Bar.

That night, you make several runs home, but you don’t actually get to unwind until well past 2AM. Not only did you have to make several emergency calls to your property manager and repair services, but you also had to drive back and forth to transfer the ingredients to your own fridge and freezer. Simply put, everyone who stayed past service to clean up the dessert bar was utterly exhausted. It was arguably one of your worst nights since the Zhuming’s opening.

It took the whole weekend for the HVAC-R system to be repaired, which meant the cancellation of two days’ worth of reservations. The cancellations impacted the store’s sales significantly for the week, and you were forced to revise several recipes to accommodate for cheaper ingredients. While your other teammates could take the time off, you had to come in to experiment and adjust the taste of each menu item, which is always a painstakingly arduous and tedious process. At times, you felt a hint of nostalgia, reminiscent of your times in pastry school, but those flashbacks only left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Your meetings with Jiaoqiu also began the following week. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you head over and enter Yaoqing Hot Pot through the back door so you can directly walk to Jiaoqiu’s office. Inside his office, there’s a small desk which he sits at, while you situate yourself on a small, plush bean bag that was brought in by Sushang. So far, the two of you have drafted initial ideas, and tonight, Jiaoqiu will be presenting the first iterations of the Yaoqing’s appetizers to you.

Like the first time you met him, you knock on the door twice. As always, when he greets you, he gives you a tight smile. Tonight, though, his expression appears more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m afraid the dishes have not come out as expected.”

You see a porcelain white plate on his desk. In the center, there are a few strips of tofu, topped with finely diced pieces of thousand-year-old eggs, scallions, and garlic. There are streaks of red and black as well, no doubt the Yaoqing’s signature spicy sauce. Beside the plate is a small bowl. You take a step closer to see chunks of cabbage, ginger, radish, and carrots, all of the pieces slightly wrinkled, accompanied by a sharp smell of acid. Both are classic Szechuan dishes: spicy cold tofu and pickled vegetables.

Using the chopsticks laid out on a napkin, you take small bites of the dishes. You’re personally not too good with spicy foods, so you can only hope that Jiaoqiu hasn’t gone overboard with the seasonings.

The thousand-year-old eggs are chewy and dense, in delightful contrast to the softness of the tofu, which practically melts on your tongue. However, the garlic, scallions, and spicy sauce penetrate through and remain as the final aftertaste. Then, you pick up a piece of the pickled cabbages. The water and vinegar brine has been completely absorbed, and you notice that there’s a stark lack of peppercorns, which is usually a key component of this dish. With a crunch, your teeth pierce through the leaf, and you’re impressed by how tender the inside of the cabbage is. You pick around to try the other ingredients.

When Jiaoqiu hears you place your chopsticks down, he asks, “I’m sorry if they’re lacking.”

“No worries. Maybe we should call in Moze, so I can share my thoughts?”

Jiaoqiu does as you request, and a few minutes later, the sous chef joins the two of you.

You give a brief rundown of your suggestions.

“The Zhuming Dessert Bar is known for its milder flavors, and the two appetizers taste great as is but simply don’t make sense in the broader context. I was thinking, maybe for the spicy cold tofu, we can mash the eggs into almost something like a paste? I think it’d provide an interesting texture, and we can use fresh scallions to keep that hint of bite if needed. To be honest, I think there should be way less garlic. Maybe even no garlic at all.

“As for the pickled vegetables, I think this one’s pretty close to done, actually! I think the cabbage is perfect, and I like that there are no peppercorns in the presentation. I was thinking that maybe we can make this dish a little more – how do I put this – refreshing? For instance, instead of using radish, we can use cucumbers instead? The water content might pose an issue, but I think cucumbers could add a ‘clean,’ crisp touch, which I like the sound of. Oh, we should also take out the ginger.”

When you finish, Jiaoqiu and Moze look at you as if you’ve just committed a murder in front of them.

Moze can barely conjure a sentence. “Are – are you – can you not handle spicy foods? Are these too spicy for you? Wh – what are you –“

Jiaoqiu has to interrupt him. “Without the ginger or garlic, you’re essentially asking us to abandon core aspects of Szechuan cuisine.”

You try to justify yourself. “I know it’s a cardinal sin, I get it. It’s like asking pastry chefs to not use sugar or flour or whatever. But the appetizers are just too strong, and none of the desserts we have, including our Mid-Autumn Festival specials, will complement them. Maybe a subtractive method isn’t the best approach, but I honestly don’t know enough to propose any other ideas.”

Jiaoqiu tilts his chin, thinking. Finally, he states, “I think I have one.”

At the next meeting, the head chef presents you the same two dishes, but they look vastly different than before.

Jiaoqiu explains that, for the tofu, he listened to your suggestion and mashed the thousand-year-old eggs into a paste. Within the paste, he also incorporated the garlic, which should be diluted by the natural pungency of the aged yolk. The scallions and chili sauce are filled in a separate container, allowing customers to pour as little or as much as they want.

As for the pickled vegetables, Jiaoqiu added a rather unique ingredient. 

“Why lotus root?” you ask.

He explains, “Lotus root is in season right now, and we took inspiration from the classic Yunnan lotus root salad. We soaked the lotus root in a one-to-one ratio of rice vinegar and water to extract the starch, before blanching the slices. We also added ginger and a bit of sugar to the brine, so there wouldn’t be a need to keep the ginger slices in the dish itself. The one thing I want you to check is if we added too much peppercorn and salt.”

One bite of each dish, and you’re grinning ear to ear.

“This is it,” you whisper, in sheer awe. You can’t help but take two more mouthfuls of each appetizer. “In just one night, and you made such vast improvements. Jiaoqiu, you’re a genius.”

What was supposed to be a celebratory moment seemed to be ruined instantaneously by your comment. Moze’s face drops and Jiaoqiu can’t help but wince, to your confusion.

All of a sudden, very shy and embarrassed, you mumble, “Did I say something wrong? The food’s great, Jiaoqiu, is there something that’s not to your liking?”

Moze states, rather gruffly, “No, we’re very happy that you enjoy the dishes so much. After all, it’s been a while since Jiaoqiu has cooked something by himself.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you both look so upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Jiaoqiu sighs. “Then, these two are a go. One more left.”

From then on, your interactions with Jiaoqiu become stiff and rigid. Not that you had made much progress in the first place, but at the very least, the two of you could speak in the same fluid prose of ingredients and techniques and practically anything related to cooking and baking. Now, the two of you barely speak outside the context of the collaboration, and even the feedback you receive doesn’t come straight from him. Sushang had mentioned this earlier, and she’s absolutely right – Jiaoqiu doesn’t touch your cooking at all. In fact, Moze’s the one who munches away at your samples, while Jiaoqiu only asks for his opinions.

Are you frustrated? Absolutely. But it’s not like you can call off this project for such a small reason. It’s not like Moze doesn’t offer great advice, but it’s not up to the level of expertise that you need. So, not only do you feel frustrated, you also feel directionless, and your creative juices are running out.

You hate to admit it, but this sucks. 

IV. Taiwanese Pineapple Cake

You should’ve prepared for all hell to break loose because “busy” doesn’t even begin to describe your current state.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Is approaching in a week, which means the collaboration’s also set to launch in just a few days. But before that, it seems you have other, more urgent issues to address first.

“Wait, why isn’t Lingsha here?” You look around, hoping for someone to know. You have a full house tonight, and you need all the helping hands you can get.

Yunli, who’s busy shaping some fondant, responds, “I think she’s sick.”

Alarmed, you quickly shoot Lingsha a text, asking her about her condition, in addition to a reminder to please, please, please let you know next time.

“That’s fine, but we’re going to need someone to take over her station…”

There are two halves to your team. Since the dessert bar is split between a morning bakery and an evening tasting restaurant, you’ve placed your less experienced chefs on the morning shifts. This could be a good opportunity for one of them to learn, you think.

“Huo Huo,” you call out, “can you stay for the rest of the day? I’ll make sure Yukong pays you overtime.”

A small, green-haired girl squeaks at the sound of her name. Even from a distance, you can see her body begin to shake and tremble.

“Y-yes,” she stutters as her knuckles pale from gripping onto a hand mixer so tightly.

You shoot her two thumbs up and a gentle smile. “You’ll be great, I just know it, Huo Huo. You’re in charge of presentation, so all you have to worry about is not breaking any dishes, alright?”

You, in fact, did have to worry about broken dishes that night.

Frankly speaking, Huo Huo was all over the place. She confused some of the dishes with each other, so the presentation wasn’t right at times. She also spilled glaze, so those desserts had to be tossed. The most tragic of her mistakes was that she forgot basic kitchen etiquette and almost got burned in the face with a blowtorch. Yunli’s tolerance was clearly waning, and you had to pinch her multiple times to prevent her from unleashing all of her rage.

You can’t help but think this is all your fault.

And as you trudge to Jiaoqiu’s office, your stomach sinks further. You feel the fatigue coursing through your veins, and despite your usual patient and easy going temperament, you can feel your thread of optimism thinning, dangerously close to snapping.

You just never expected it to break so soon.

“Uh, where are your samples?” Moze asks.

You can only close your eyes and cover them with your palms. You feel so weak in the knees. You want to keel over.

The burning sensation at your waterline doesn’t help either, and even though you can’t breathe, you hold back so as to not let anyone hear your sniffles.

You’re an actual patisserie now. No more groveling and self-pitying – you left all of that behind at baking school and your previous stages. You’ve made it so far, and you can’t fumble it. You need to be on top of things and be professional. Why are you even upset? What’s wrong with you? Keep. It. Together.

Jiaoqiu mutters, “Moze, leave us for now.”

With barely audible steps, you feel Moze walk away, and Jiaoqiu slides his office door closed behind you. Though it takes him a bit, he manages to feel his way down the wall so that he’s stooping beside you.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” you say, voice muffled as you hide your head with your forearms, tucking your chin to your chest.

“Yeah, running a restaurant never gets easier.”

You peek up at him. “But you never seem to be sweating over it.”

“Everyone has their worries.”

You take a deep breath. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if you cry or not because Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to care.

You ask, “I feel like I don’t know how to lead my team properly. We managed to get everything out in time, but the kitchen was an entire mess. We also had to get repairs done a few weeks ago, even though the property’s new and all. And remember when we ran into each other at the farmer’s market? It’s because someone forgot to properly do inventory. Like – these are all basic procedures. What am I forgetting to teach them?”

“From my experience, it just comes from routine reminders during meetings, and being ruthless when it comes to firing people.”

You roll your eyes. “Jiaoqiu, I’m afraid not everyone has the luxury of an inbox overflowing with hiring and employment requests.”

“Then, you have to do the hard thing and train them. Over and over again, until they finally get it right.”

You take another inhale. He’s right.

The stooping’s becoming uncomfortable, so you let yourself fall back and onto the ground.

“Thanks, Jiaoqiu. I think I’ve got my shit together again.”

“Of course. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

You begin to get up but end up deciding otherwise. You suggest instead, “Let’s just talk for a bit, if you have the time. We’ve been seeing each other so often, and I feel like I know practically nothing about you.”

You see a flash of suspicion cross his face, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t reject the idea either.

You help Jiaoqiu to his desk before finding your usual spot on the bean bag, and ask, “So, tell me. What about Yaoqing Hot Pot is stressing you out?”

“The new hires. I trust Moze, but it’s hard for him to handle everything by himself. I would ask Sushang, but it’s more important that she concentrates on honing her own skills right now.”

Something Moze said rings in your head.

“And…,” you start. “I’m guessing you can’t help either because you haven’t cooked in a while?”

Jiaoqiu remains silent. More hints from previous conversations seem to pop into your head.

You ask again, tone much quieter and more polite, “You told Yukong your blindness is relatively recent. Is… is that why you’ve stopped cooking?”

“I’d get in the way of too many people. Plus, I can really only trust Moze to help me in the kitchen, but that’d hinder his own growth as a chef. I couldn’t ask that of him.”

“So those appetizers –“

“That was a one-time thing. The others know how to replicate them by now.”

“But I want to eat your food.”

The words fly out before you can think about them. You gasp at your audacity, hands flying to seal your mouth, and Jiaoqiu has a surprised look on his face.

It takes a few moments before Jiaoqiu breaks the silence with huffs of chuckles. “You called me a genius the other day, didn’t you?”

You nod at first, but remembering that he can’t see, affirm vocally.

“It’s just a personal peeve of mine, but I detest being called that.”

Furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose, you try to think of why.

Jiaoqiu… Blind… Genius… Hate… Feixiao…

You let out another audible gasp, this time horrified.

“I remember,” you hiss.

No wonder his name’s familiar. 

You’ve never paid much attention because you were so entrenched in your own work, but a few years ago, Jiaoqiu was a superstar in the culinary world. He was winning awards left and right, despite not having even graduated culinary school. But then, he suddenly disappeared, and all of the tabloids were speculating as to why. He didn’t come back into the limelight until he joined Yaoqing and became Feixiao’s right-hand man.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but…”

“I was poisoned.”

You gape at him.

He continues, indifferent to your loud reactions. “Being a ‘genius’ comes with its own share of problems. I had classmates who were envious of my achievements, and one of them slipped methanol into a dish they wanted me to try.”

The story’s horrifying itself, but what leaves you completely stunned is Jiaoqiu’s nonchalance. He’s speaking as if he’s reading the news, as if this terrible thing happened to some stranger and not to him.

“Oh, Jiaoqiu…”

“It’s alright. I owe Feixiao for entrusting much of Yaoqing to me.”

“Thanks for sharing these painful memories with me…”

Jiaoqiu simply nods. “I hope the Zhuming Dessert Bar sees better days.”

V. Fuqi Feipian

Everything does seem to calm down, though there’s never truly a peaceful day when you’re working in the restaurant industry.

Lingsha returns in good shape, and with her and Yunli’s help, the three of you begin to offer additional training sessions after work to better prepare the newcomers. You’re a small team, after all, so it’s only right that you have each other’s backs.

The launch of the Mid-Autumn Festival goes as well as Yukong and Feixiao predict. Revenue streams are the highest they’ve ever been for the Zhuming Dessert Bar, and the food seems to be well-received. There are always a few pesky hate comments on social media platforms, but those can’t be helped.

Most importantly, your relationship with Jiaoqiu has improved dramatically. You first tested the waters by sending him an hour-long ASMR video of cat purrs, and he replied likewise with a five-minute compilation of foxes yipping and laughing. Also, even though there’s no reason to meet anymore, you still drop by and bother the pink-haired chef whenever you have the time. Mostly, it’s just you pestering him to make you food and him refusing, but after ten minutes or so of pointless bantering, he relents and you help him around the kitchen, setting timers, fetching ingredients, and making sure he doesn’t cut himself.

For the most part, he does well even without your assistance. His sense of taste is incredibly acute, and his hands seem to remember how to slice at different angles, widths, and shapes, all from rote memory. Still, it seems that having you there provides an additional layer of safety, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

“What are you going to make for me this time?”

You’re holding Jiaoqiu by the hands, steering him towards the industrial fridges standing tall to one side of the kitchen. Unlike the narrow and rectangular layout of the Zhuming Dessert Bar’s kitchen, the Yaoqing’s is much more spacious and has sufficient walking room.

“The freezer should have a piece of beef shank.” You let go of one of his hands to open the door, and as he said, there’s a plastic-wrapped chunk on the top shelf. You take it out, and then walk the two of you over to the central island, where there’s a large cutting board and knife.

“Knife to your right, beef to your left. Is there anything else I should grab?”

“Can you get some sesame seeds, chili oil, and a stalk of celery?”

As you collect the items, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Jiaoqiu picks up the beef shank by the fingertips, and using his other hand to roughly measure out the length of the cutting board, sets the meat down near the center. Then, with fleeting touches, he feels for the wooden handle of his knife.

“The blade’s facing downwards,” you call out.

“Thanks,” he replies.

With his left hand, he traces the shank until he reaches the edge, where he backtracks by a few millimeters and curls his fingers in so that the first joints are tucked away. With steady movements, he brings the knife over with his right hand until the flat of the blade meets his curled fingers, and now he knows where to cut. Though he’s slow, much slower than a professional chef should be, every slice is done without hesitation. There’s no wavering, no stopping, no interrupting the motion of the knife being plunged down onto the cutting board. He continues, procedurally shifting his left hand back and right hand forward, until he’s divided the chunk of beef into beautifully thin slices.

You only come back when he’s set his knife down.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re making.”

“The name’s a little misleading,” he says, “but it’s a dish I grew up eating quite frequently. Do you think you’re up to trying something spicy?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, when have you made something not spicy?”

His lips break into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a bowl with a short rim, will you?”

“Yes, chef!”

Into the bowl, he transfers the beef shank and pours spoonfuls of chili oil, salt, and white sugar on top. He mixes everything, ensuring that the tips of the chopsticks don’t puncture through the meat, and sets the dish aside.

He then picks up the knife again, which you follow up by placing the celery stalk onto the cutting board.

“Center middle”

“Leaf intact?”

“Yes.”

He searches for the end of the stalk, and when he finds it, he chops the leafy section off. He makes diligent work of the rest, first splitting the stalk in horizontal half before chopping it vertically into small bits. When he’s finished, he transfers the celery pieces into the bowl, giving the ingredients a good mix again, before returning to mince the celery leaves.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away from the cutting board. He says, “You’ll realize that Szechuan food is quite simple to put together. This dish is called fuqi feipian.”

“You said the name was misleading.”

“Well, its literal translation means ‘husband and wife lung slices.’”

You can’t help but chuckle at the name. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be romantic or gory.”

Jiaoqiu smirks and crosses his arms. “Either way, it’s spicier than all of the other things I’ve cooked for you. Take a bite.”

Mentally, you prepare for the numbing bite of the spices and chilis as you eat a slice of beef. The acidity of the oil and celery leaf garnishing hit you immediately, and you almost choke at the sudden impact of flavor.

You cry out, “Spicy!”

“I told you.”

You quickly swallow before picking out pieces of celery and peanuts to soothe your tongue.

“Seriously, Jiaoqiu, how can you eat this all the time?”

He simply shrugs. “I can’t really taste anything else.”

“Wait, what?”

“I started losing my sense of taste in culinary school. The doctors said it was probably due to stress from the competitions and media appearances. Now, I can only really eat very strong and spicy flavors.”

You almost drop your chopsticks onto the floor.

“Jiaoqiu,” you choke, “you can’t keep dropping these severely depressing facts about yourself out of nowhere.”

“Oh, sorry, should I have mentioned a trigger warning or something?”

You huff unhappily before taking another bite, barely managing the stinging heat at the back of your throat.

Jiaoqiu suddenly asks, “Did you enjoy culinary school?”

You pause to reflect. “I kinda took an unconventional path. I actually have a Bachelor in something completely unrelated to cooking, but I couldn’t find a full-time job after graduating and decided to give baking a shot. Baking school was hellish, though, I can’t lie.”

He makes a noise of surprise when you finish.

“You didn’t enjoy baking school?”

You scratch the back of your head. “I mean, it was tough. I don’t remember much besides crying a lot and feeling very incompetent. It’s hard being surrounded by really young and accomplished people all the time.”

“I thought you were going to say you had the time of your life.”

“Why?”

“Well…,” Jiaoqiu starts, though he turns to face away from you for some reason. “You seem very optimistic and easy to get along with. People like you thrive in social environments, like school.”

You try to muster your usual smile, but you can’t will your mouth to stretch or your cheeks to lift. “I guess, and it’s not like I hated my experience. I was just… I was too concerned about making up for lost time.”

You don’t want to think about this anymore, so you take another bite.

Through a mouthful, you pivot the conversation. “By the way, there’s no way I can finish this all by myself. Have some, too!”

You tap Jiaoqiu on the shoulder so that he turns to face you again, and you tightly grip the chopsticks so that the food doesn’t drop.

Jiaoqiu tries to deny at first. “No, no, I already ate dinner.”

“But Jiaoqiu, please! You made so much, and it’d be such a waste to keep it overnight. C’mon, just one bite, it’s right in front of you.”

He opens his mouth and leans forward, but either because your hands are shaky or because he simply cannot reach, he keeps missing.

You ask with slight amusement, “May I?”

“Just hurry and give it to me.”

You slide your free hand underneath his chin and hold his head in place. Initially, he sputters out of shyness and embarrassment, but finally relents as you tell him to keep his mouth open.

When he’s chewing on it, you say, “Really good, right? You should cook for yourself more often.”

“It’s fine. Could be better,” he replies. “Besides, it’s dangerous cooking by myself.”

You shrug. “I can always come over and help, like I did tonight.”

He sighs. “You’re so demanding. You just want more free food.”

You giggle with glee and clap at his shoulders. “Of course not!” You feign hurt. “I just want to spend more time with a good friend!”

Jiaoqiu huffs and you think he rolls his eyes. “Friends,” he mutters, “don’t eat from the same pair of chopsticks.”

You feel your face burn, having been completely unaware of the implications of your actions.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you retort, though there’s really no bite to your words. “You haven’t even tried my desserts once.”

VI. Sweet Run Bing

On the last day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you come over with some leftovers to hand to the Yaoqing staff. You’ve gotten to know them quite well, and of course, Sushang and Moze are the first ones to appear.

“What’d you bring this time?” Sushang sing-songs.

You set the boxes on a counter and list everything out. “There’s coconut cake, a Taiwanese rendition of French custard tarts, some of our special mooncakes, and sweet run bing. There’s more than enough for everyone!”

You try to take a step back so that all of the Yaoqing chefs can reach your desserts, but you bump into somebody.

Or more specifically, someone holds you by the shoulders.

You look over to find Jiaoqiu resting his hands on you, face turned towards the commotion in the center of the kitchen.

He muses, “Sweet run bing? Isn’t it usually salty?”

You laugh. “Yes, but it’s pretty popular in Taiwan to add ice cream and nuts to make a sweeter version of it.”

The question always floats in the air but is usually left unaddressed. This time, though, Jiaoqiu surprises you.

“Can I try?”

A sense of pride and satisfaction pumps through your entire body. “Of course!” you exclaim. “Let me get you one!”

The two of you retreat to the calmer corner of his office, and you watch him intently as he holds the run bing close to his nose.

“I smell peanuts, almonds, and vanilla. There’s also something sweet?”

“Yes, we added some of our homemade canned peaches!”

“I see. Let me try it.”

Slowly, methodically, Jiaoqiu rolls up the crepe and takes a bite from it. You gulp and can almost feel beads of sweat forming at your temples from the anticipation and anxiety.

Then, something in his features softens. 

“The texture’s great.”

At his compliment, you bound out of your seat, whooping and cheering.

“I’ll take it! Next time, I’ll make something you can actually taste. I roasted the nuts to create a smokey flavor and to add some crunch, but I didn’t want it to be too overpowering, so I also added some herbs, like ground coriander and –“

“Wait, there’s coriander in this?”

You comically pause in the middle of your celebrating. “Uh, yes?”

It’s your first time seeing the man… so frightened.

You can’t help but glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like coriander.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t move.

“Isn’t coriander supposed to be important in Szechuan cuisine? You were the one nagging my ears off weeks ago –“

“First of all, I wasn’t nagging you. Second, I personally don’t like to eat it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t use it.”

“Sure, fine, but the run bing doesn’t taste bad, does it?”

Jiaoqiu grimaces. “It tastes fine… even if there’s coriander in it.”

You smugly croon at him. “What other foods do you hate? I’ll convince you otherwise.”

Jiaoqiu takes another big bite of the run bing, before replying, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You flush at his words, rendered unable to speak. In fact, you have to clear your throat a couple of times in order to respond. “And… you’ll cook for me, too?”

He nods, with firm intent. “For as long as you want me to.”

You feel like the vanilla ice cream in the run bing, melting and dripping, positively overheating.

ꨄ 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓

(after sleeping with him the night before)

cast: diluc, alhaitham, wriothesley, ajax x fem reader

warnings: fem reader, nudity, reader wears dilucs shirt in his part, reader also wears wriothesleys coat in his part + he throws you onto the bed, reader is shorter than ajax in his part, the tiniest bits of angst because they really like you, clingy men 🥺, nsfw but no actual smut

MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Diluc wakes, and the sheets pool at his waist as he suddenly sits up in bed. The way he drags his hand over his face while he blinks away the remnants of sleep as he takes in his surroundings has his heart dropping to this stomach.

Where have you gone?

The night before was a whirlwind of kisses and heated touches that turned into naked skin on naked skin and heavy strokes that brought out the most beautiful sound of you crying Dilucs name for him, and eventually the fire that consumed you both multiple times, turned into a flicker of warm embers as you fell asleep in his arms.

Only now as the dawn breaks, Diluc finds himself alone in his bedroom. Was he a fool? His heart proves time and time again to be his greatest foe, and perhaps his deep and doting feelings for you were not truly returned by yourself and now resulted in you leaving before he woke up as a means to lessen the blow of your rejection. Diluc swallows down a pang of heartbreak - it’d been a rather long time since he last felt this way in such a fresh sense. His jaw sets as his mind starts to fly through his interactions with you. Mostly good. Your smiles. Your laughter. The flutter of your lashes whenever he was close. Had he offended you somehow amongst all of these months of falling for you? Had you only been putting on an act only to spare his feelings? He thought he was a perceptive man, and celestia knows he spent endless amounts of time just…wanting to know you. He finds his hand coming up to settle over his heart, clutching at his chest when he sighs in resignation to another day without you by his side.

Diluc remains lost in his thoughts when the heavy wooden door of his bedroom clicks open, he swiftly pulls his blankets up higher on his body, though he’s known Adelinde his entire life, he still hard pressed to remain modest around the woman. Perhaps after a cup of coffee Diluc will get his bearings a little better.

Only it’s not his head maid who walks into his bedroom with her hands clasped - it’s you, tip - toeing into the room with a cup of coffee in each hand and only clad in…Diluc’s shirt. The material sweeps across your bare thighs, the thighs he was eagerly between the night before, your bare feet light on the wooden floor as you attempt to sneak in further. You suddenly meet his gaze and you bark out a soft, sheepish laugh while your body language relaxes a bit. You then smile sweetly when you approach closer, sitting by Diluc on the mattress and handing him a cup of coffee, the steam still rising from the ceramic rim.

“I hope you don’t mind me going to the kitchens! I just woke up a bit early and thought it might be nice to surprise you with a cup.” you say a little sheepishly, as if you were forbidden from exploring anywhere beyond Dilucs room after a passionate night with him.

“You’re here.” Diluc breathes, you look quite disheveled, but as beautiful as ever, especially being in his shirt that slips off your shoulder as you adjust yourself on the side of the bed next to him.

You blank a little, huffing a soft laugh into your coffee as you sip before you reach over to place it on the nightstand.

“Of course I am…um, is that okay?” your face suddenly drops in the slightest and Diluc can’t have that, no. Not after he just spent what felt like hours of agonizing if he had lost you. He swiftly places his cup on the nightstand next to yours, and in the next motion he’s leaning into you with an arm around your waist and pulling you fully onto the bed beneath him. You have no chance to say anything before Diluc presses his lips to yours. You taste like coffee and when you sigh as your leg hikes itself over his hip to keep him close, Diluc can’t help but smile against your mouth.

You giggle sweetly when he nuzzles his nose against your cheek and presses a kiss to your jaw as his large palm cradles under your thigh to pull your leg higher on his waist, to hold you closer as he presses you into the mattress with a wildfire of kisses that sets your pulse ablaze under your skin. Your hands tangling in his hair feels familiar, it feels like the start of how many mornings together will begin.

“Actually, I’d like you to stay longer if you’ll have me.” he murmurs against the warm skin of your neck, watching your lashes flutter. When you nod, grinning before he kisses you again while your bodies roll around together in the bed, Diluc finds his heart leaping in his chest at the knowledge that you do want him back, you do feel the same way as him. And that is all he needs in this moment.

Alhaitham’s brow furrows in his sleep, suddenly feeling a certain chill in his bed that he’s certain wasn’t the case a few hours ago. His eyes crack open, and he frowns at the dim light of the morning shining in through the window. But even moreso, his hand reaches out to an empty space in his bed, and his chest tightens.

Did you leave before he woke up?

He recalls your body under his palms, the way you writhed for him and arched under his every touch and roll of his hips, your nails raking down his back as he studied your every reaction. The stars outside only partially brilliant in comparison to the way you made him feel during those restless hours of intimacy until you were asleep on his chest.

Perhaps his intelligence was indeed limited. He lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling above him and wonders what happened. He had never, at least not truly, ever put his heart on the line in such a manner. You had felt….different. Not in an agonizing sense of something that had come to turn his life upside down, but as something he could reach with his fingertips and hold onto. Someone he could be at ease with and share a comfortable life with. He grimaces to himself, maybe he is a fool, letting his heart lead him and allowing his mind to follow suit, to follow you to the depths of wherever you would go. He would do it, however far, for you. He wasn’t familiar with this type of heartbreak. Although, he figured it could be a learning experience…once his chest stops aching.

His aqua eyes flutter shut once again, hoping that after a few more hours of sleep he’ll wake up feeling a bit more level headed. Much to his chagrin, it’s swiftly interrupted when he feels the mattress dip beside him. His eyes fly open to see you scooting into the sheets, wiggling your way to his side. You giggle and press yourself against him, Alhaitham barely flinches at the chill of your bare feet tangling with his legs.

“Good morning.” you whisper, beaming up at him, your hand comes up to cradle his jaw.

“Good….morning. Where were you?” Alhaitham muses quietly, turning to his side to face you with an arm winding around your waist. He can feel your bare skin under his touch. You’re still completely nude. He’s really trying not to release a breath of relief at you still being here, yet his eyes simmer with something full of adoration when he looks at you.

“The bathroom? Why, did you miss me?” you laugh with a raise of your eyebrow, eyes soft when Alhaitham presses his cheek into your palm. You nearly melt when he looks to you half lidded and his face moves closer until he smears a butterfly wing of a kiss to your lips.

“Something like that.” he affirms with another kiss, and he rolls over on top of you so that your body fits against his further while your mouths move in tandem with soft sighs and low moans as Alhaithams kisses grow more desperate and deep. His hand slips between your bodies and you whimper, making his skin prickle with goosebumps. He decides then to let go of his own head for a bit, his heart pounding at the way your eyes shine while you look at him, and he smiles at you warmly while pressing himself impossibly closer to you. He really is happy that you’re still here. He hopes that you’ll stay awhile longer.

Wriothesley groans as he stretches, his muscles shifting and rolling as he moves around in his bed. He rolls over to his side and his ice blue eyes flicker open with expectancy, only for a sudden chill to settle in his chest. He notices the sheets on the other side of the bed have been pulled back, a telltale sign of a body that had once been occupying that space beside him, is now empty.

You….left?

It was a lot last night, a flurry of tangled limbs and desperate, wanting touches, your body bared to him and his soul bared to yours. The way you were spread out for him again and again, your lips on his ear and crying his name. His own need for you manifesting in the most passionate of ways that left you both a tired and blissed out pile on his black sheets.

Wriothesley sits up in bed, the heels of his palms coming to rub the sleep from his eyes and he sighs, a low disappointed chuckle coming from his throat as he shakes his head. He should’ve known. He…why did he think that falling in love was a good idea? He clearly wasn’t the type of man who would be able to hold down an actual relationship, to be able to relish on your laughter or the way you play with his hair, to be able to say that something, that someone was his. You. His head hangs down as he turns his body to get out of bed, a shower and a few hours of practice at the pankration ring calling to him to get his mind off of this. He could never be angry at you, never, he was angry that he thought for a moment he was going to be happy.

He’s in the midst of feeling annoyingly sorry for himself when he hears the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. He turns on his heel, sheets falling from being tangled around his waist and leaving him bare as he spots you standing there in nothing but your underwear and his coat thrown over your shoulders, effectively swallowing your form. You’re holding a small tray of what looks like is a tea pot, two tea cups, and a small array of croissants and cheese. You look at him a bit startled, like you were caught doing something you shouldn’t have and Wriothesley stares at you as you shyly pad up to him to set the tray on the nightstand.

“Hey.” you breathe with a small smile, blinking up at him.

“Hi.” he says softly, it comes out much more….hopeful than he intended, like his words could reach out and pull you to him.

“I made breakfast for us with a few things I found around your quarters, I remembered you like two cubes of sugar -“ but before you can finish, a pair of burly arms are pulling you into a sturdy chest as Wriothesleys lip crash into yours. You gasp into his mouth when his coat falls from your shoulders and onto the floor, giving him an in to push his hands down under your ass to lift you into his arms. You moan at another kiss so sharp it pulls at your bottom lip, and in the next moment you’re squealing as he effortlessly tosses you onto the bed. Your head snaps to the tray of food on the nightstand a couple feet away and then back to the man who crawls over your body to smear kisses to your lips while his naked form meshes itself to you. You giggle when he descends to your neck and nips there, then breathing out a sigh as he rests his head against your shoulder. You tilt your head and run your nails through his scalp as he shudders over you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a little…upset by me not being in bed with you when you woke up? Am I your new favorite pillow?” you giggle with a kiss to his temple.

“If I said yes, would you stay?” Wriothesley looks up at you, and his eyes flash with something tender, something full of yearning, he cracks a small smile and you nod.

“I can stay as long as you want.” you murmur, letting him kiss you deeply again. He’ll hold off a little longer on telling you he wants you to stay forever, perhaps after breakfast.

when Ajax begins to stir from his sleep, he immediately throws his arm out to the side, intent on finding someone beside him beneath the blankets to pull closer during a chilly morning. But he’s met with…nothing. The endless of ocean of his gaze is hazy when they open to see his bed is not occupied by the other person who just was there mere hours ago.

You were gone.

His mind wanders to the way you were on top of him, the way you moved your hips as your head tipped back in ecstasy, it was one of many positions you were in with him. His stamina and your sheer need for him continued to urge you both to remain wrapped up in each other all night, until it seemed like the morning sun was going to greet you from how many times you let him bury himself in you.

He laughs bitterly when he stands up to gather his pants off the floor, pulling them up with a few fleeting thoughts of you. He really should move on from this as quickly as possible. But, once he pauses his movements his heart drops to his stomach. He fell for you, with an honest and open heart and a gentle hand that for once wasnt stained, it was soft on your face when you smiled and laughed and rolled your eyes as you said his name. You felt like a puzzle piece he didn’t realize he had been missing. He figures it’s for the best what with his line of work, you deserve better. Still, he had hoped somewhere within him that this could be the start of a new adventure.

He starts to make his way to the bathroom to hopefully get cleaned up and to head to his next assignment, what’s the point of staying another moment longer anyway - when his ears perk up suddenly at the sound of the shower being turned off. And within the next agonizing minute, the door opens and Ajax looks down at you all wet haired and wrapped in a fuzzy white towel, while steam from the bathroom rolls out around your bodies. You smile shyly at him as greeting.

“You’re…”

“All squeaky clean.” you finish with a light laugh, a few water droplets roll down your clavicle as you shift from one foot to the other. Ajax swallows at the sight. At the sudden relief that washes over him like a flood.

“Sorry if I woke you, just felt a little, um, sticky.” you laugh again bashfully as you try to walk your way around the tall redhead in front of you but an arm shoots out to grasp the doorframe and effectively pins you in your place.

“You’re still here.” Ajax grins, moving closer to you until your back is pressed against the doorframe under his hand and he hovers over you. You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning in for a kiss, and then another, and another that leaves your hands scrabbling to his bare chest as he presses closer. You laugh into his mouth when his kisses turn playful, dotting themselves across your face and down your dewy neck that’s still warm from your shower.

“Of course I’m still here. I wouldn’t dream of leaving.” you huff when his hands pull the towel from your body and he looks at you like perhaps you’re his goddess now. Ajax kisses you again as his heart warms at your soft moans and your fervent touches…and he determines that with you, he can maybe become whole again.

reblogs and feedback very appreciated! ♡

Love Bites Masterlist

You gave Toji Fushiguro a sweet tooth he doesn't want to get rid of.

Baker Fem Reader x Toji Fushiguro (mafia/yakuza au)

tags: Fluff, grumpy x sunshine, found family, a little angsty but nothing too bad, marriage proposal, established relationship, (last chapter only: kitchen sex, creampie, oral- fem receiving, other sexxy funtime stuff)

word ct: 15.1k, 11 Chapters

Chapter One: Apple Cinnamon Spice

Chapter Two: Chimayo Chai

Chapter Three: Mint Chocolate Chip

Chapter Four: Apple Cider

Chapter Five: Pumpkin Spice

Chapter Six: Warm Water

Chapter Seven: Eggnog

Chapter Eight: Sparkling Juice

Chapter Nine: Mint Chocolate Chip Pt. 2

Chapter Ten: Yes

*Bonus!!*

*nsfw

M.list || Ao3 || Twitter || Ko-fi

All I can think about is Diluc, Itto, and Kazuha (separate) having a crush on their best friend BUT their best friend is hilariously oblivious to all of their advances because of how little experience they have in romance so the reader just confuses them for extremely platonic gestures and brushes them off even though they like them back. And then when they finally get confessed to, the reader is like “Ohhh… OHHHH.”

— ❛ Oʜ ᴀʀᴄʜᴏɴs﹐ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ !

pairing. . . . . . diluc, itto, kazuha x gn! reader.

genre. . . . . . . fluff, best friends to lovers.

a/n. . . . . . . . . hope you like it. <3 it was fun and nice to write.

⩩ DILUC.

You're the only one that Diluc loves spending time with. What's more, he's always the one who tells you to stay with him a while longer. Whether in the tavern, at the Dawn Winery, just relaxing or hanging out together. If others require the presence of Diluc, they will be the ones who have to make an appointment with him. But in your case, he'ill be the one who will go in your search without wasting any time. Don't you see something strange there?... Well, according to you, it's just a privilege of being best friends!

The only person who can get the warmest smile from Diluc is you. With other people, be it customers, co-workers from the tavern, his own maids... they all see the more professional and distant side of this man, and are already used to it. Therefore, when they see from afar how smiling he is when you are around him, everyone is surprised and they know that there is something else that Diluc hides. Of course, his feelings for you! At this point, everyone knows it except you. He is very cute, isn't he? But that's normal, if he didn't smile with you, you would be doing something wrong as his best friend!

Not to mention all those times you managed to make him blush like never before. In these situations you think that he suddenly became ill. That's strange, yes, but the situation could happen. “Is everything okay, 'Luc? You have a fever?” You ask peeking out to a better observation of his face, but he doesn't make it easy for you. Diluc clears his throat, covering his face from the side in an attempt to avoid your gaze. All you can see is the back of his gloved hand, so you resignedly sit up with a slight pout. “Everything's fine, no need to worry... just give me a second.”

Or when you sit on one of the benches of the vineyard, enjoying the presence of the red-haired man and the night breeze, being lit simply by the moon and the various streetlights that decorate the building from the outside. By then, you tend to be very sleepy, and you can't help but tilt your head heavily, resting it on Diluc's shoulder as you close your eyes. At times like that he can only look at you out of the corner of his eye and try not to move much so as not to disturb your slumber, sometimes surrounding you with that same arm to hug you and push you against his chest so you can get completely invaded by his comfy warmth.

Once during this moment he couldn't help himself anymore. You looked beautiful under the dim light of the streetlights illuminating your face, your slightly split lips, breathing calmly while you leaned on him. “I love you...” He whispered, completely unaware that you were still in a lucid moment. You hummed, snuggling closer to him, which caused the boy's heart to stop and his cheeks to fiercely redden. “I love you too, you are the best friend anyone can have.”

You'll never see his expression change so fast. With a resigned sigh, he looked away from him to the stars. 'You're never gonna learn, right?'

And by the time he can't hide it anymore, he'll repeat that phrase. “I love you” He is trying his best not to blush and not to take his gaze away from yours. “Oh, I know, I love you too!” you respond by looking away to continue your thing. He sighs, grabbing your wrist so you turn and focus his attention on him once more. “No, I mean... I love you... Uh... Not like friends...” He's starting to get nervous, but he doesn't let go of his soft grip on your wrist. You turn around, looking at him with a new expression, more hurt. “You don't see me as a friend anymore?” That was the last straw. He pushes you closer to him. His eyebrows are furrowed and a slight blush is traceable on his face. “Damn it, y/n! I'm in love with you!”

That's when your lips form a little 'o' of astonishment. Now all of his previous actions made more sense to you. He has always loved you, no matter how ignorant you were about it. But that doesn't matter anymore, you're very happy that you feel exactly the same way about him.

⩩ ITTO.

We all know that this boy is very proud of himself, but if anything compares to his greatness, it's you. He loves to show you off to his gang, being as loud as possible, which makes you sometimes embarrassed when he flatters you in front of everybody. “Hey! What's that face for? Head high, little one, let everyone know who you are! The number two of the gang, because of course you'll never be as cool as me... I'm kidding. Don't be mad at me, please.” Always so chaotic that he makes you smile in any situation.

Itto always has just enough money to eat and make ends meet, but he doesn't mind sharing a little of his earnings. He only does it with you tho! He will even share you desserts that he likes the most just to make you smile. “Look, you can have this piece, it looks bigger. Let no one say that the magnificent and number one Itto is not a charitable soul! And only for you! did ya hear me? For. You!”

Oh no! in his last shower, the paint you put on his horns last time disappeared. Whenever that happens, he comes to you to paint them as you want again. He will let you do what you want with them. Fancy a black color, or maybe a pink one with pastel blue touches? “Hold on, hold on — I have another idea! Why don't you put your name all over my horns? This is how you mark territory! oh wait —” wow, that was pretty cheeky.

He literally can't keep quiet. That is why he says out loud things he's thinking! Things like “oh archons, you are precious”, or “if we were a couple we'd be unstoppable” and it will leave you thinking “is it for me? nah.” He takes advantage of these moments when he can't keep his mouth shut to see your reaction, or see if you feel the same way. But since you think they are not directed at you, you will simply remain silent, leaving the oni completely devastated.

It's over. He is not going to shut up anymore. If you don't get direct hints from him, it's your problem, not his. “Yo, y/n” will start off calmly, but soon the excitement will invade his body and his mind. “Have I ever told you how good we look together? I'm sure I have, but you just ignore me... hah... well, whatever, I love you! And if you don't get it I'll say it louder, I LOVE YOU! I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, Y/N!” at this point he is screaming, leaving you completely stunned. Some birds flew out of the tree branches, you would swear that all of Inazuma has heard it. But you couldn't be happier.

⩩ KAZUHA.

His feelings for you are very strong, even if his attitude shows otherwise. He can be indifferent in some situations, but it's because he has great self-control. That's why Kazuha thinks he should get carried away a bit if he wants you to realize his love for you.

He will dedicate haikus to you, almost all with the main theme of love and pure feelings towards another person. What Kazuha can't understand is... if he's dedicated those lines to you, why are you acting like the topic isn't with you? Don't you understand that those lines are only capable of coming out of a true love affair?

Sometimes he looks for you inside Beidou's ship to see the night sky together while you all sail calmly. For him, these are precious moments and he absolutely hates to be disturbed while you both are having a moment alone. Kazuha literally becomes a bit passive-aggressive when someone interrupts your peace. Any situation in which your well-being is at stake, however minimal, will upset him as well. He can't help but get pretty protective...

This boy will bring you various gifts when he goes out for a walk alone. Whenever you don't accompany him, you end up with a detail of his part, just so you know that you have not left his mind for a moment. And if you don't get this, he will tell you himself. “Look, I brought this. This flower looks young and delicate, just like you. It is impossible not to think of you, if every thing worthy of admiration reminds me of you.” Well that's because you're best friends, it's normal, right?

Until one day it becomes impossible to keep his feelings to himself... and Kazuha must let them flow as he has always wanted, freely. “y/n. there is something I must tell you. oh, it's nothing bad. I will accept whatever you answer.” Now that he has your full attention, it's his long-awaited moment to talk about his feelings, and this time, he must go straight to the point, so there will be no risks that you do not understand what he wants to convey. “I'm deeply in love with you.” he seems so calm when he admits it, but inside his heart is beating faster than you think.

Now that you are aware of what is happening to him, you can safely say that you love him as much as he loves you. But how is it possible that you never understood all those clues about his feelings? He couldn't be clearer!

I'm not the only that thinks that Childe was trained by one of these two or even both, right?